#and heard its need for durins blood. the very thing that was also now part of him.

[dirusflor]

For general use outside side of my own stuff I just call him Fellflower, but my personal take on the Fellflower is named Ichor.

Firstly because I thought it was neat, secondly because it’d fit with him and his conflict of having the blood of a higher being (certainly higher compared to a whopperflower) in him, and thirdly because of the fact the description in the Frostbearer catalyst mentioned something along the lines of the Frostbearing Tree “remembering it had not died” and “extended its greedy roots toward the warm ichor.”

I wanna know since I’m kinda inconsistent about a tag. I want to pick a name that’s not too joke-like, unique, while still having some connection with canon symbolism🤔

Or, another name?

[ladyideal]

This is Us Chapter 3

Pairing: Legolas x OC!Reader

Word Count: 3414

Summary: When the One Ring was found, it becomes a journey across Middle Earth to destroy it. Watch as the Fellowship is formed, and crossed the continent, where loyalty will be tested, and love will blossom at the most unexpected places.

A/n: Look at that, 2 chapters in one week! This one is thankfully longer, same with the next one. And the next, and the next after that... Also the cave troll fight was a pain in the ass to write.

Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4

"The Mines are no place for a pony, even one so brave as Bill," Aragorn spoke the moment they arrived in front of the Doors of Moria.

"I'm gonna miss him," You spoke, watching fondly as the Ranger unhitched the pony's bridle.

"He'll be missed," The Ranger agreed.

"Buh bye Bill," Sam called out.

"Go on, Bill, go on. Don't worry Sam, he knows the way home," Aragorn spoke, watching as the pony clip clopped down the shore. By the time the Fellowship climbed from down the mountain, night had fallen. 

Legolas sidled up to you. "Yare indóme tye nimeár- ilquen i tye're a Melain?" (When will you tell everyone that you're a Valar?)

You didn't answer, couldn't answer as Alena had shuffled up close to you at the exact same time the elf spoke. Not able to answer, you shot a glare at him and shook your head. 

Not yet. Not this early. 

"The Walls of Moria!" Gimli explained, halting in front of the doors. He frowned immediately when his axe clanged against the stone, not exactly knowing how to open the tall slab of rock. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed."

"Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten," Gandalf huffed out, tapping his staff too.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas rolled his eyes, making the dwarf grumble wordlessly. You shared a grin with Alena at the bickering. 

"Now let's see. Ithildin-," Gandalf thought out loud. As the company relaxed, you watched as Frodo's leg splashed loudly into the pool of water just outside the supposed doors of Moria. 

"Careful Frodo," Aragorn warned. 

"It mirrors only starlight and moonlight," The wizard suddenly announced, turning to you with a knowing look. 

You nodded, and avoiding Alena's questioning glance, looked up at the sky. Almost immediately, the dark clouds parted away for the moon and the stars above. For a moment, you let yourself be homesick as the lights in the night sky danced happily in their brilliance. The silver lines grew bright, outlying a door formed of two columns beneath an arch, with a star in the center.

"Wow," You heard someone say. 

"It reads 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter," Gandalf translated. 

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry piped up.

"It's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open," The grey wizard paused. "Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen!" (Gate of the Elves, open now for me!)

Nothing happened. 

"Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen," He tried again. (Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue.)

"Nothing's happening," Pippin frowned. 

You too were stumped. One glance around the Fellowship, and you could tell that you weren't the only one. 

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men, and Orcs."

"What are you going to do then, Gandalf?"

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words," Gandalf huffed out in annoyance.

Sitting on the shores of the water, the Fellowship sprawled around in relaxation. While Gandalf muttered different phrases, Merry and Pippin took turns throwing stones into the lake. Alena sat beside you, sharpening her sword, as you fiddled around with your arrows. 

"Ando Eldarinwa, a lasta quettanya, Fenda Casarinwa" (Gate of Elves, listen to my word, Threshold of Dwarves)

"Stop Merry, Pippin," Aragorn ordered, observing the lake as it rippled.

"What?" The hobbits paused.

"Do not disturb the water."

"Oh, it's useless!" Gandalf sat down beside Frodo, done for the moment.

"Aragorn!" Boromir called out in warning, as the rest of the company glanced at the increasing ripples of the waters. 

"It's a riddle," Frodo suddenly stood up. "Speak 'friend' and enter. What's the Elvish word for friend?"

"Mellon," Legolas answered.

The stone doors slowly swung open, rumbling deeply. Curiously, the Fellowship entered Moria through the newly gaping entrance. As the wizard reached into his robes, you stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. 

"Use mine, it'll glow longer," You offered a crystal. 

Gandalf regarded you for a quick moment, but gently grabbed it from your palm. Placing a crystal into the top of his staff, the rest followed the wizard in. Aragorn followed last, casting one last distrustful glance at the water.

"Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin," Glimli excitedly spoke. "And they call it a mine. A mine!"

"This is no mine," Boromir slowly spoke. "It's a tomb!" 

The light from the staff glowed brighter, illuminating the space around them. Cobwebs and bones covered every part on the floor, old and withering weapons littered around, dried blood could be found, and a filthy smell lingered in the air.

"Yuck," Alena muttered.

"Goblins!" Legolas examined an arrow from a fallen Dwarf, pulled it out, and casted it aside in disgust. The four Hobbits back towards the door. Something stirred in the water behind them.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here," Boromir shook his head. 

