#Post BOTFA

[morningnoodles]

BotFA post credit scene was so good i had to draw it ❤

[wolf-in-a-trenchcoat]

So uh

You ever wonder if Bilbo sat expecting visits from the Company, and every time he heard a knock at his door he gets up from his seat or stops what he was doing to open it with the biggest smile and a "Balin!" Or "Ori!" Only to see it was his neighbor?

Maybe he cooks extra every meal, and while he's eating he waits for the sound of rough-housing dwarves to come barreling through for lunch or supper. He sits alone at the table, waiting so painfully patient for a visitor that isn't a hobbit.

Or, maybe, he sits out front on his bench and watches the horizon in case he can see a group of travelers that look vaguely like the Company.

Maybe, when he has everything in Bag End back to normal, he always makes tea at the promised time. Maybe he talks to himself, like he was talking to Oin or Nori. Has 10- no, 13- tea cups set out untouched by visitors that never come.

Every day, every week, every month.

Do you think, eventually, he stops? That he stares at the door with an almost contemptuous glare that seemed betrayed? What about his neighbors? They stop by with warm smiles and it's returned with a scowl and empty eyes that say "You're not who I want here".

Maybe he stops answering the door in general. As a matter of fact, he avoids it entirely- its existence is only to taunt him of who he made a life with that forgot about him.

[frostbite-n]

That one specific Bagginshield fanfic

Friends, Romans and Country-men. Lend me your ears. I have been searching for a Bagginshield fanfic for the longest time and have not been able to find it.

The fic is about how Bilbo post-Botfa remains in Erebor and learns Khuzdul, but uses the royal terms to address himself and insults Dain Ironfoot at least once. Most of that is due to the fact that Fili and Kili are involved in his Khuzdul education and are pulling pranks on him with different words and their meanings.

As far as I can remember he also greets Thorin with a "Good morning, lowly one" once.

I beg you, if you know that fic, find it, have the pdf or anything. Please help me find it.

[lonelyvermonster]

There, But Never Really Back

TW: Mentions of death and PTSD

While watching The Hobbit I began to think about what it must have been like for Bilbo after he returned home. The books and movies don't talk about the trauma. How much of bilbos life must have been different after the quest. The other hobbits talk about how reclusive he becomes in his later years, but I want to know more from bilbos side.

How terrifying it must have been for Bilbo the first night he slept in his own bed; finally safe again, only to awake screaming. Blood and fire and dead blue eyes haunting him. I wonder how many years it took Bilbo before he no longer carried Sting everywhere he went. How much longer still before he stopped needing to check to make sure that horrifying blue glow didn't come back. It may not have been present in the books or the movie, but Sting gained a permanent place next to Bilbo's bed.

It didn't take long for Bilbo to pull away from everyone else but it's only because how could he possibly expect them to understand. How could the innocent hobbits who have never known war and death be able to understand the haunted look in his eyes? How odd he must have seemed. The only Hobbit who wouldn't eat any stew at the gatherings and parties. The only Hobbit who shrunk away from hugs because being grabbed was no longer comforting.

Do you think the first time someone tried to pull him into a hug he was overtaken with fear, Thorin's name slipping from his lips?

Do you think Bilbo noticed the way people would stare at him? The Hobbit's may have noticed him pull away, but I don't think they noticed the rest. They may have heard about trolls and dragons, but they didn't know about the sickly little creature he found in that cave. They didn't know about the nights he would wake up frightened, eyes searching for the shadows for Gollum. His neighbors didn't notice how he froze up the first time he heard a little hobbitling ask for some "eggsies". He still spun the occasional riddle but there were some he never repeated again.

Then there is the protectiveness that often comes from the trauma of watching others die.

How odd it must have been for Merry and Pippin's parents to watch Bilbo fiercely defend them against those who disapproved of their pranks and yet in the next breath berate them for the danger they put themselves in. The first time the boys got hurt bilbo could barely stand to see them; the image of two young dwarves who he had loved like family all his mind could see.

God how much worse that must have been when Frodo came along.

Dark black curls and bright blue eyes. Just close enough to haunt him. When that little hobbitling came into his life, how much of his decision to take him in was because he looked like Thorin? How many nights did Bilbo peak his head into Frodo's room to reassure himself that Frodo was alive and breathing, rather than laying on a stone slab? He protected him the way he could not protect his dwarf. Yet he also never bought him a single piece of clothing that was blue.

He filled that hobbit hole with greens and yellows and browns. Never blue. That color was perhaps the deepest tie to the pain he carried. Blue fabric, blue eyes, blue light; all capable of spiraling him into a pit of hellish memories. There were days he could not even bear to go outside because even the blue of the sky was too much.

Because at the end of the day Gandalf was right.

Bilbo was not the same, and he never would be again.

[consultingpacha]

A silly little something I sketched a while ago 😅 Bilbo u dumbass

[enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog]

~Best of Intentions~

Chapter 18-

****************

Several weeks later …

Mistlynn was snuggled further into her soft pillows as she felt the suns warm rays fall upon her face. She stretched leisurely, before turning around to feel towards Thorin's side. The sheets were cold, only a faint lingering of his smokey scent still present on his pillow. Her brow furrowed as she slowly opened her eyes. Although their honeymoon was over, he had never woken up and left without giving her a kiss goodbye.

Mistlynn pushed herself up on her elbows, confused. She squinted as she peered out into the bright morning light. She could see the ravens flying back and forth in front of the window, as they prepared for their day.

She couldn't remember if Thorin had anything of importance scheduled for that day, especially since it was a Sunday. She pushed the heavy blankets back and placed her feet onto the cold stone floor, causing her to shiver as her body protested the adjustment. Autumn was upon them.

Mistlynn reached for her heavy robe and threw it on quickly. As she began to unravel her hair from its braid, the sound of soft music echoed into the room. She paused her movement as the music flowed in. She had never heard such music before, and it seemed to be coming from the living quarters of their suite.

She silently made her way towards the door. The melody was eerily familiar, like a distant dream it awakened within her the voice she had been forced to keep hidden within her. It was a lullaby her mother used to sing them she realized, and a sudden rush of bittersweet emotion flooded her.

She peered around the doorway and saw Thorin seated in one of their plush chairs, with a golden instrument placed between his knees and tilted up against his shoulder. His fingers danced across the strings, the source of the beautiful music. It was unlike any instrument she had ever seen.

