#Esgaroth

[tolkienillustrations]

Smaug over Laketown by Alice-chan

[godteri-takk]

Some more page illustrations! I chose to imagine the forest elves physically different from high elves since they seemed to be described as almost a different sort of people. So I gave them tails, cus I really wanted to :D

Please click images for better quality, scene description in ALT text!

[lathalea]

One sentence game:

"I cannot do this anymore, Thorin!" you spat out, fists clenched tightly as though it might help you curb the desire to hit him, kiss him, or just burst into tears.

Thank you so much for your ask! It's been a crazy week but I have a moment to catch up with my asks so here I am! Thanks for making my creative brain cells work 💙 I couldn't decide which version to pick, so... how about two? 1. HEAVY ANGST INCOMING, BRING TISSUES (Whoops, I can't count to five, don't count the sentences, okay?)

"I cannot do this anymore, Thorin!" you spat out, fists clenched tightly as though it might help you curb the desire to hit him, kiss him, or just burst into tears. "I can't keep on pretending I barely know you while my mother keeps on searching for a husband for me!"

"After tomorrow, you will not have to any longer. At dawn, I am leaving at dawn to reclaim the home of my people," he held your wrists firmly and yet gently at the same time, pressing your clenched hands against the hardness of his chest, his eyes searching your face. "You will not see me again."

"So… this is goodbye?" You gasped, suddenly starting to tremble, your vision becoming blurry.

A moment before his lips covered yours in a greedy kiss, you heard his murmur, "Zamaralmizi hikhthuzul".

Those were the last words he spoke to you again when the sun painted the sky pink moments before dawn.

***

Countless years have passed; your hair turned from its vibrant colour of youth to the silver of life's winter, and you still wondered what his words may have meant. Finally, you managed to convince a Dwarven merchant passing by your village to translate them for you. "It means 'I will love you forever', my lady," he offered, taking another gulp of your best wine. "May I ask where you have heard this phrase?"

"It is of no consequence," something stung in your chest as you spoke those words. "The Dwarf who spoke those words left the world of living many years ago." You did not say that he had never left your heart. You doubted that the merchant would care.

Zamaralmizi hikhthuzul, Thorin.

2. TRUE LOVE 😍😍😍

This crack drabble is dedicated to @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady because I know how much you are hoping for a slow burn romance fic about the greatest man of Esgaroth…

"I cannot do this anymore, Thorin!" you spat out, fists clenched tightly as though it might help you curb the desire to hit him, kiss him, or just burst into tears. No, not Thorin, but Him. The most handsome and elegant man in the whole Rhovanion - or maybe even in the whole Middle Earth - the man who now stood just a few steps away from you with a knowing smirk.

His alluringly balding head covered with patches of greasy copper hair, his salacious grin that revealed beautifully rotting teeth every time he looked at you, and the heavy scent of spoiled fish mixed with decaying cabbage, so unique his… The one you yearned for was none other than the Master of Laketown, not the Dwarf you had promised to marry a long time ago before you met this great specimen of manhood by the Long Lake.

Without hesitation, you took off your engagement bead from your hair and returned it to Thorin - and turned to the true master of your heart.

Leave me a word or two and tell me how you (dis)liked it! :) P.S. Please, no throwing rotten cabbage at me, okay? Thanks! 😈

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies (2014, Peter Jackson)

03/07/2024

[bricksxbooks]

“Location: Lake-Town”

LEGO Ideas Challenge Entry: Lord of the Rings April 2023 1378 parts Microscale version of Lake-Town MOC

Follow me on LEGO Ideas: bricksxbooks

[tenth-sentence]

Then warning trumpets were suddenly sounded, and echoed along the rocky shores.

"The Hobbit" - J. R. R. Tolkien

[archaic-arda]

Marek Hlavaty

[madcat-world]

Smaug Destroys Esgaroth - Gaius31duke

[lotro-tooltips-daily]

[rhosinthorn]

sinned through avarice

The next segment of beyond a thin veil is now live! I (hopefully) have posted all of the chapters at once, but if that didn’t happen I do intend to get them all up before the end of the day!