"Now get out of here, get out!" Alena shouted from the back. 

The rest of the company ran for the door. Suddenly, Frodo was grabbed from behind and pulled off his feet by a long, snaking tentacle. "Help!!"

"Aragorn!"

"Frodo!"

The watching creature at the gate released Frodo, and feigned disappearance under the waters. Suddenly, many tentacles sprung out of the water, slapping the other Hobbits aside and grabbing Frodo around the leg. He was pulled out and over into the air.

You cursed, and headed back the way you came in, ready to help. Yet, Legolas was faster than you. He ran back out onto the shore and started shooting. One of his arrows pierced a tentacle that was wrapping itself over Frodo's face.

"Strider, help!" The hobbit cried out.

Boromir, Alena, and Aragorn rushed to the water and started attacking the beast. It flung Frodo wildly in the air. Despite the Fellowship's efforts, the Hobbit was lowered towards a gapping maw in the water, ringed by fangs, set in a gilled face.

Finally arriving, you joined in the fight, aiming your arrows towards its head, in a futile attempt to injure the fell beast. Aragorn sliced through the tentacle holding Frodo, who fell into Boromir's waiting arms.

"Into the Mines!" Gandalf roared.

"Legolas! Y/N!" The Captain called as he and the two Rangers retreated. Running with Frodo in his arms, he ran into the gates as as a huge tentacle uncoiled a hand-like appendage, snaking after them. 

You and Legolas both aimed, and watched as the two arrows both hit their marks. With both eyes of the beast struck, it recoiled with a painful roar of pain and anger. 

"Run!"

Needing no other encouragement, you pulled Legolas towards the entrance. As the sea creature reached out once more, it teared the gates shut. Slabs of rocks dropped and the roof of the passageway caved in. The Fellowship stared back at one another as the last rays of moonlight disappeared behind.

"We now have but one choice," Gandalf spoke as the group caught their breaths. "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs, in the deep places of the world."

You sucked in a gap, understanding his words. Could there be older enemies from even all the way back when the First Age started? Nodding anyways, you followed the wizard as he started his trek. "How long does it take to reach the other side?"

"It's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed," The Maiar answered quietly. You shook your head, it was going to be a long walk of silence filled with only your own terrified thoughts.

It was awhile, you didn't exactly how long had passed, before Gandalf halted the group in front of a cavern that led to a crossroads in the mine: three doorways loomed before them. The wizard glanced from one to the other and back.

"I have no memory of this place."

You groaned silently, but indicated for the company to sit and rest. 

Seeing a small figure leaping from stone to stone, a startled Frodo walked over to where Gandalf was leaning against a boulder.

"There's something down there!"

You rose an eyebrow.

"It's Gollum."

"Gollum?"

"He's been following us for three days."

"He escaped the dungeons of Barad-Dûr!"

"Escaped? Or was set loose?" Gandalf eyed the creature. "And now the Ring has drawn him here. He will never be rid of his need for it. He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself."

Some of the company, including you, watched as Gollum raised his head, eyes piercing through the darkness of the hall.

"Sméagol's life is a sad story. Yes, Sméagol he was once called. Before the Ring was found, before it drove him mad," The wizard quietly explained.

"It's a pity my uncle Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance!" 

"Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo?"

"Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. Even the very wise can not see all ends," You spoke out from beside Alena, watching as the young hobbit studied the floor with a sudden interest.

"My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill before this is all over," Gandalf spoke over Gollum's songs. "The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."

"I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened, Gandalf."

"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, in which case you also were meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought," Gandalf glanced at you again, but stood up. "Oh! It's that way."

"He's remembered!" Merry spoke.

As the Fellowship started down a dark stairway that the wizard pointed at, he placed his hat back on. 

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

You rolled your eyes at the words, but followed after Legolas to descend the stairway. 

"Behold! The great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf."

His staff illuminated a giant stone hall with tall pillars and arched ceilings.The Fellowship walked forward and through the hall, peering around a column. Seeing a ray of sunlight shining through a chamber, Gimli gasped and ran towards it without another thought.

Bodies and weapons scattered about it. The Dwarf stopped and kneeled by a crypt in the center of the room. A shaft of light illuminated through. Gandalf peered curiously at the tomb's surface, while the rest of the Fellowship observed the white bones of dead dwarves and enemies.

"No! No! No!" Gimli wailed, sobbing.

"'Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.' He is dead then. It's as I feared," The wizard grimly translated the runes, looking around the small chamber.

Giving his staff and hat to Pippin, he bent down, and took a large and battered book from a corpse's hands. He opened it, clearing the dirt from its pages.

"They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes," He read out loud, as Gimli peered up at the tall Maiar.

Pippin backed away slowly, as Gandalf continued. 

"Drums, drums, in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out."

You glanced nervously at Legolas, then at Alena, then back to the elf again. Even he held a grim look on his face as he nervously grabbed his bow as though for reassurances.

The silence was broken by Pippin. Curiously, he reached out and lightly twisted the arrow within the corpse. The skull slipped off, falling into the well with a resounding crash, dragging with it a chain and bucket. Gandalf whipped around at the sound, including everyone else and towards the guilty hobbit. Noise echoed from hall to hall far below, as Pippin winced at each wave of noise.