She noticed he was also lost within the music he was creating, and the long-forgotten need to sing fluttered in her stomach. She found herself closing her eyes as her body began to sway in time with the melody. Faint, distorted memories surged up unbidden of her mother's face and hauntingly beautiful voice. She hadn't been able to conjure a memory of her mother for many years. And for the first time, since she was a young child, she lost herself to the music.

*****************

Thorin

He had awoken early with a start, his heart pounding in his chest as a slight sweat made the sheets of the bed cling to his chest. He grimaced as he ran a hand over his face. He looked over at Mistlynn who was still sleeping peacefully and sighed in relief. His nightmare had been disturbing, and he was not ready to share that part of his past yet. He had felt Mistlynn stir next to him as he fought to control the shaking of his body as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

He couldn't allow her to see him like that. He was still reeling from the discovery of his grandfather's journal and of the disturbed ramblings. He leaned up against the headboard, breathing heavily as he ran a shaking hand through his sweat dampened hair. First the journal, now these confusing night terrors. He had to speak to Balin about this. But he couldn't bring himself to. Not yet. Just a few more days of peace.

He looked over at his sleeping wife, and he felt his anxiety loosen its grip on him. His gaze caressed her silhouette, her pale skin flawless and barely wrapped in the white silken sheet. He leaned down, allowing himself to nuzzle her neck before placing a loving kiss to her bare shoulder. She stirred slightly, his name escaping her lips as a contented sigh. He breathed her in, her scent and warmth soothing him. He smiled against her soft skin as he felt her surrender to sleep fully once again before he pulled himself away to slip out of bed without disturbing her.

He didn't dream of Frerin and Vili often, but when he did it was heart wrenching, no matter the many decades that had passed since they last walked among the living.

They had been there, during the time he would rather forget. But it was too soon, and the guilt was too fresh, especially since Bilbo was still visiting. He was happy that their friend had agreed to stay for the winter and travel home in the spring, but with every interaction, every meal and conversation the ice-cold voice of doubt and guilt whispered to him how close he had been to killing his friend over that accursed stone that was now locked away in the deepest crevices of the treasury vaults.

Instead of Dwalin and Bilbo, it had been Frerin and Vili standing before him in the newly reclaimed throne room, as he sat adorned in his deceased grandfather's godly royal robes. He could feel the cold, heavy pressure of the Raven crown sitting on his head. They had glared at him accusingly. The dragon sickness had vanished, its suffocating presence and serpent like hiss no longer had its deadly coils wrapped around his consciousness. He had begged and pleaded for forgiveness before their unforgiving gaze as they continued to stare down at him as he collapsed onto his knees.

"Please, I beg you. Forgive me." He rasped as he fought back the tears he felt burning behind his eyes. "I brought them home. We are home now."

"You are just like him." Frerin's pale lips moved, the hardness of his voice cutting Thorin to the very core of his being.

He shook his head desperately. "No Frer, No I am not him. I am nothing like him."

"You are a slave to that stone, just like our grandfathers were. There is no hiding from it, it is in your blood." Frerin pointed at him reproachfully. "It is not ours to keep, yet you hold on to it still. Do you think locking it away truly vindicates the bloodstains on our family name?"

"Tell me what I need to do?" He begged. "Tell me what I need to do, and I shall do it."

"Give it to the one who is meant to wield it." Vili's voice echoed in the massive cavern. "Or it will destroy you all."

Thorin was breathing heavily as an unsettling cold began to seep into him. "What … what do you mean wield it. It is a stone. A gem. Not a weapon."

Frerin and Vili both seemed to waiver, as if they were mirages in his fevered mind. Both images of his brothers flickered, distorting as his ears began to ring, "She is the heart, Thorin. Do not lose her. Only she can bring about the balance that was lost to our people."

Thorin sat back on his heels, staring in confusion as he watched them disappear, slowly disintegrating into glowing flakes of ash and smoke. "No." he breathed as he stumbled back to his feet, pulling Orcist from its sheath as the ash flurried and grew into a familiar shape. Serpent like eyes stared down at him menacingly as a blood curdling voice surrounded him.

"You cannot escape destiny, Thorin Oakenshield." Smaug hissed as smoldering ash became fiery red embers as a likeness of the fire drake manifested before his eyes. "You were never supposed to awaken from the sickness. You were supposed to be his to control."

Thorin bared his teeth in rage as his grip tightened on the hilt of Orcist. "I belong to no one!"

The image of Smaug cackled. "You cannot stop what is coming! You and all of your kin will perish. He will claim what is rightfully his!"

He felt his body shake with a thunderous fury. "I'll stand in your way. As I always have." His eyes glowed, like the deep waters of the sea ablaze with the orange fire of the setting sun. Black whisps of smoke and ash whipped around the flame body of Smaug.

“You will fall, in eternal shame, as your father and grandfather before you." The fire drake reared up, his black wings of smoke flaring out before lunging towards the enraged Dwarf King.

Thorin launched himself toward his reincarnated foe, Orcist held aloft and aimed toward the blackened heart of the beast. He could feel the heat of the raging fire drake as he sprinted towards him, prickling his skin as he drew closer with each passing second. Just as he was about to clash, to sink his sword into the drakes body, he felt as if he was dragged from his dream with a vice like grip. It was then that he had reeled awake, sweat beaded along his skin as his heart raced.

He had washed himself quickly, eager to chase away the evidence of his nightmare from his skin. He dressed quietly before slipping out of the bedroom and into the main living area. It wasn't long before he had a fire blazing in the fireplace. He made several attempts to read through waiting correspondence before he gave that up. His mind was still in shambles from his nightmare, its hidden meaning lost to him. He sighed as he leaned back into his chair, rubbing his face wearily as he tried to quiet his mind.

He stared into the fire for a few moments before his gaze wandered over to his old harp, sitting in the corner of the room. The desire to play welled up inside him. He couldn't remember when he had last played. He found himself sitting back down in front of the fire with the instrument leaning against him. He let his fingers drift over the strings, softly strumming the cords before he lost himself in the music.