You can read it on AO3 (here) only; I accidentally posted down in the forest on FFN and will eventually take that down, but I like AO3′s series function better for this one.

[ox24g]

Bagginshield Week, day 1: Role Reversal/The Shire Falls Instead + Bilbo is the Thain/Is a Royal

I would have liked to colour this, but I'm quite busy on Monday and Tuesday of this week. Thoughts on the AU under the cut!

I mentally overcomplicated this a lot. Like, if Bilbo is to be Thain, then either Isumbras and Belladonna need to swap ages and the Thainship would have to be ambilineal, or a lot of Tooks would have to die. So, the first is what it has to be but the ramifications of that are mind-boggling. Since Belladonna's age has been changed, it's not too much of a mental leap to swap the ages of Dain the first and Borin.

But then you get into the hassle of what a dragon has to do with The Shire and why on earth hobbits would need a dwarf to deal with it.

S O

The dragon is one that's burrowed under ground in The Shire, leaching poision into the earth and causing crops to die (while it's poisionous, it's realatively small, and no hobbits were set ablaze- this is a fun and silly AU, thank you very much). Because of this, the hobbits had to migrate and live in places like Esgaroth and Dale. Bilbo has lofty aspirations of marching and army of hobbits to The Shire with their most potent fertilisers and advanced crop rotation techniques, but Gandalf stops him. This is not a mission that can be handled by brute agricultural force- this is a mission that needs mining. This is a mission that needs a dwarf.

But why do hobbits need a dwarf to dig? Hobbits live in holes! If the dragon is to be dug out, then a hobbit can do just that! No. This is a dragon who is so deep in the earth, they need someone who can dig through stone. And Thorin Oakenshield, unattatched and secretly longing for a pastural life, is just the dwarf to do it!

All that thought for one silly, three panel comic...

[fizzyxcustard]

Those Hands.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Insecurity, comparison, angst, sexual references, mutual pining, idiots in love.

Comments/Notes: From the imagine, "Imagine that Thorin is in love with you (from the race of Men) but constantly compares his body and features with other men, thinking you find him disgusting." Requested by multiple readers and anons. (THANK YOU!)

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Thorin watched every little interaction that you had with other males, whether they be Dwarves, Men or Elves. He couldn’t help but watch you blush, avert eye contact and use self-soothing gestures, such as touching your face, curling your hair with your fingers, or rubbing your upper arms. 

Since Thorin had been crowned King of Erebor, and re-building was underway, many people visited the mountain. Bard came from Esgaroth, often meeting with Thorin in council, to discuss trade deals and assistance in building. Much to Thorin’s distain, Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, also came. Again, he joined the council to converse around the subject of trade deals in precious metals and gemstones.  

Your relationship with Thorin was entirely built on trust. The two of you had been companions out on the road during the quest to re-take Erebor. He had always valued your opinion, spoke with you in private, and kept you close to him on his council of advisors. Erebor was now your home, despite you being of the race of Men. Your family were all gone, meaning that the Dwarves had now taken that place, welcoming you into the fold and treating you as one of their own. 

One morning, council was busy. Neldra, one of the kitchen staff, was on hand with jugs of cold drinks and pots of tea. Then once all the drinks were laid out neatly on intricately laced doilies, she came back with a trolley of fresh pastries. 

The smell was divine; you took an inhale and let the scent overtake you. Apple and cinnamon were among the selection: your favourite. 

You reached out to take one of the pastries, only to feel another hand graze yours. “I apologise,” a voice came, from the direction of the hand. 

It was Bard, from two seats down to your right hand side, who had stretched across to grab one of Neldra’s famous delicacies. “It was no bother,” you replied. “You first.” 

“Ladies first. I insist.” 

Thorin’s blue eyes studied the scene going on before him. No one else had noticed the exchange between you and Bard. Upon the impact of yours and Bard’s hands, Thorin felt a jolt in his chest. It rose up into his throat, and he closed his eyes for a brief second. The red hot sensation bore into him, feeling as if it were forming a hole straight through him. Upon opening his eyes, Thorin looked at his hands, then glanced across to Bard’s. The man’s hands were broad, but his fingers long and slender. Very much unlike Thorin’s. The Dwarf King’s fingers were short and bulky, with stubby ends. Surely Bard’s hands would have the dexterity and skill to caress your skin, drawing shivers from you. A Dwarf’s hands would be too calloused and thick to evoke any kind of pleasurable sensation upon a woman from the race of Men. 