You groaned, and threw your hands up in defeat. The others shook their heads, and scowled.

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" Gandalf roughly slammed the tome shut. Pulling his hat and staff from the Hobbit's hands, he turned away. Pippin stood still awkwardly.

Until the drums sounded. 

"Orcs!" Legolas notched an arrow as the team scrambled to get into position with their weapons. 

"Hobbits, stay close to Y/N. Alena, with me," Aragorn ordered, drawing his own sword.

As Boromir rushed to the doors to have a look, arrows hissed into the door near his face. Too close of a comfort, as a matter of fact. A bellow was heard from just outside.

"They have a cave troll," He announced in sarcastic relief.

"Wonderful," You grumbled, grabbing an arrow from your back and readied your aim at the door.

Creatures began hacking the doors down. Weapons crashed through splintering spaces, creating little gaps just small enough for an arrow to sing through. When the first clear gap was gashed in the door, Legolas let go of his arrow, earning himself  a shrill cry from the other side. The Elf quickly notched another to his bow as you shot another.

Suddenly, the fell beasts broke through and the battle begand. A wave of armor-clad Orcs charged towards the Fellowship, who happily engaged the Orcs head on. While you and Legolas pierced Orcs with your arrows, Aragorn, Alena, and Boromir smashed their swords against the enemy. Gimli caught one in the stomach with his axe. 

With a loud roar, Gandalf launched himself into the fray with his sword, and the Hobbits huddled close to you, swords drawn and ready to fight. Aragorn beheaded an Orc, and black blood spewed forth. Suddenly Sam paused in the heat of battle, his attention drawn upwards.

"Here comes the cave troll, " Legolas shouted cheerfully beside you, as you and him sent endless volleys into the battle. You swung your head back to the entrance just when the cave troll smashed through the hallway. 

"Thanks mellon," You replied cheekily. "Certainly enjoy being dramatic."

Legolas shot the cave troll in the shoulder, growling at your words, while the beast roared and clapped a hand to its wound. Sam continued to stare, frozen, as the troll swung his mace down at the Hobbit. At the last minute, he dived under the troll's legs and crawled in vain away as the troll turned, sighting him again.

"Sam!" You hollered, sliding protectively in front of the hobbit, shooting the troll's shoulders.

As the beast raised his arm to strike, he suddenly fell back. Aragorn and Boromir appeared behind the troll, pulling on its chains. Twisting its arm, the troll whipped Boromir across the chamber, landing in a recess of the wall, dazed.

You cursed under your breath as an orc towered above the Captain, ready to strike him down. When across the room, Aragorn slung his blade into the Orc's neck, and although still dazed, the Ranger pulled him up. While Gimli sliced the troll with his axe, Legolas stood in the corner, shooting another two arrows at the troll, forcing it to reel back in pain. Orcs streamed in, and you slid out your sword.

"Stay behind!" You called to the hobbits behind you. Whether they were behind you or not was one thing, but with the endless enemies, you could only do so much. The troll swung his chains above his head again at Legolas who dodged it. As the chain wrapped around a pillar, the elf shot the troll in the back of the head and jumped off. 

As a result, the troll cringed, flattening its fellow orcs as it stumbled around in pain. Once recovered, The troll brought his mace down at the other Hobbits, causing them to jump aside. Now separated from Merry and Pippin, the troll seeked out Frodo, who tried to evade by hiding behind a pillar.

"Frodo!" Half of the Fellowship yelled, now fighting back in earnest to reach the hobbit.

Not being able to see him, it peered around the other side, causing Frodo to dodge out of its vision. Once it disappeared, the young hobbit carefully looked around the pillar. For now the troll was gone, and took a deep breath.

"Roar!" The troll blasted around the pillar, bellowing in Frodo's face. The Hobbit stumbed, and fell into a corner of the room. The troll grabbed him, and dragged him off of the edge of a recess. "Aragorn? Aragorn!"

"Frodo!"

Remembering that he still had Sting in hand, the hobbit wildly slashed the troll's hand. The fell beast instinctively dropped him to the ground, twisting his injured hand and staring at it. As Frodo laid on the floor, frozen in fear, his eyes widened at the impending doom.. It raised its mace and began to swing, but Aragorn leaped down into the recess as Legolas let go of his arrows aimed at the troll.

Although Pippin and Merry did their best by throwing stones at the troll's head, it swung his arm down. This time, hitting Aragorn, which sent him flying across the room. 

With an oof, he collapsed onto the floor. Frodo raced after the fallen Ranger and tried to rouse him, but to no avail.

"Aragorn!" Alena screamed, pushing back the orcs with her dual bladed swords. 

"Frodo no!" You echoed, slitting an orc's throat without another thought and trying to slog over where Aragorn laid.

The hobbit began to run, but the troll blocked his path with its spear, throwing him back. As if in slow mo, you and the company watched with wide eyes and half uttered screams, as the troll took aim and stabbed Frodo in the chest.

As the company stared in shock, the troll too seemed amazed at its own work.

Merry and Pippin glanced at each other and their faces appeared resolved. They leaped onto the beast, stabbing him mercilessly. "For Frodo!"

"Frodo?" Sam rushed to the fallen hobbit. "Frodo!"

Broken from their shocked trance, Aragorn, Alena, you, Boromir, and Gandalf fought with mad vigor in order to reach the Hobbit.