He was brought back to the present when he heard an angelic voice join in with one of his Amad's favorite lullabies she used to sing to him and his siblings. He looked up, his fingers faltering slightly in shock as he watched Mistlynn sway in time with the melody he was playing. Her eyes were closed, her arms wrapped around herself as she sang along, her voice carrying with a soul searing power that reverberated in the room around them.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her as the words fell from her lips flawlessly, the pure beauty of her voice hypnotizing him as he watched a whole new side of her unravel and bloom right before his very eyes. He felt his skin prickle as goosebumps erupted along his arms clear up to the nape of his neck as her voice carried the last notes in perfect harmony as their music faded, sinking into the walls of the mountain that surrounded them.

His mouth agape, he placed his harp upright as he slowly stood from his seat. She opened her eyes, blinking as if awakening from a trance. "I didn't know you could play such music. What kind of instrument is that? It is so beautiful." She smiled softly as she watched him approach her.

Thorin couldn't help but chuckle. "That was a harp. And I am very out of practice, you, on the other hand…" he trailed off as he linked his hands with hers. "Mistlynn…your voice…I had no idea you could sing like that."

Her smile grew bashful as she shrugged. "Oh, I haven't sung since I was a young child. Since before my mother died." Her smile faded slightly as her eyes became shadowed with a deep sadness. "My father didn't like me singing. He forbade me to do so after she passed on. She was teaching me. That lullaby was one of the last songs she taught me."

"Your father forbade you from singing?" Thorin couldn't believe what she was telling him. He fought to conceal the anger that began to well up inside of him. The idea of her father subduing her gifts from the Valar incensed him. He was determined to help her out of this protective shell she had erected around herself,

She shrugged again, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the topic. "I think it reminded him too much of my mother." She wrapped her arms around his neck, brushing her nose against his. "I would sing when I was alone of course, but as I got older, I just got too busy. Hearing you play that lullaby made me want to sing for the first time in decades. You play beautifully."

Thorin chuckled as he pulled her closer, his hands resting possessively on her waist. "Your performance was much more impressive M'eudail. But thank you." He nuzzled his nose with hers teasingly before capturing her smiling lips in an alluring kiss. Her giggle quickly became a muffled squeal as he pulled her back towards the chair he had been sitting on and directly into his lap. "Any other hidden talents you are keeping from me Kurdunuh?" He growled playfully into her neck as his hands wandered over the silk nightdress that hugged her body.

"You are one to talk, your royal stubbornness." She gasped in mock offense as she pressed her hands into his shoulders, forcing him to sit back so that she could see the teasing smirk on his face.

His hands fell to rest on the top of her bare thighs, allowing him to trace invisible patterns with his fingertips. He relished the delicious flush of pink that dusted her chest and the apples of her cheeks as she tried to squirm against his ministrations.

"I am not the one hiding a voice that could bring Mahal himself to his knees."

"I wasn't hiding it. The opportunity to share never presented itself." She shrugged. "Now, should we head down to breakfast?"

Her stomach fluttered in eager anticipation as she watched his smirk transform into a lecherous grin. "It is terrible form to skip right to second breakfast."

Her head tilted slightly to the side as she looked at him in confusion. "We haven't had breakfast yet?" She couldn't help the squeak that escaped her lips as he jumped up from the chair, trapped in his arms before pinning her down on the couch, trapping her body under his.

"We have yet to indulge in our first breakfast." His lustful growl made her gasp as she felt his hands slip under her nightgown and travel up slowly, teasing her skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. "I am ravenous for you above all else." He breathed hotly into her ear before teasing her earlobe with his teeth.

It wasn't surprising to anyone when breakfast was missed by the newlyweds.

**********

"So, how is married life treating you?" Bilbo smiled knowingly as he walked with Thorin along the carved path of the garden.

He had never seen Thorin so relaxed, a heart lifting exuberance radiated from the Dwarf King. He watched his friend smile with an ease he had only ever seen on Fili before a bashful huff of a laugh escaped him. "It is … very good." He looked down at the hobbit, who was chucking while he puffed on his pipe.

A couple, skillfully smoke circles floated ahead of them. "Good indeed." Bilbo chuckled. "If I didn't know better, I would be greatly disturbed by the constant smile on your face."

"I do not walk around with a smile on my face." Thorin groused as he forced a grumpy scowl on his face. He succeeded to hold the scowl for only a few moments before he had to press his lips together to stop the smile threatening to take over his face once again. Bilbo laughed heartedly as he watched the Dwarf King's trademark scowl give away into a rueful grin.

"You have it bad my friend." Bilbo chortled as he shook his head. "Not that it's a bad thing. It is very good indeed. You and your people deserve this, Thorin."

Thorin looked down at his feet as he stopped walking, his smile fading slightly as he turned to face Bilbo.

"I fear it is the calm before the storm Bilbo. My people are still scattered throughout all Arda, and the alliance between the seven dwarven kingdoms is still in shambles. Some of the dwarven lords are not happy with my marriage to Mistlynn, two of which have refused to answer any correspondence since we retook Erebor, and I claimed the throne."

Bilbo cocked his head to the side as he studied Thorin, his mouth playing with his pipe. "They came when you called that meeting before the Quest?"

Thorin nodded. "They were not thrilled then, and it's obvious they still very much opposed to my claim."

"Are they not supposed to swear their allegiance to you? Being the descendant of Durin the Deathless?"

Thorin shrugged, his good-natured smile now completely gone. "That was the way of it, with my forefathers and theirs. My Irak'adad's infliction with the Arkenstone put a strain on many of our alliances. It fostered feelings of resentment amongst our people, and that only grew after the slaughter of our armies in the Battle of Azanulbizar. We are no longer a united people. And my One being of an unknown clan with a mixed heritage didn't help inspire much confidence in my ability to lead."

Bilbo frowned. "Didn't inspire confidence? What! You reclaimed Erebor! You fought against Smaug, defeated Azog and his army, you reestablished your alliances with Mirkwood and Dale …" He shook his head in irritation. "You were strong enough to fight against the influence of the Arkenstone."

Thorin shook his head. "It still affected me Bilbo and I have made many mistakes." He sighed heavily. "I don't allow myself to enter the treasury, I have the Arkenstone locked away deep in the mountain vaults. That is not a secret. No matter what I do, my Irak'adad's indiscretions keep making a reappearance." The admittance was bitter on his tongue, making him grimace. "During our honeymoon, I found one of my Irak'adad's journals." He began, his voice deep and heavy with some unspoken burden. He turned towards one of the benches that was placed alongside the garden walkway. He sat down and placed his elbows on his knees.