Chatter continued, along with eating and drinking. In that time, Thorin tried his hardest to push the negative thoughts from his mind, and concentrate on the conversation at hand, which involved the realms of Erebor and Esgaroth exchanging skilled workers and apprentices. 

Thranduil was also present and merely rolled his eyes as the conversation got underway between Bard and Thorin. The Elven King did not like to waste his time, and being in this council meant that there were stints of time where his input was not needed. 

“Would you like another drink?” you asked Thranduil, picking up the nearest china pot of tea. 

“I would much prefer wine, but since I’m not within my realm, I would not say no.”

Thorin’s gaze darted over to Thranduil, and then to you. He saw you brush a piece of hair behind your ear, and then look up at the Elven King sat opposite you. Your ears were small, with one golden hoop earring in each lobe. Then Thorin looked at Thranduil’s ears; pointed at the tip, finely structured. They weren’t big, round and sticking out. Thorin’s ears were ugly, and thankfully he could keep them hidden under his long hair. Secretly, he had always imagined you whispering against them, your lips brushing them. It made Thorin shiver. 

Once council had concluded, Thorin left the chamber and headed back to the royal wing. Once inside and he stood in front of his full length dress mirror, staring at the protruding ears on the side of his head. Then he studied his large hands, thinking back to Bard’s. 

The males from the races of Men and Elves made you blush in a way that Thorin never had. Their bodies were more finely crafted, which complemented yours. They had finer features with smaller noses and brows. 

Thorin shifted back and sat on his bed, his hands in his lap. He took one more glance at them, feeling disgusted at what he saw. They would never be good enough for you. None of his body would ever be good enough for you. Everything about him was oversized, not delicate and handsome like Bard and Thranduil. Both of them had lost their wives, and may have wished to re-marry, so they would make better husbands for you. 

***

The following day and Thorin was sat in the council room, signing documents. His quill scratched loudly against the parchment. 

You walked in, holding a further stack of documents in your hands. “These should be the last ones,” you said, offering a smile. 

Thorin looked up at you. No blush on your face to be seen. 

“Is everything alright?” you asked. There was something in his eyes, a thoughtfulness. Maybe even a sadness. You sat down in an empty seat next to Thorin. “What’s wrong?” On impulse, you placed your hand on top of his. 

Thorin looked at your hands, watching your thumb gently caress his knuckle. How huge his hand looked against yours. But how right it felt, as if the size did not matter, and they were still able to fit together as one. 

“There is nothing wrong,” Thorin said, forcing a weak smile. “I hear that Bard is leaving this afternoon. Will you not be wishing him farewell?” 

“I barely know him,” you replied. “I’d feel it strange to do so.” 

“Would you wish to get to know him?” 

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Surely you find him handsome,” Thorin continued, pulling the new stack of documents over towards him. 

“Not really. Can’t say I do. There’s some reason to you asking this, Thorin.” 

“Why would I have any reason?” 

“There’s always a reason to anything that you ask. I know you enough by now. Talk to me. You’ve always given me more trust than I deserve, and never questioned me liked this before.” 

Thorin took a deep inhale and looked at you, dropping his quill. “Who do you find handsome? If not Bard, maybe Thranduil?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Why ever would you think I’m attracted to King Thranduil?” The whole idea was so comical that you couldn’t help but keep giggling. “It takes….” You couldn’t stop the giggling. “A special….kind of woman….to…..” 

Thorin also began to chuckle, watching your face turn red in amusement and delight. His heart somehow felt lighter as he watched you, and that overwhelming love for you rose. It was a love that would allow him to do anything to make you happy. It was a love that would make him sacrifice his very life to keep you safe. It was sacrificial and unconditional. 