The troll flailed at its head and grabbed Merry, swinging him around and throwing him to the ground. While you, Gandalf, and Gimli took turns stabbing at the troll and dodging out of range, Legolas took aim.

With Pippin stabbing it in the head, the troll opened its mouth. Taking the chance, Legolas shot his arrow upwards and into the brain. With a long, pained moan, the troll collapsed to the ground, finally dead. There was a moment of silence as the remaining enemies fled.

You rushed to Frodo first before anyone else did. Gently, Aragorn rolled the hobbit over, but immediately stilled as he gasped for breath. 

"He's alive!" Alena exclaimed. With that announcement, the company sighed in relief. 

"I'm all right, I'm not hurt." Frodo croaked.

"You should be dead! That spear would have skewered a wild boar," Aragorn sheathed his sword away. 

Gandalf hummed in agreement. "I think there's more to this Hobbit than meets the eye."

Slowly, Frodo lifted his shirt up. Immediately, the mithril chain mail shirt glimmered in the faint light. You raised an eyebrow at the surprise. 

"Mithril! You are full of surprises, Master Baggins." Gimli gasped, taking in the familiar substance that his race grew rich upon. 

"Hate to disrupt," Boromir cut in, at the broken doorway again. "But there are still orcs here."

Faintly in the background, you could hear the movements, and the Fellowship straightened up. After Aragorn pulled Frodo to his feet, he turned to Gandalf.

"To the bridge?"

"To the bridge of Khazad-dûm!"

Permanent Tags: @asraime @mournthewicked

Taglist is open for those interested!

[loverichardarmitage]

Saving you

Thank you for that amazing idea @emilypoole815

Summary: This Story is through out the battle of the five armies. You, Thorin, Fili, Kili and Dwalin are fighting off the orcs on ravenhill when azog appears and starts to attack you. Thorin ends up killing azog and carries your limp Body back to Erebor.

Pair: Thorin x Reader 

Warnings: fluff, angst, death

All of you were Standing on ravenhill searching for azog. He had taunted Thorin in riding up to ravenhill and now you stood with the three durins and one of your best friends on ravenhill when out of nowhere a horde of orcs came running at the five of you. You raised your sword and charged at one of the orcs coming at you. You sliced its head off of his shoulders as you felt another presence behind you. Turning around, you came face to face with the pale orc. The most vile one of his entire race.

He clashed his sword agaisnt yours, driving you backwards more and more until you were separated from your friends and your secret love. You only noticed what azogs intentions were when it already was too late for you to sneak away. ‘ that Little bastard’ you thought to yourself as you kept fighting against this massive foe. Then without you noticing he threw his mace at you and you stumbled backwards through his blow, landing on backside. Azog started to try and hit you with his mace repeatedly. You did not have much time to recover before the next blew came and you quickly grabbed your sword and rolled to the side.

Before Azog could land a blow on you, you quickly stood back up and blocked his mace and made for a run but he grabbed you by the tunic and rammed you into the stonewall right from you. You fell uncoscious and Azog stood above you, grinning down at you devilishly. He successfully managed to separate you from the others as his plan continued on. Now where he had you, he could get Thorin to let his cover down and he could defeat the ing under the mountain, getting his revenge on him. Azog and the others always kept an eye on you, so they noticed the changing in yours and Thorin’ s relationship.

Nobody else had seemed to notice that Thorin developed Feelings for you as you did for him and now he could take this as an advantage. Azog ordered one of his orcs to capture you for he needed you alive. For now...

A few feet away from you the others seemed to notice that you were not with them anymore for they were kept busy by the other orcs. But now they had managed to defeat all of their enemies. Thorin turned around to see that you were not standing behind him like you used to. Fili, Kiliand Dwalin seemed to notice that something was definitely not going the way they wished to. “ Where is (Y/N)" Thorin bellowed. Dwalin shrugged his shoulders and turned around to look for you. Panic began to rose in the four of them.

Then they heard feet movement behind them and Bilbo showed up behind a large rock. He ran to Thorin, Fili, Kili and Dwalin while breathing heavily. He managed to get out a few words, ehcih were difficult to understand through Bilbo’s panting. The Little Hobbit began to calm down slowly before he repeated himself “ Thorin, there are coming a lot more orcs under Bolgs lead. This is a trap. You have to get away from here” shocked expressions formed on their faces before Thorin turned to the others and said: " Alright, Fili Kili you go back down with Bilbo. Dwalin you will stay here with me, I Need you to get (Y/N) back.” 

Before Fili or Kili could speak against the uncle and voice their concern Thorin already had made his way over to them before speaking quite softly to them and looking them deep into their eyes “ You have to promise me that you do that, I know you both can fight and that very good, but I could never forgive myself if something happens to you both, knowing that it would be my fault” the two of the slowly nodded resinged, before they followed Bilbo back down.

Thorin and Dwalin took their weapons back in their hands just in time before another Horde of orcs came running their way. Both of them kept fighting bravely but stopped dead in their tracks when they heard an ear piercing scream. Your scream to be exact. Shivers ran down their spines and a bitter frown formed on Thorin’s face as pure rage and hatred rose up inside him. Azog would pay for laying hand on you and Thorin himself would ensure that he swore to himself.