Bilbo cocked an eyebrow as he took a deep pull from his pipe. He sat down next to Thorin and let more smoke rings escape his mouth. He looked at Thorin's defeated pose before he nudged him with his shoulder and held out his pipe in offering. Thorin raised his head from his hands and looked at the pipe. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face, much to Bilbo's relief. Thorin took a deep inhale from the pipe, held it deep in his chest, then let it out. He felt the tension leave him, as if escaping on the faint autumn breeze along with the exhaled smoke.

"Have you told Balin about it?" Bilbo asked, his tone neutral.

Thorin sighed again as he handed Bilbo back his pipe. "No. I've told no one."

Bilbo nodded thoughtfully. "It was that bad huh?"

Thorin shook his head again. "The beginning was perfectly fine, but then the dragon sickness started to take hold, And his paranoia took on a whole new life." Thorin swallowed thickly. "It was really hard to read."

Bilbo was quiet, as he watched Thorin sit up straighter in his seat as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. "A lot of it didn't make sense. Towards the end of the journal, from what I could tell, he got a letter delivered by some sort of bird he had never seen before. It was from a Dwarf King in the North, demanding the return of the Iklal Kurdu or he would march on Erebor and take it by force. That it was his kin's right to wield it. The timeline of the entry explains a lot of things… according to the date of the entry it was right before Thranduil came to collect his wife's necklace. And my Irak'adad denied his claim. He also became suspicious of the other Dwarf Lords; our alliances became strained after that as well. My Adad and I never could figure out what caused it. Now I know"

"Did this Dwarf King give his name?"

"Varric. He didn't give a name of his kingdom. But if he threatened war… he had some military backing."

Bilbo nodded, his mind churning with all this new information. "What is the Iklal Kurdu?"

Thorin shook his head again. "It means 'Cold Heart' in our tongue." He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I've never heard of it."

"It must be terribly important if one King threatens another over it." Bilbo mused. "Do you have any idea what it could be?"

"I don't. It has to be a weapon of some kind. My family weapons have all been smithed by our own hands, we have nothing that has an unknown origin, especially in the time of my grandfather. Any weapon not made by dwarf hands was forbidden."

"That is a strange name for a weapon." Bilbo tapped his pipe against his chin thoughtfully. Thorin snorted in amusement.

"My thought exactly. Not a typical name for a weapon used in battle. I've had Ori go over records of our weapons, the ones that have gained notoriety amongst my people. He has found nothing that comes close to that name or description."

"What Dwarven Kingdoms are in the North?"

"The Grey Mountains. But they were settled by my forefathers. Dragons and Orcs were too much to fight off, so they came back here to Erebor and others to the Iron Hills. We have some mining camps farther North but that's it. No kingdoms have been established outside of Durin's folk, and they are loyal to me."

Bilbo hummed as he let out another couple smoke rings. "What about the White Kingdom." The hobbit let the question hang in the air, and it quickly became heavy between them. "Mistlynn was their princess correct? What is her father's name?"

Thorin blinked as he silently berated himself for not even considering Mistlynn's people. "She told me her Adad is a recluse, that he has forbidden any contact with any kingdom outside of the Northern Wastes."

"That is her father. What about her Grandfather?"

"I've never asked. And she has never volunteered the information." Thorin's tone became low and quiet. "Honestly Bilbo, I didn't even consider her people. Until she came, her people were just a myth."

"I'm not suggesting that Mistlynn is intentionally keeping things from you. From what I've gathered, she would rather forget her homeland, her people and begin anew here with you." Bilbo paused as he gave Thorin a pointed look. "But I doubt her people have stayed hidden for centuries. It may not be her father, but what of her grandfather? Or her ancestors? If some of these other Dwarf Lords are so upset that you have married her, it must be for a reason. Whether they know something of her kingdom or not, there is no way a kingdom of dragon slaying dwarves and elves have kept completely to themselves."

"I assumed they were upset due to her elven lineage. But word of my alliance with Dale and Mirkwood has reached them as well. My family's history with the Ironfists and the Stiffbeards have always been tedious. I wasn't surprised when they refused to assist me with my quest to reclaim Erebor." Thorin had stood up and began to pace in front of Bilbo who was still seated on the bench.

"You, along with the company, are the most forward-thinking dwarves I have heard of. Even your people here are starting to become more open minded when it comes to the other races. This will be seen as a threat to other clans, as I was perceived by you at the beginning of our quest. But I am sure you will be able to persuade them, especially with Mistlynn at your side. You just need to get to the bottom of this threat that your grandfather received, and the rest should fall into place. And I believe the answer lies with the White Kingdom." Bilbo closed his lips around his pipe as he continued to hum thoughtfully, outright ignoring the incredulous stare Thorin was giving him at that moment.

"I didn't see you as a threat." Thorin mumbled gruffly as he stopped pacing to look at Bilbo directly.

Bilbo tossed his head back and laughed heartily. "Indeed, I was, my friend. A burden. A nuisance. A threat. No need to be ashamed of that. I had just as much to prove to myself as I did to you. Our friendship is the stronger for it." Bilbo swung his feet as he gave Thorin a cheery grin.

Thorin's lip twitched with a promise of a smile, but he couldn't allow it. Not with his thoughts racing with all Bilbo had given him to think about.

Bilbo was shrewd, and had a knack for sensing inner turmoil, especially when it came to his friends. "Why have you not spoken to Balin about this?"

Thorin let out a resigned huff as he looked down at his boots. "I've put Balin through enough with Dragon sickness. To have him read my Irak'adad's journal when he was in the height of his sickness …" he trailed off his thought before he brought his gaze back up to meet Bilbo's. "I've been having dreams since I read that journal. Dreams that don't make sense …" he stopped. His eyes shifted back down to the ground before him. "But they do."

Bilbo's brows furrowed as he watched Thorin's expression change from confusion, frustration, then suddenly realization.

"Durin's beard." Thorin exhaled, as he rubbed his face with his palm. "The Arkenstone, Mistlynn."

"I am sorry. What?" the hobbit shifted his weight forward as he looked at Thorin, intrigued.