You could see the glow in Thorin’s eyes and the smile which curled his lips upwards. He was the one you found handsome, above all others. The intensity in his eyes made butterflies swarm in your stomach. His proud presence caused you to shiver whenever he entered a room. His voice was enough to make your imaginations travel to another place where only the two of you were, locked away in comfort, pursuing wondrous pleasure. 

You edged closer to Thorin. “You said you want to know who I find handsome?” 

Thorin’s heart was hammering now and he was sure that you would be able to hear it. 

“It’s you.” Your voice was a whisper. “It’s always been you. How could it not be you? Why would you ever think I’d be attracted to Bard and Thranduil?” 

Thorin closed his eyes in embarrassment. “My features and body are not like theirs.” 

“So why would that not make you handsome?” 

“My hands…” 

“Your hands?” you giggled. This time a blush did hit your cheeks, and it was even more vivid than it had ever been when in the company of any other man. “You have found out my secret.” 

“What secret?” Thorin asked, shifting ever so slightly closer to you. He had never wanted you any more than he did in those moments. The very thought that it was him that you found handsome was making his whole being rise, but anticipation was now racing down his spine in shivers. 

“I have had a fantasy for some time now, since meeting you, of what you could do to me with those hands,” you said, biting your lip. 

Thorin couldn’t hold back any more and moved even closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek. His breath was elevated and his eyes were sparkling with so much joy, but slight fear. 

His lips crashed against yours and you both groaned upon impact. Within seconds and the kiss had grown deep, your tongues both meeting. You couldn’t help but whimper as Thorin’s lips left yours and trailed down your neck. His beard tickled your skin and then as he grew more impatient, you could feel the tickle become a bristling, sharp sensation. Your hands became lost in his hair as he nuzzled at your neck, groaning and grunting. 

Thorin felt your fingertips brush over his ears, and it drew an overwhelming shiver from his very core. 

“I love you, Thorin,” you said again. “Now show me what you can do with those hands.” 

***

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The Hobbit tag list: @flowerniche

[masterelrond]

LAKE-TOWN

A settlement located on the Long Lake, in the Dale-lands, new Lake-town was built after Esgaroth had been destroyed by Smaug.

[lilacnothlit]

I think it's perfectly fine for them, the grandeur doesn't feel serious - if anything the grandeur juxtaposed nicely with their brokenness by the end - I groaned specifically because I recognized the fiftieth Tolkein reference in the books.

I'm reading (and loving) Eleutherophobia right now and I have to ask is Cassie's last name being Day a play on words because Cassie Day sounds like Cassidy?

It's a play on words, but not that one! It's

a) My high school friend/mentor has a first name close to Cassie and the last name Day, so I originally chose it as a send-up to her.

b) Cassie’s full name being Cassandra Day is then a send-up to Sandra Day O'Connor.

c) I then remembered that Cassie Day is also an Andrew Clements character, so it fits my pattern of stealing names from other books.

I'm not one to put a ton of secret meaning into character names -- I steal them out of books because I hate coming up with them -- but I do like how Cassie Day turned out.

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Boon - Part Five

Thranduil comes to visit you in Esgaroth - one ruler to another.

Thranduil x fem!reader

Rating: Mature. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3,600

Warnings: the pressures of ruling, romantic pressures, mentions of alcohol, mentions of mortality, sleeplessness, weapons, brief fear of intruders

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

You surveyed the stretch of boards ahead of you. These boards were still yellow, freshly hewn from fallen trees. They were bright against the gray waters of the lake and the gray-brown of the older, weathered boards that made up most of Esgaroth. Still, you were displeased. “This is progress, but it still leaves at least a ten minute trip by boat to reach the shoreline.” 

“Surely that is short enough, Queen?” 

You shook your head. “We are discussing farmers. At the end of a long day in the fields, they may choose to swim rather than wait for a boat or fall asleep at their oars. We can hardly afford to lose any farmers. We shall have to continue construction.” 

“But majesty,” one of your advisors protested, “if we continue, we will block the lake. Kings Thranduil, Bard, and Thorin will surely object.” 

It was a fair point and you nodded to acknowledge it. “Then we shall simply have to be more creative as we search for solutions.”