Just then Azog appeared on an outcrop a dvilish smile on his face as he pulled something with him. Or even someone. Thorin’s breath got caught in his throat as he saw and which condtion you were. Dwalin placed his hand on Thorin’s shouder as another scream came from you and Dwalin seethed at Azog who just laughed at the two warriors before him. Your whole body was flayed with stitches and bruises down your arms and over your legs and even in your face.

Thorin seethed with Anger as he saw the fear in your eyes. He wanted nothng more than to kill Azog and hold you in his arms as he spoke soothing words into your ear and now he feared that this would never going to happen again. Yet he swore himself that no one would ever touch you if he could prevent it. He felt like he failed you though even though he knew you would never hold against him for it was not even his fault but yours and yours alone. If would not had charged at Azog all alone this would have never happened in the first place.

Looking deeply into your eyes he made you the silent promise to get you out of that and that he would hold you in his arms again even if it meant that he would die, saving you. You wanted to believe it, yet you doubted that you would live through this and the last thing you wanted was Thorin to die because of your stupidity. Silent tears were falling down your face and it broke Thorin’s heart seeing his love like that. The fear now clearly visible on your face and the tears streaming down your cheeks. The next Thing he saw happen was how Azog slammed your body against the rock. A loud crack sounded through the clearing and fresh blood ran down the side of your head and face.

You fell unconscious again and Thorin ran at the smirking Azog before Dwalin could stop his best friends, he instead followed him. Thorin did not know if you were dead or not, he just hoped you were not and with pure hate he and Dwalin killed every orc that stood in his way towards your limp body. He would save you and hold you in his arms again, he tried to calm himself down. Azog stood on the outcrop smirking at the scene in front of him. He could smell Thorin’s angst and anger and it made him feel powerful. That was until he stood eye to eye with Thorin. Thorin charged at Azog and led him away from unconscious Body while Dwaling kept the other orcs occupied so they would not try anything with you.

Thorin and Azog stood on the ice now and they kept charging at each other. Azog swung his mace at Thorin but he crouched away in time before the mace could crush him. The mace came to a stand and Azog could not lift it anymore. Growling he charged at Thorin with his knife arm. This time Thorin smirked at Azog as he ran Forward ducking under Azogs blows and Tackling his enemy to the ground. Then he stabbed his sword into Azogs body. He smirked down at Azogs dead body and pulled orccrist out of Azogs chest. Thorin gave Azog one last glance before running back to dwalin to find him kneeling over your Body and everywhere dead bodies. 

Thorin quickly ran over to the both of you and kneeled down beside you as well. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead making Dwalin smile at him before he stood back up and took you into his arms, bridle style. He and Dwalin made their way back downstair, but before Dwalin grabbed both swords and took them with them. Back down where the battle also had stopped and the people who survived stood at the entrance of Erebor where the rest of Thorin’ s Company stood, smiling happily as they saw Thorin and Dwalin alive, but their smiles faltered as they saw your limp Body in his arms.

Thorin quickly shouted for Oin “ Oin come with me please, I Need your help and Balin and Fili I beg you to help the survivors and lead them into the mountain.” Upon hearing that the People of day cheered loudly and Balin, Dain, Thranduil, Gandalf and the rest of the company looked shocked, but after the short shock the half broke out into wide smiles. Thorin ran inside Erebor with Oin and Kili on his heels as Balin and Fili led the People of dale into the safety of the mountain. Finding a chamber Thorin opened the door and went inside before placing you on the bed.

He realized that it was his sisters old room. A small smile formed on his face as he sat next to you on the bed. Oin tried to rush him out but neither Thorin or Kili left the room. Sighing Oin started to tend to your wounds before turning to Thorin, a frown on his face whiespering “ She will always have these scars. They will never fully go away. They will heal with time but they are a part of her now.” Thorin nodded, a frown on his face evident like on his nephews. It made him sad but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had beautiful long ( Y/H/C ) hair. And the most gorgeous (Y/E/C). Thorin smiled to himself and gently stroked his finger over your pale cheek.

Before Oin left he told Thorin: “ Do not worry lad, she will be alright, it just will take a while until she Wakes up, Kili lad, come with me. Lets give those two some alone time, they deserve it” nodding and smiling widely Kili followed Oin outside and back to where the others were now. Shaking his head and fond smile formed on Thorin’s facee as he took your Hand into his and softly guided it to his mouth, where he leaves a kiss on your hands. Slowly Exhaustion took over and consumed Thorin.

The next time he woke up he felt soft fingers gliding through his hair, down his cheeks where the touch lingered for a while, before gliding down to his chest, where now the Hand stayed. Not wanting to wake up yet Thorin tried to turn around but something heavy on his chest stopped him and a giggle. Your giggle. Sitting up quickly he glanced down at you. Smiling up at him you sit up yourself before grabbing his hands. Still not fully believing that you were indeed awake he placed his Hands on your cheeks before realizing that it is really you, he broke out into a wide smile and pulled your small Frame against him and placing his lips on yours, kissing you passionately.

Smiling against his lips you place your Hands on his chest while you return his kiss just as passionately. After kissing for some time he pulled away, but not without leaning his forehead against yours and whispering “ Told you, I would get you out of this monters grib” smiling you nodded before replying “ What happened to him?” “ he is dead, I killed him and now we can live in peace and I can oficially make you mine. I love you Amralime” he whispered before pulling you into another kiss, where you whisper against his lips “ I love you too, my love. Yes, now we can life in peace and be together” At your last word the door slammed open and the whole comapny stood in the doorway with happy smiles on their faces....