"My dream. I had a dream of Frerin and Vili. They told me it was hers to wield. That it was never ours to keep."

Bilbo's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "You're brother? What is hers to wield?"

Thorin swallowed thickly. His mouth became dry as if it was filled with sand. "The Arkenstone." He breathed.

*******

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @fizzyxcustard

[acornsandoaktrees]

this is why Thranduil doesn’t leave Middle Earth right after BotFA. he has his daughter’s health and healing to protect, and is in a unique position to do so

Alphes woke alone, reaching. "Tauriel?" She cried, voice barely there, then with more desperation and strength, "Tauriel?" "She is not here." Haerel answered her call. Brun braids and olive skin, nervous hands and stitched face. "Where is she?" Alphes croaked, chest impossibly tight. She wanted her, wanted her, wanted her. The soldier swallowed thickly. "Gone. She's gone." Feeling for the support of an armrest, he fell into a chair beside her. "She left the morn after the battle. Slipped away in the twilight. I saw her go." Alphes turned her eyes to the caved ceiling: unfamiliar white, a tent. She was in a cot. Fine fabric of clothes and a thin sheet stung her skin. Fragrant herbs caught in her nose. The rest of the camp was quiet outside walls rippling in a breeze, and a consuming heat lingered within her. "Why did you not--" A cough tore her throat and spiked through her torso in horrible lances, "--pursue?" Folding his hands into his lap in order to still them, Haerel looked down. "She meant to go. Someone met her at the edge of camp." "Who?" Alphes tried to shift up, then grimaced and relinquished quickly. Haerel watched with caution and no small amount of fragility; hers or his she could not say. "I do not know. A Man. A girl." Sigrid, perhaps, her mind suggested. What was Tauriel thinking? Tears pricked Alphes' eyes like fire. How could she leave? Haerel shifted, paused, then committed to standing. He bowed haltingly and rose stiffly. "I must find a healer so that they know you're awake." Alphes nodded and let him go without complaint. Later, healers helped her rise, cloud of pillows propping her up. Ethuilas -- she'd accompanied the military force, their greatest healer -- held her hand as the bandages were removed, not complaining even when she squeezed tight at the sting of salve. 'Our healing saves many things, but it cannot prevent the scars,' she signed to the princess as the burns were covered again, 'This mark will be with you forever.' Alphes pulled in a breath; Thranduil burst into the tent. He was breathing fast, evidently having sprinted all the way. His face was drained white with terror. "Aiya," he muttered, wind knocked out of him by the sight of Alphes awake on the cot. She looked incredibly like her aunt's burnt corpse animate. Alphes smiled at her father, shifting up higher against the pillows. "Hi, Ada. I'm okay, don't worry."

Legs giving out beneath him, Thranduil collapsed at her bedside and clasped her pale hand between his. He brought it up to his quivering lips. "I thought I had lost you, iellig," he whined in a broken whisper upon her skin. She did not know what to say to comfort him. She wished she could. He had lost another, hadn't he? What a horrible thing -- to know the touch of dragon fire.

[conversacomsmaug]

My King...

[ohnonotnow]

the only thing keeping me sane rn are those post BOTFA AUs where no one dies and everyone is happy 💯🔥🙏

[lucigoo]

Weekly Roundup 9th June - 30th June

So, im a little behind with weekly round up as im sure you can see. A broken wrist and RL really has been kicking my arse. Thankfully my wrist ismuch better and Rl seems to have calmsed down somewhat so im back. Between the 9-30th June I uploaded 19,849 words (thats not all I wrote but I didnt keep track lol) and as always I will put 6 recs and mine under the read more.

So, as always, recs first: The Best of You and Me - giddytf2 - The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, I love it hwen they are both idiots tbh)

Summary: In which Jaskier discovers that he's mysteriously pregnant but wants the baby, Geralt finally learns to use his words after twenty years, Yennefer is so done with two idiots in love and their communication problems, and Ciri gains a new family.

A Dream or Something More - amloveabledeathmo - The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)(Bilbo/Thorin, Quest retelling, The Rivendell scene is just so precious)

Summary: Bilbo gets a second chance, but how long is it before he realizes it. He does things to make himself happy and treats the dwarves like the lovely family they are. Also setting Bilbo a bit younger here not middle aged but about 40ish so like 10 or so years earlier to give him more time with his dwarves.

My Ego Dies - Conkers - The Hobbit (Jackson Movies) @conkers-thecosy (Bilbo/Thorin, this is just all around adorable)

Summary: What if Frodo Baggins visited Erebor ten years after Bilbo returned to the Shire, and met with Thorin Oakenshield.

White lies - ylc - The Witcher (TV) (Geralt/Jaskier, Fake/pretend relationships are just so much fun) Summary: In Jaskier’s defense, he hadn’t actually believed Geralt would come looking for him eventually, so he figured that telling his mother that the Witcher was the father of the child he was carrying would be a completely harmless lie. And then of course Geralt had walked back into his life and things got… complicated.

Moonlight Feathers - Akikofuma - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, both are griffins and its so bloody cute)

Summary: Due to his coloring, Geralt will never have a family of his own, he's sure of it; until he meets Jaskier.

Learning how to be free - tashaxxxxxx - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, A/b/o, please mind the tags but this is so beautifully done)

Summary: Jaskier is a badly beaten omega belonging to King Vizimir with little hope for the future. He had even less hope when he’s told he’s going to be given away to the Witchers, bloodthirsty beasts, as assurance that Redania will keep to the peace treaty.

Jaskier has little hope of surviving the next few days, let alone of finding freedom and love.

And, as always, my fics. I have 6 fics to share with you for this time period <3

Ereborian Pride (Bilbo/Thorin and the final of my Baggin-shieldtober series that took me 9 months lol. Once again, thank you @smolestboop for the amazing prompts. Summary: On the afternoon of Kili's 18th birthday, Thorin and the rest of the company and their families) remembeed their past lives. Their quest, living in a thriving Erebor.

Thorin remembered loving and losing Bilbo. 4 year later there still hasn't been any word from their burglar. Thorin needs to find the other half of his heart.