“Perhaps a bridge of some kind, far off the water…” one mused. 

“My queen!” an official called. You turned, already knowing what you would find. As you had expected, Thranduil waited on the main boardwalks of town. “Elvenking Thranduil of the Greenwood has arrived and wishes to meet with you.” 

You waved back, made your excuses to your advisors, and started back up the wooden boardwalk toward the small elven delegation. The trip was not short, but Thranduil never seemed anything less than endlessly patient as you walked. 

When you finally arrived in front of the elves, Thranduil gave an elaborate bow, took your hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “My lovely Queen of Esgaroth.” 

“Thranduil.” 

A look of amused exasperation crossed his beautiful face as he straightened and you stifled a laugh. Thranduil had been officially courting you for months and he still insisted on keeping to the utmost standards of society. You, however, eagerly dropped his title whenever you could get away with it. 

“I have business with King Bard, but I could not resist halting our progress to visit the famed Beauty of the Waters.” Thranduil leaned closer. “Why is it that I never find you in your throne room?” 

The reception hall had been your coronation gift from the Kingdom of Greenwood. It was ostentatious to a remarkable degree, especially when set against the backdrop of Lake Town, but it had been the only thing that stopped Thranduil’s complaints about the rest of your coronation. The ceremony had been plain, certainly - perhaps even stark - but there were other things in Esgaroth that needed funds. It seemed a shame to waste gold on yourself.

“We both know that real business takes place outside of a throne room,” you reminded Thranduil. “Besides, I worry that Smaug will come back to steal the ridiculous gems from the walls.”

Thranduil sniffed, pressing a hand to his chest. “I hand-picked every one of those gems. They remind me of your eyes.” 

“They’re… all white?” you reminded slowly. 

“Yes,” he agreed, unperturbed. “But I did not choose them for their color. I chose them for their sparkle. Their fire. That is what matches your eyes. They are your defining feature, you know.”

For all that you thought he was an arrogant, over-confident ass sometimes, Thranduil did know how to deliver a compliment. To hide your flustered state, you asked, “How long will you stay?” 

“I must be in Dale by sunset,” he told you, regret in his tone. 

With a glance around, you scoffed. “You must leave in minutes if you will arrive there by sunset! You might have just waved from your boat as you passed by.” 

Thranduil was unbothered by your caustic tone. “Ah, but then I could not have done this…”

He swept his long robes back, lowering gracefully onto one knee. The people Lake Town drew closer behind the elven guards, watching the scene with eager expectation. 

After an appropriately long pause, Thranduil started, “My dearest queen of Esgaroth… You enrapture me. You have always done so, from the time you were a bar maid, and it has been my delight watching you rise to the challenges of being queen of what was once called Lake Town.

“Our kingdoms have been joined in matters both of diplomacy and trade to the benefit of all our people. I believe it is time we join in a more permanent alliance.” Thranduil paused, looking up into your eyes with a wide gaze of his own. “Will you agree to be my queen?” 

You smiled down at him, wrapping your hands around his. “No, Thranduil.” 

An appreciate chuckle ran through the crowd. Thranduil stood, not looking distraught in the least. “Very well. We shall depart for Dale. Accompany us to our boat?” 

“Of course,” you agreed, placing your hand on his proffered arm. You chatted pleasantly on the way back to the elves’ boat as the people of Esgaroth called sympathies to Thranduil and wished him better luck the next time. 

Thranduil had been proposing marriage to you since the week after your coronation. It had become something of a spectacle for your people to watch his attempts. There was even a betting pool on how long it would be before you gave in. It was a salve to your ego that there were a number of people who bet you would never agree to marry Thranduil at all.

“I shall return soon,” Thranduil announced, brushing your knuckles with his lips once more before he climbed into the elegantly carved boat. 

The elven guard who had been trailing behind you paused by your side for a moment. “Your highness?” 

“Yes?” you asked expectantly. 

“It was the bar maid line, was it not?” 

You smiled despite yourself. “Among other things.” 

The guard shook his head. “I begged him to reconsider that section.” 