To be continued

[fullvoidmoon]

Someone so Dear

Pairing/s: Thorin x wife!reader, Richard Armitage x fem!reader

Setting/Timeline: Real world, New Zealand, Reincarnation!AU, Durins live!AU, Modern!AU

Warning(s)/Genre(s): None that I could think of

Word Count: 901

The Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings, The Durins © J.R.R. Tolkien Context © me

Based on my imagine.

A/N: Yep, I’m turning this into a mini-series (or series, we’ll see).

The Hobbit tag list: @sdavid09, @igotanaddixon, @fizzy-custard, @kittenwritesstuff, @fromthedeskoftheraven, @deepestfirefun, @dreamsofrivendell, @evyiione, @mrs-thorin-oakenshield, @life-is-righteous

Thorin II Oakenshield tag list: @fab-notfat​

Permanent tag list: @imagines-for-multiple-fandoms

Masterlist: HERE

Part 1 - Find Her Part 3 - Not a Moment To Lose

He feels his heart is going to burst.

And he knows mere thanks are not enough to give grace to Mahal, who generously gave him and his family another chance in life.

He doesn’t want to be rude and ungrateful to their Creator, but Thorin, now known in the modern era as Richard, couldn’t help but feel like everything seems to be an illusion; him being alive once again and be with everyone he holds dear in his heart

“I’ve found Kili,” Dwalin, who was born as Graham in this era, says after spending hours in his room, “he’s currently living in Ireland and, apparently, carries the name of Aidan Turner.”

“So he is born in a different family,” Thorin replies as he takes a seat in front of his friend.

He knows Mahal wouldn’t just easily give him everything he would wish for without proving himself worthy of these gifts. He taught them, his children, the values of being a master craftsman; to have the things one desires most he must work hard for it. Sweat, blood, tears, patience, and iron will are some of the prices that could be paid.

Dwalin nods as he continues his browsing in his laptop, little exasperation could be seen in his eyes, “I also found Fili. But unfortunately he lives miles away from us.”

“It is fine my friend,” he says, looking for available tickets for their upcoming flight to Ireland, “we need to find my youngest nephew first.” 

Thorin knows it will not be easy; it will surely test his patience and will certainly break his resilience. He knows some plans will not go his way, and he is most certain he will experience the same hardship as what he and the rest of the Company had when they reclaimed their kingdom all those years ago. 

But he would happily accept all adversaries that would come his way if it would make him and his family whole again; even if he may go against all odds he will gladly fight if it will make him be reunited with his wife and Queen who holds his heart and soul.

And he will do so with his head held high.

-----

It has been 3 years since you last visited New Zealand.

You are sure you will never get tired of admiring its beauty no matter how many times you would visit the beautiful country; your friends even thought of you crazy for considering living here for good, miles away from your hometown.

It never fazed you, nor did it dishearten you of what others would think of your admiration for the country. New Zealand makes you feel at ease, your worries and fears slowly melting away as fresh air wafts in your nose on the first day of your stay.

Thus your very reason for coming back, and with a wish that this time your stay would ease you from your worries and paranoia your dreams would give you.

But you are wrong.

Instead of having dreamless nights, your dreams become more vivid and more real; so real you could feel the sting and burn of a stab wound on your abdomen, as if the stab you received in your dream truly occurred.

And one thing that makes you almost lose your sanity happens on your third night in Auckland. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” you whisper after drinking a couple of shots, “what the hell’s even happening to me?!”

You woke up from the same dream as you could feel the sting and burn of the stab wound again. But this time you see a large bruise forming at the very same spot where you were stabbed at your abdomen; the bruise looking fresh and a mix of black, blue, and purple.

“I think I am really losing my mind.”

Though it was your intention of drowning yourself with alcohol in hopes of forgetting the nightmarish incident hours ago even for just a little bit, it is still in your best interest to not ruin your vacation any further by getting yourself drunk. 

“(Y/N)?”

You hear someone call your name as you’re about to exit the bistro, and hoping to arrive at the hotel while you are still sane from drinking too much. You are sure you have heard the voice somewhere before, and your suspicions are proven correct when you turn and look at the person who called you.

What makes you surprise and perplex is not the fact a famous person knows your name and your face.

Rather the familiar feeling that resonates within you towards him as he looks at you with pure shock and disbelief evident in his azure eyes.

“Aunt?”

Like he was someone so dear that had become a huge part of your life.

[djinmer4]

Theft of the Arkenstone (Part 2 of 2)

T.A. 2989

The caravan arrived at the break of dawn about a hundred stong.  “Got another elf with ya, Carleton?” joked the guards of Dale.

“Laugh it up, Nielson.  It’s easier to travel in the dark with elves.  No need to worry about bandits, and it’s easier to keep moving in the cold, than it is when the sun’s out.”

“It’s almost fall!”