Count, Count, Count before you Cry: Count, Count, Count before I Die (Bilbo/Thorin, written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt count the days, very sad, please read the tags)

Summary: Thorin and the dwarves are Gold sick and they have NOT forgiven Bilbo his betrayal

A pair of scarlet rain boots (Geralt/Jaskier, My very first Witcher fic that I think is one of my fav things I've written)

Summary: Jaskier passed away a long time ago. The only human in a family of non-humans.

Cirilla has just had her first child and she wishes with all her heart her only human parent was here. Of course, he loved her so much he has never left her.

My brothers, my boys, my twins (Horry Potter, its Percy and George, gen fic for the @hp-abandonshipfest, its also part of my FireSeeker (Percy/Viktor) Series)

Summary: Percy was unintentionally parentified at a young age. He was tasked with being an extra parent to the twins. Now, having dumped his boyfriend, the night before the twins 22nd Birthday, the first birthday without Fred, he finds himself with George and Harry. Reminiscing about the boys he all but helped raised. His twins, and one is missing forever-more.

For the Abandon ship fest, prompt 67: Pre canon, Percy being the one who mostly watches the twins.

Dorcas the Orca, The Maruaders and a jail cell (A marauuders gen crack fic for a wonderful friend of mine)

Summary: Sirius, James and Remus are put in a jail cell.

As annoying as it is, Remus would have dealt with it, but theres an orca in the corner of the cell somehow...

If I sing it loud and clear, will you finally hear? (Geralt/Jaskier, for the @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - House of cards)

Summary: Jaskier has a new song and is as subtle as a drunken Lambert.

If Geralt doesnt see Jaskier's feelings for him now, well theres no hope for him.

[my-beloved-kili]

Since Bilbo won, give me some ideas and I'll write something! You can suggest anything!

Alrighty, hobbits won for what race everybody wanted to be. Now which one would you wanna be?

[ahhrenata]

when you catch your crush very obviously staring 🤭

| these two melted the shit out of my heart |

[conversacomsmaug]

Capítulo 1 – Viva...

Sobre o áspero e gélido pico de Ravenhill, o vento sussurrava histórias de tempos antigos. A batalha à muito havia cessado, mas o eco da violência ainda rodeava a terra. Thranduil, Rei da Floresta das Trevas, andava com a majestade de um soberano atormentado pelos espectros da guerra. Seu olhar, outrora impenetrável como a própria floresta que jurou proteger, agora carregava uma suavidade rara e dolorosa.

Ali, prostrada sobre a neve manchada de sangue, estava Tauriel, sua capitã, seu valor inquestionável, cujo coração sangrou amor tão profundo que desafiou as próprias leis do reino élfico. Ele aguardou até que os anões retirassem os corpos de seus parentes mortos e Tauriel pudesse se recompor. Ela sabia que não tinha o direito de reivindicar o corpo de Kili e por isso fez sua última despedida.

Chegando próximo a ela e ajoelhando um pouco atrás da elfa, em uma atitude de completa compaixão e humildade, que qualquer um que o conhecia ou já ouvira falar do Rei Élfico não acreditaria, colocou uma mão no ombro de Tauriel com surpreendente suavidade e ainda com olhos brilhantes de lembranças doloridas. “Tauriel, você agiu guiada por sentimento, algo que muitos de nós perdemos em tempos imemoriais”, começou Thranduil, sua voz tão suave quanto as primeiras neves do inverno. “Você foi banida não pela força do seu coração, mas pela inquietação que ele causou dentro do nosso próprio.”

Tauriel, as lágrimas cristalizando em seu rosto, olhava-o com um misto de reverencia e desesperança. “Meu Rei, eu...,” seus lábios tremeram na fria brisa, “Eu achava que o amor poderia ser a nossa força.”

Thranduil se aproximou mais, a distância entre monarca e súdita borrada por gestos de compaixão. “Em outra vida, talvez nos ensinassem que o amor é a verdadeira força. Pela dor que causou, peço desculpas – não como teu rei, mas como alguém que esqueceu o que é sentir.”

Ouvir essas palavras de seu rei, alguém que ela outrora julgou tão frio, fez com que ela não soubesse se isso lhe dava forças ou a quebrava ainda mais. Ela o julgou, e agora estava ele aqui, impensável, o outrora inalcançável Rei Thranduil, olhando em seus olhos com um calor que derreteria uma geleira e lhe oferecendo palavras gentis sobre o que ela sentia pelo jovem príncipe anão. Talvez ela tenha tomado um golpe forte demais de Bolg e está desacordada vendo cenas inimagináveis.

Não, mas isso era real, doía, doía muito, não só sua carne, mas seu fëa. E Então ela estava caindo em si.

Percebendo a luta interna de Tauriel, com as mãos estendidas, Thranduil ajudou ela a levantar-se. O horizonte mostrava uma promessa de alvorada, os raios primeiros de luz penetrando as trevas.

Percebendo que ela talvez não entenderia se ele não fosse direto, Thranduil falou com a voz firme novamente. “Vamos retornar para Mirkwood, Tauriel. Há muito para reconstruir, e agora reconheço que precisamos de todos os corações – especialmente daqueles que amam com coragem.”

“Mas meu banimento, Kili... eu...,” ela balbuciou ainda em torpor.

“Basta. Há muita dor agora Tauriel, não só a sua. Seu povo agora precisa de você. Uma vez você quis lutar pelo que era justo além do amor, venha e me ajude. Esse é um pedido e não uma ordem, do seu Rei. Eu ainda o sou?” Ele olhou mais uma vez em seus olhos e era como olhar seu fëa. Ela congelou.

“Sim. Meu Rei.” Ela balbuciou um pouco mais firme, ainda em dúvida sobre o que estava acontecendo.

“Bom. Se não deixei claro, agora falo para não ter dúvidas, revogo seu banimento. Venha comigo.” E se virou dando as costas para uma ainda confusa Tauriel. De qualquer forma, o que ela deveria fazer? Para onde deveria ir? A dor ainda era excruciante, então ela apenas se deixou levar. Era fácil, automático, ela o seguiu e o obedeceu por tantos séculos... agora o melhor seria seguir seus passos novamente pois parecia não só confortável, parecia certo. Era mais fácil assim, neste momento, não pensar.

Juntos, rei e guerreira começaram a descida, suas silhuetas fundindo-se à paisagem repleta de esperança de cura e novos começos.