“I believe you.” You offered a small smile to the elf. “Thranduil is a victim only of his own hubris.”

The guard hastily stifled a laugh before he climbed into the boat. You waited long enough to wave as they rowed swiftly across the shining waters of the lake. After an appropriate amount of time, you strode to your office, waving away teasing questions about when you would finally allow yourself to be caught. 

There was far too much to be done. 

Lake-Town - or Esgaroth - was not what it once was, but not all of the changes were negative. Most of the people who had survived Smaug’s attacks had chosen to follow King Bard to settle Dale, but Esgaroth had kept almost a third of its original population. And the town was bolstered by the ever-flowing tide of merchants and travelers who chose to settle on the lake instead of further into the mountains. 

Yes, Esgaroth was growing and changing, developing into a fine community with the makings of an actual economy. There were days when you questioned whether you had been made queen as a joke of some kind and if the townspeople would take it away from you. But there had been no hints of that. 

It probably aided your rule that you weren’t queen full-time. You still ran the Ripple, though you had needed to hire additional help for when you were fulfilling royal duties. Contributing to the local job market - and alcohol provisions - definitely helped your popularity among Esgaroth residents.

The Ripple was nearly empty when you stepped inside. Storr beamed at you from his place behind the bar, giving a bow so deep that you worried (or hoped) that he would bash his forehead against the shining wooden surface. 

“My queen!” Storr cried, drawing the attention of both patrons. They lifted their tankards at you; they knew you well enough to know that was the only acknowledgement you truly welcomed. “To what do we owe this honor?” 

You scowled at him. Storr didn’t take the expression to heart. You had largely left him in charge of the Ripple when you were doing other things around the town, and he had handled the responsibility with grace and a level head. You appreciated everything he did for you and your business… and both of you knew it. 

Still, you filled your tone with steel and venom as you said, “This is my bar, Storr. If you’ve forgotten, perhaps it’s time for me to find a replacement.” 

Storr only laughed, and the sound made you smile back at him. You accepted his brief hug when he had stepped around the bar. “You know I hate when you bow to me.”

“Why else would I do it?” he asked, patting your shoulders as you pulled away. “Kirna and Kell say hello.” 

“Give them my love,” you said instantly. Storr’s wife Kirna had been one of your staunchest supporters even before the town had decided to make you its queen. And his son Kell was wise beyond his four years… and far more energetic than you remembered being as a child. 

“Of course.” Storr sighed. “I know you are far too busy, but remember that you have an open invitation to come for dinner.”

“I am never too busy for friends,” you protested.

Storr cut you off with a loud laugh. “You’re too busy to sleep and eat, let alone visit with lowly town residents.” He winked at you, continuing before you could refute that statement. “While we are on the subject, what brings you to the Ripple this afternoon?” 

“Honey mead.” You glanced toward the back room where you stored the mead as it went through the process of fermentation. None of the casks were visible from where you stood, but you looked anyway. “I need to bottle a few casks. That double batch should be ready for consumption next month.” 

Storr grimaced. “That will be a busy night. Will you be here to help?” 

“I- will do my best,” you said carefully. Sadly, the truth was that you couldn’t know for certain where you would be when the mead was ready. It all depended on what was happening in the town. “I’ll see if I can find someone to come up for extra support for the first few nights.”

The first sign you had of an impending conversation was that Storr followed you to the fermentation room. He had always avoided it, claiming that the smells gave him a headache. 

“What is it?” you asked as the door closed behind him. There was a tangle of fear in your stomach as you waited for whatever news he had. 

“Nothing bad,” he assured. “More a question than a concern. But you will dislike it.” 

That did nothing to soothe your nerves. “Go on.” 

“Perhaps you should consider hiring additional help on a permanent basis,” Storr said, clearly choosing his words with care. 

“I… did hire help…” you reminded slowly. “We have five employees for you to manage, and I assist here as often as I can.” 

“You do, and everyone appreciates your dedication to the Ripple.” Storr’s gaze dipped to one of the casks, studying it like it was fascinating. “But the demands of being queen mean that you can’t be here when you say you will, even if you do your best to come. And the problems will only grow worse when you marry Thranduil.” 