“Tell that to the desert.”  The caravaneer handed over a list to the guards.  “Half of the party are guests this time.  About twenty dwarves from the Iron Hills, here on invitation from King Dain for some sort of work to be done.  Five families, including a blacksmith and a cooper, seeking to emigrate to Dale.  Also one not on the list.”  He looked over his shoulder, then waved over one of the men.  “This is Gonfin of . . . “

“Most recently of Morwe’s court.”  What the guards had taken for a tall Man was actually an Elf, with long black hair braided behind his back, and light, almost shining eyes.  The Elf was dressed a bit differently the Silvan who dwelt in Lasgalen and Dale.  He wore a ragged grey cloak, clearly suffering from the trials of crossing the desert, covered in sand and dust.  Oddly, he bore both a sword and a harp.

“We met up just before we reached the Iron Hills.  Poor bugger’s horse had just up and died on him.”

The Elf nodded.  “My pack horse was fine, but I was carrying a load of instruments for my work.  I was in the middle of deciding what I could discard when Master Carleton agreed to let me travel with his train.”

“Best singer I’ve ever heard,” boasted the Man.  “And not half-bad with that blade of his.  Saved my life a couple of times when we got ambushed on the trail.”

“Considering I would have been next had I not intervened, that’s hardly charity on my part.”  The two continued to joke around while the guards finished checking out the rest of the caravan.  Nielson stepped back and gestured to Feren, who was on shift as the Elvish portion.  “He check out?” grunted the Dalesman.

“Those have to be some of the finest instruments I’ve ever seen,” declared the Elf.  “If he can play them or make them, seems good enough.”

“Never heard of Morwe.”

“Tatyarin High King.  Occasionally we see some explorers or scholars from his court, but the last time was from before the Dragon came.”  Feren waved the last of the caravan into Dale.  “If he’d said Nurwe I’d have been a bit more suspicious, but the Tatyarin are just as knowledge-hungry as their Western cousins.”  The Sinda turned back to the Tatya.  “Your a bit tall and bright-eyed for a Tatya; got any Noldo blood?”

“A bit,” the Elf shrugged, not at all offended.  “Grandfather was a part of the court at Tirion, but he’s been dead since the First Age.”

Feren nodded, then gave a more formal bow of greeting.  “The Cat and the Moon, the tavern on the main square is the best for attracting a large audience.  Shall we see you perform there?”

A flashing smile, and long-fingered hands rubbed over a topaz and gold cloak pin.  “Probably.  The court of Morwe only recently heard about the death of Smaug.  I’m hoping to trade; songs and stories from the East for those about the death of the Dragon.”

Nielson shook his head.  “Only an Elf would call something that happened half a century ago recent.  There’s plenty of songs and stories told in the taverns, but if you want to talk to some people who were actually there, you’re going to need to talk with the Dwarves.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“Yea, say what you want about archery.  But it was Bard’s arrow that felled Smaug when nothing else would work.”  Gloin finished talking then took a drink of ale.

Gonfin had traded knowledge of Eastern instrument making techniques for the right to wander the halls of Erebor and to interview the remaining Dwarves of Thorin’s company (and Dain himself as well).  They’d asked about his sword, but alas, that had been a gift, and Gonfin was uncertain on the techniques used in its creation.  But having an Elf who was humble enough to ask the Dwarves about anything and be willing to trade for it was a treat, given the haughty Silvan and Sindar that lived in Lasgalen.

“And that was the end of it?”  Gonfin was almost continually scribbling notes since the conversation had started.

“No.  The Dragon had destroyed Lake-town.  The Elves and Men showed up to negotiate reparations.  That went on for a while, then the orcs and Dain showed up and the Battle of the Five Armies happened?”

The Elf made a show of counting on his fingers.  “Elves, Men, Dwarves and Orcs.  Who was the fifth army?”

“Ach, lad, let’s save that till tomorrow, shall we?”  Gloin noted the Elf didn’t even flinch at being called a lad, and his opinion of him rose.  “Council’s this afternoon, and I’ve got to attend.  I’ll drop you off with Bombur now, and you can pester him with questions.  He can even give you some lunch.  Skinny thing like you needs all the meat he can get.”

The Elf gathered up his notes, humming some weird tune as he did.  “Just one last question.”  Gloin nodded.  “The negotiations, I heard a bit about them from the Men of Dale.  Something about a jewel?”

“The Arkenstone, the King’s Jewel.  Beautiful, shines like silver in firelight, or like snow under starlight.” Gloin cupped his hands to show the Elf how big it was.  “Our burglar got it out to them when it looked like Thorin wasn’t going to keep his word to the Men of Lake-town.  They returned it after the Battle.”

“I see.”  The Elf finished stuffing his papers into a small satchel, then stood up (and almost immediately had to bow down again to get through the door.)  “Lead the way, Lord Gloin.”

“Oh yes, I’ve always felt terrible about what happened to the lads.  Kili was barely in his eighties when the Battle happened.”  Dori had agreed to take some time to help Gonfin, under the condition that the Elf help him with doing the inventory of his store.  They’d also agreed to sell some of the instruments the Elf had brought with him, the smaller ones that were more easily replaced.  Dori wasn’t sure anyone in Erebor would actually want Elf-made instruments, but it couldn’t hurt, and the Elf had been humble enough to earn a few friendly gestures.

“Eighty?  I’m not too familiar on mortal ages, but surely that’s not an adult for a dwarf.”  The Elf was currently hauling some wine out of the cellar to the front, but would stop every so often to make more notes.

“Kili was an adult, but only just.  Oh, the poor lads.  I always felt that either of them, Fili or Kili would have made a great King.  Not that Dain’s bad, but it would have been nice to see the Throne stay within the line.”