E o que vocês acharam? Para ter um gostinho... rsrsr

[autistook]

ON THIS DAY

June 22nd - Bilbo returns home, only to find out he has been declared dead and his belongings are being auctioned

[laurfilijames]

@sotwk I hope you don't mind me responding to your amazing comment with a reblog of it, because I'm in awe over your kind words.

Thank you.

I understand both not being able to reblog it due to keeping your blog safe for minors, and also being selective about the fics you read (not at all snooty!), but knowing you enjoyed this story to this extent and having you share that with me means the world. So again, thank you.

Fili will always be alive and well in my fics, and there's been consideration to writing more for this particular story!

Cruelty of Time

Pairing: Fìli x female reader

Words: 2,383

Warnings: 18+. Mention and description of injuries, Fìli in pain, lots of emotions, mention of death, nudity, cockwarming

Summary: post-BOTFA, everyone lives, but Fìli’s healing is taking longer than you both would like, causing you frustration and worry, so much so it makes you doubt his existence. He wakes in the middle of the night and takes a bath, sharing a long overdue tender moment with his One that proves to you just how alive he is.

A/N: This is my version of angst. I’ve never written anything with this much emotion before, but it was time to let this idea out that’s been in my head for a while. There’s no real smut, just some intimate cockwarming amongst lovers. Enjoy!

———

Time passed steadily on, seemingly without any regard to Fili and the wounds that plagued him. It progressed without waiting for him to catch up, moving forward whether he joined it or not.

It was cruel, you thought, having watched him struggle to get better for long days and even longer nights, his healing slow compared to the minutes that were unrelenting. Time would wait for no one, not even the strongest of warriors, instead leaving him behind to drown in the persistence of his injuries and the pain that clawed and wringed out every ounce of strength it did manage to grace him.

You reminded yourself to be grateful, that even though it didn't seem like much, enough time had passed since the battle to reclaim the Lonely Mountain had torn him, his brother and his uncle apart and with each pass of the days they, like Erebor, were being rebuilt piece by piece.

Sleep did not come easily for Fili. The pain that coursed through him prevented any real rest from coming to him, and tonight was no exception.

He stirred in bed, and although he was trying not to wake you, the groans he attempted to strangle down refused to be unheard. You listened to him carefully bring himself to sit on the edge of the bed, pausing as if bracing himself for the surge of agony that would come when he stood.

The mattress sprung up slightly with the absence of his weight, and you shifted to watch him shuffle slowly to the bathing room, his movements cautious in order to not inflict any unnecessary pain.

The hitchy, calculated gait diverted from the swift and smoothly articulated way the young warrior used to move, making a familiar bitterness boil in your stomach.

With a sigh, impatience and anger washed over you and you prayed to Mahal not to delay his healing any longer.

He is still here with you, the wiser voice answered back, mocking you with the alternative fate not chosen for him, the subtle warning making bile rise up your throat. Still, every time you looked upon the marks that decorated Fili's flesh they reminded you how easily they could've taken him away, your heart bleeding out with his as it stained the snow covered rock on Ravenhill.

Water barrelled into the bathtub and soon steam drifted into your room, disturbing the staleness that lingered from years of laying dormant, a hint of fragrant ointments mixed in from the various bottles that adorned the night table. The whispers of heat in the air ghosted across your clammy skin and called for you to leave the loneliness of your bed, the perpetual worry you felt nagging you to go check that this all wasn't a figment of your imagination.

The cold of the stone floor sent a shiver all the way up your back, your hairs standing on end as your feet padded silently over it until you reached the doorway of the bathing room, the warmth coming from it severely contrasting to the chill that cloaked your heart and mind.

Standing against the frame and hidden in the shadows, you watched Fili drop his soiled bandages to the floor unceremoniously, the look on his face expressing his own frustrations of not being granted a more rapid recovery. His muscles flexed wildly in his back as he stepped a leg over the side of the tub, hissing as he ceased his actions as that alone was too much.

Just as you made to go in to assist your One, he took a shaky breath and willed himself onward, hoisting his other leg over the ledge with a guttural roar that echoed off the damp walls.

He paused again, his pain outshining his determination, and stood in the centre of the tub with his eyes screwed shut and head tipped up to the ceiling. Tired muscles flinched beneath torn flesh and his chest heaved in laboured breaths as he sucked in sharply through gritted teeth. Small beads of water pebbled on his face and back, making his skin appear dewy in the faint glimmer of the lantern he had lit. Although he glowed from the way it highlighted him, the layer of moisture wasn't able to disguise any of the bruises that adorned his body, the droplets only accentuating the deep blue, purple and black colours that leaked out under his skin, mimicking ink being spilled into water.

Curses spilled out of his panting mouth when he finally encouraged his broken form to sit in the water, pain still etched over his face as the heat of it lapped at the lacerations on his torso.

Time continued to prevail, but after a few long moments it looked as though Fili began to find a sense of comfort. Only able to see the side of his face from where you stood, you could tell his golden eyelashes were now resting against his ashen cheeks, his brow was less furrowed, and the tendons in his neck were less strained. His arm went slack over the edge of the tub, no longer gripping the side as he waited for relief, and suddenly all was still.

You waited, watching to see if Fili would rub his hand over his face as he so often did, or even reach for his pipe that sat on the table beside the tub since he last used it yesterday, but nothing.

Any patience you did have abandoned you. Panic began to creep up your spine and tears pricked at your eyes, and the same evil that had inflicted this on him whispered doubt in the back of your mind making you desperate to touch him, to check if breath still filled his lungs and blood still flowed through his veins.

As soon as it had come, your worry was whisked away with the next breath Fili took, his chest deflating the air he was holding in a drawn out exhale, his moustache twitching as his lips pursed.

How many times had you lay awake at night, listening to be sure he was still breathing? How many nights had you hovered your hand over his chest, barely touching him, only enough to feel his flaxen curls brush against your palm with each shallow inhalation?

The sudden need to feel him against you was overwhelming, and although you wanted him to sit undisturbed, you were pulled over to him as if his soul was beckoning yours.

Gingerly, your fingertips brushed his arm, careful not to startle him and constantly fearing he would disappear before your very eyes if you were to grip him too tight. Fili didn't flinch, just hummed as your hands made purchase on his aching muscles, a weak smile pulling out his dimples that fought to be seen under the thickening beard that tried to hide them.