The stinging ache of guilt in your chest was frozen in place at the unexpected conclusion to Storr’s point. “Thranduil? He has no bearing on this situation. I have no intention of marrying him.” 

Storr aimed a dry look in your direction. “I heard he proposed earlier.” 

“And I said no,” you told him. “As I always do.” 

“Yes, but you will not refuse him forever.” Storr shook his head, looking somewhat mournful at the idea. “The two of you have been courting for almost two years. Marriage is the eventual goal of courtship, is it not?” 

“Technically speaking…” you trailed, trying not to look as uncomfortable as you felt. With a sigh, you chose to confide in your friend. “I will not marry Thranduil. I cannot. It could never work between us, not for any real length of time. He sees me as I am and is blind to the way I will be. The years will weigh me down in a way that will not happen to him. If I am the only one to see our future clearly, it is my burden to keep him from making that mistake.” 

To your surprise - and mild hurt - Storr seemed to find that amusing. “Such disdain for your Elvenking, even after so long a time… But now, as back when you first met him, I believe you may be misjudging Thranduil.”

You huffed out a sigh. "I do not understand you, Storr. First you claim to be concerned that I will marry Thranduil and now you seem to be angling for that very result. Was my argument that unsound?" 

"No, I think Thranduil is more determined than you seem to believe." 

You opened the first cask of honey mead, letting it hiss slowly as you moved to the next. With the sound of a half-dozen snakes filling the room, you turned to Storr and frowned. “I believe I am at least his match in determination, if not more. You should not be so certain that he will convince me.” 

Storr dragged a hand over his face. “I am not trying to start another competition between he and you. Or even myself and you. I am simply saying that you are more likely to listen to reason.” 

“And how has marrying an immortal elven king become a reasonable option?” you demanded. 

“When you started courting him.” That seemed like a jest and you narrowed your eyes at Storr. He made a helpless sort of gesture. “What I mean is that he pressed your courtship. He encouraged your placement as queen of Esgaroth. Now he is insisting that the two of you be married. Maybe it is not reasonable for him to push for this, but your reasons for fighting him are ones that will be to his detriment, not yours. Do you want to marry him?” 

You began pouring the settled mead into gallon jugs. They would be prepared for the final fermentation process when you were done, and ready for consumption only a few weeks after that. You had hoped that the delay in your answer would distract Storr, but he watched you and waited patiently. 

“That is not the point,” you said eventually, avoiding the question entirely. “Thranduil does not think about the future.” 

“I disagree,” Storr said decisively. “I believe he thinks almost exclusively about the future. Most elves do. We now get enough of them in here to know. Maybe Thranduil just believes the present outweighs the future.” 

“He is wrong.” You punctuated your point with a sharp slap, using the motion to force a cork into the mouth of a bottle. 

“Have you explained your reasoning to him?” 

It was a fair point, and you grimaced. “No. But only because he has not given me the chance.” 

“Then he will only keep asking,” Storr pointed out. “And he may eventually grow discouraged by your refusals.”

You laughed at that, and Storr eventually joined you. It was difficult to imagine Thranduil being discouraged by much of anything. He pursued what he wanted whole-heartedly until he had gotten it, without exception. 

But still, you were thinking about Storr’s words long after you had bottled your mead and left the Ripple. In fact, you were thinking about them so hard that you had trouble falling asleep that night. 

It was ridiculous, and you were half-tempted to take Storr up on his offer only to lecture him at his home. The day had been long and your body was exhausted… but your brain refused to stop tossing up possibilities for the future, and you were dragged reluctantly along for each scenario. 

When the knock sounded at your door, you were grateful for the interruption. 

However, you were not so grateful that you left behind the light, elven-forged short sword that Thranduil had gifted you. He had intended it for decorative purposes, meant to adorn your hip as you were crowned queen, but he had warned that elvish weapons only dulled after hundreds of years of constant use. The short sword would serve as a handy weapon if your unexpected guest was less friendly than you wished (or far too much more).

When you opened the door to find Thranduil on the other side, you let the blade dip until the tip was nearly brushing the floor. The Elvenking’s dark brows were arched high on his forehead, his gaze moving quizzically from the sword to your face. 