His skin felt warm, but you continued to search for proof that he was here, that this was real.

You knelt beside the tub and placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist that hung out of the water, the light throb of his heartbeat drumming against your lips.

You drew in a steadying breath, the scent of his skin overpowering that of the bath salts, and tears began to spill down your cheeks as you nuzzled against him.

"Amrâlimê," he called to you in a strained voice, the low octave of his words vibrating through to your lips that lingered where his pulse thrived.

You couldn't be imagining this, you told yourself. There would be no way you could fabricate the heat of his skin, the sound of his voice, the smell that only he possessed.

His thumb brushed a tear away and you finally summoned the courage to look at him, worried you wouldn't recognize the blue eyes that stared back at you, scared you would look upon him and see the blank, lifelessness of death creeping in on him.

Once again he proved you wrong and the dullness that clouded his eyes broke away as soon as your gaze met his, a tender smile tugging at his lips allowing you to recognize the sparks of vibrancy that were hidden beneath a veil of vulnerability and strife.

Even though a surge of pain ripped through his torso, Fili continued to smile as he leaned toward you to claim your lips. His hand weaved its way through your hair to hold you close to him and he let out a shuddered breath, his bottom lip trembling slightly in his struggle to ignore the torment of his wounds. His grip tightened on the strands of your hair, grasping at you for reprieve, desperate for the solace you brought him.

"Join me," he requested quietly, his breath a whisper on your lips stained with your tears and the wetness from his mouth. "Please," he insisted when he noticed your hesitation, a hopeful look adorning his otherwise wearied face that you couldn't refuse.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Fili chuckled lightly as his other hand that was hot and wet from sitting in the water came up to cup your cheek. "You cannot hurt me, Ghivashel. You are what heals me."

Without another word, you stood and peeled his tunic that you had claimed as yours off your body before stepping delicately into the tub, Fili admiring you with awe and love as you sank into the tepid water. You hugged your knees close to your chest, watching him over your arms that braced them to prevent touching him.

"Closer," he requested, his demand soft.

You shifted nearer, but remained touching only your own body, still terrified that you would inflict pain on him if you did make any sort of firm contact.

His legs stretched out on either side of you, his calves pushing against your lower back to coax you closer despite the movement causing what had quietened to a dull ache to implode into an angry wrath within him.

You knelt between his legs, reaching for his face in an attempt to smooth out the lines caused by agony you thought might stay permanently embedded, wishing you could simply erase what he suffered if not able to adopt it onto yourself instead.

"It's okay, I'm okay," Fili said with little conviction, wrapping his arms around your body to keep you from retreating. "Don't leave, I need you with me," he pleaded, uttering the same words said by you countless times in the earlier days when he lay motionless and hanging on by the thinnest thread of life.

You nodded in response, promising him the world in a simple wordless gesture as you straddled his lap and rested your forehead against his.

You pressed a kiss on the bridge of his nose, moving then to his cheek, your fingers raking through his tousled hair to pull his head against your chest.

All was silent aside from the occasional drip of water, allowing you to listen to the steady sound of his breathing and the gentle thud of his heart pumping with surety.

Your hands roamed his back, your fingertips jumping over the indents and grooves caused by gashes and scars that would forever display his fight with death. It was astounding that a form as strong as his could also be so fragile, that the power he always possessed and made him seem invincible could be stripped away and reduced down to become destructible. He held you tighter in that moment, making you wonder if he could feel the disquiet that surged through you in realizing such harsh truths.

His mouth moved across your chest, tracing your collarbone and the curves of your breasts with his lips and tongue, and the longer you embraced and explored each other the more vigor bloomed in Fili. You could feel him harden beneath you, proving to you even more that he refused to let time cause him to be unbound from you any longer. His hands slipped under your bum to encourage you to lift yourself off of his lap enough to guide his shaft into you, your breath stuttering out in a cry as you lowered back down onto him.

He looked at you with wide, honest eyes, his fingers brushing over the skin on your face as you took in the overwhelming sensation of him.

"Do you believe I'm here, now?" he asked, taking your hand and placing it over his heart while he undeniably filled you, your bodies tethered along with your souls.

His heartbeat resonated through your palm despite the thickness of his chest, his flesh and blanket of hair unable to shield it from you. What else could be more intimate, you wondered. To feel his pulse, to be able to contact the very part where his heart throbs and circulates blood, proving that it is flowing life through him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as air fills his lungs.

Your hands traveled up his neck and held either side of his face, his beard soft against them as you captured his lips with yours, sighing into him as the reminders of his brush with death began to fade. Each kiss and caress continued to convince you of his presence, and your own heart clenched as it beat in time with his, finally allowing itself to believe his existence.

Death would not kiss him today, for only you would steal the breath off his lips.

Remaining unmoving, you sat with him encased in you, safe and unyielding, now wishing for time to stand still and to let you and Fili live in this moment for eternity.

The life you sought to find revived in him was beginning to restore itself, slowly revealing its ability to shed the ropes of mortality that bound him for long enough, ones that clung on in waiting to drag him away forever.

Inhaling him with each breath you drew, your chin rested on top of his head while he buried his face into your neck, and you placed a kiss on his invisible crown as he melted into you more.

Time was cruel, you thought again, and for the first time since being in Erebor you begged for it to slow its unforgiving pace.

———

Taglist:

Everything: @guardianofrivendell @midearthwritings @cassiabaggins @lilith15000 @trishthedishofreis @linasofia @unbeatablecurlgirl @the-poldarkian @lathalea @enchantzz @blairsanne @legolaslovely @shalinizhara @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @sketch-and-write-lover

Fili: @shethereadinghobbit

[lucigoo]

Bagginshield Fic request? Found

Thank oyu to the wonderful @catfury360, they found it, its this fic if anyone is interested ...A Complaint A Day... - birdkeeperklink So, ive got a fic stuck in my brain, but cant ifnd it, if anyone has read it, or knows the title please?

Hobbits complain and moan about things before they happen to love. It confuses the Company but they dont think much of it. The idea is that if you complain about it it might never happen, so they only complain about the best of things in their life (i think) the Company notice when Bibo stops complaing about them and everything, but i cant remember why. Its completed and set in Erebor after BOTFA, so if anyone knows it, please share? 💖