“Late night sparring practice?” he drawled. 

You shook your head and stepped aside to let him in. “I was not expecting to see you again tonight. Did you not arrive in Dale by sunset?” 

“I arrived with time to spare,” Thranduil assured you, closing and locking the door securely behind you both. “You need a larger home. One befitting the role of a queen. If there are none in Esgaroth to your liking, I could always have something constructed…” 

“Thranduil, focus,” you commanded, watching the glow of amusement on his face. “What happened? Why are you not in Erebor now? I thought you were meant to be treating with King Thorin?” 

“I seem to have offended him,” he said, offering an unconcerned shrug. “He ordered me to leave and I believed it was best to oblige him. His youth gives his temper an unwise edge.” 

“He’s older than anyone I’ve ever met,” you argued, grimacing at the dry look Thranduil gave you. “Present company excluded, of course.” 

“That may be,” Thranduil sniffed, “but it makes him ill-suited for leadership, especially in a situation like ours, in which so many kingdoms occupy such a small space.”

“His people seem to believe his leadership is excellent,” you countered. “As do the people of Dale. Besides, I believe your opinion has not been requested.” 

“And yet it should have been,” Thranduil climbed the ladder up to the second floor of your home with ease and remarkable speed, offering a hand to pull you up the ladder after he had reached the top. “Considering that mine is the largest of the kingdoms. And I hope to make it still larger when our kingdoms combine.” 

You sighed. “I lack the energy to have this argument once more. Not today. Can we discuss something else?” 

“Of course,” the Elvenking soothed, drawing you into his arms. You settled in that embrace, your cheek pressed against the delicate weave of Elven fabric. It did not muffle the steady beat of his heart, and you were thankful for that. “Perhaps you would like to tell me why you are awake so late.” 

“I… would rather not,” you hedged. If you even hinted at the way Storr’s words had been eating at you, Thranduil would consider you as good as wed. And while you disliked the idea of him losing interest and moving on, your concerns were valid enough that they demanded a solution. “Why are you here, Thranduil? I am happy to see you, but-” 

“-but I was hardly expected,” Thranduil finished for you. “As I said, Thorin removed me from the halls of Erebor, but Bard is still there. I decided to send my guards back to the Greenwood rather than stay in Dale. And when I saw the candlelight behind your shutters, I came here instead of returning to my own kingdom.” 

“Because it’s closer for you to return to Erebor tomorrow?” you asked. 

Thranduil laughed softly. “You know Thorin well enough to know that I will not be welcomed back into his kingdom for at least a fortnight. No, I simply concluded that my time would be far better spent here.” 

You stared up at him, making note of the soft fondness that filled his haughty, fine-boned face. “You… are too kind.” 

“Do not mistake my honesty for simple flattery,” he told you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I enjoy your company and I prefer to think that you like mine as well. No, I know for certain that you enjoy my company. I would know if you did not - you are far too honest not to have told me so.” 

You huffed out a laugh despite yourself and Thranduil smiled. With the barest hint of pressure against your lower back, he urged you toward the ladder that took you up to the highest floor of your home. “Come, it is surely past time for you to be in bed.” 

The idea of the Elvenking himself ordering you to bed would have made you laugh if only it sounded less appealing. So you let him shepherd you upstairs and into bed. When you had gone to answer the door, you had only pulled on the minimum amount of clothing to protect yourself from the lake breezes. It took only moments to undress once more.

Thranduil never suffered any crisis of confidence, so he stripped bare and slid between the sheets beside you. The warmth of his body next to yours put you in an even deeper state of relaxation, especially as his hand found yours beneath the cover of your quilt. His thumb traced gentle strokes over the back of your hand, almost hypnotic in its steadiness. 

Maddeningly, you still could not fall asleep.

---

Author's Note - There is definitely going to be a second part tomorrow.

Thanks for reading!

[tenth-sentence]

But all the men of arms who were still able, and the most of the Elvenking's array, got ready to match north to the Mountain.

"The Hobbit" - J. R. R. Tolkien