“Fili or Kili . . . but not Thorin?”  Now Dori looked embarrassed.  “Thorin wasn’t a bad King-in-Exile, but when we got here . . . he was showing signs of the gold-sickness, you understand?”

“Yes, some of the others have mentioned it.”

“If Thorin had been in charge . . . I’m not sure we would have as good relationships with the Men of Dale and the Elves of Mirkwood as we do now.  He was very prideful, and then he didn’t want to give a single coin to those poor men.”  The Dwarf shot a beady eye to the Elf.  “You won’t mention I said any of this, alright?”

“I’ll have to say something.  A lot of people have brought up the gold-sickness, it would be hard to leave out.  But I’ll keep what you said about Thorin being King private, if you’d like.”

“I’d be grateful.”

“Would it be possible to see their graves?  I understand all three Durins were buried together.”

“Entombed,” Dori corrected.  “And yes.  They are-”

“At the bottom of Erebor?”

“Heavens no.  That’s where all the mining is being done.  They’re close to the heart of the mountain, near the throne room.  I’ll ask Dwalin to show you tomorrow.”  He looked around and realized they were finished.  “You’ve done a good job helping me.  The least I can do is offer you some tea.”

“That’ll be great.”  Gonfin wiped some sweat off, and tugged his braid loose, only to start rebuilding it.  “If we have some time, I’ve heard you that you play the flute.  Would you mind playing for me as well?”

“Only if you return the favor.  Bombur’s children have been raving about your music ever since you spoke to him.”

“’Ere they are.  Mind you don’t damage anything.”  The room with the three mausoleums was quite roomy, and Gonfin was amazed he hadn’t had to stoop at all.  “This is amazing.”  He walked around, looking not only at the tombs, but the rest of the structure as well.  “These covers, there’s no joining at all.”

Dwalin nodded.  “Each sarcophagus was made from a single block of marble.  The lids were chiseled out first, with the effigies, then the rest of the block was hollowed out.”

“Strange, I thought the Arkenstone would be on top.”

“Nah, that’s in the tomb with Thorin.  A representation was carved as part of his effigy.”  The Elf continued to examine the late King of Erebor.  “Pardon my thoughts, but he looks almost Man-like.”

“Yea, Thorin was downright ugly for a Dwarf.  Had a heart like the Arkenstone though.”  If Dwalin shed a few tears, the Elf pretended not to notice.  Instead he stood in front of the graves and raised his voice in song.  The words were not ones that any Dwarf knew, but the sentiment was clear.

“That’s an Elvish mourning song.”

“Why, yes, it seemed appropriate.  I’m surprised you recognized it though.”  Dwalin gestured to Kili’s tomb.  “At the funeral, young Kili’s Elf sang something similar.  I recognized the emotions if not the words.”

“Indeed,” the Elf changed the subject.  “And where can I find young Kili’s Sinda friend.  It’s not the first time I’ve heard of her, but she seems nowhere here.  Has she gone West?”

“Ach, no, just bad timing on your part.  She’s part of the delegation to Dorwinion.  Tauriel will be back before the change of the new year.”

“Then I must be sure to remain at least that long.”

“Dwalin!  Furi!  Nice to see you again!”

“Gonfin!” By now the Elf had become a familiar site in Erebor, much like Tauriel herself.  “Surprised to see you.  Aren’t you going down the Celduin to Rhun tomorrow?”

“I am indeed.  But since I will not be the one guiding the boat, I thought it harmless to indulge a little for one last night.”  The Elf brandished a full skin.  “I thought I’d take the time to look around as well.  Who knows when I’ll be back here?”

“Fair enough.”  Dwalin was surprised when the skin was shoved into his hands.  “Uh . . . “

“A gift.  Besides, I think I’ve had enough.  Like you said, I don’t want to miss my boat tomorrow.”  With a wink the Elf pranced off, singing a melodious melody, but replacing the words with one of Dale’s raunchiest drinking ballads.  The two Dwarves watched him go.  “Mad as hatters.  All of them.” stated Furi decisively.

“True,” Dwalin took a swig then passed the skin to the other guard.  “Excellent taste in wine though.”

Maglor glared at the marble duplicate of Thorin.  This was to be his last day here, and he still hadn’t figured out how to get the Silmaril out of the tomb.  Between the wine he gave the guards, and the spells he’d been casting over the past months, he was guaranteed to be undisturbed until morning.  But the point was to get it out without anyone being the wiser.  A broken tomb was a huge sign that something was wrong.  “I give up, it will just have to be magic.”

With that, he raised his sword, then smote the cover of the sarcophagus.  Inside, the Dwarf had decayed into just hair and mail and bone.  The Silmaril, loosely clasped between skeletal fingers, brightened as it was picked up by the son of Feanor.  “Maedhros, you’ve given me so much trouble already.  Please be quiet.”  Immediately the stone dimmed, like a child chastened by it’s parents.  Maglor tucked it into his satchel.  For a second he hesitated over the sword, but in the end left it.  He was here for the Silmaril, not to reclaim Turakano’s lost property.  He then used the halberds of the guards to lever the two halves of the cover back into place.  He sung the stone back whole; there was a seam, but it was unlikely to be noticed unless someone was examining the cover closely.

He woke the guards on the way out with his singing.  It wasn’t the perfect crime, but he doubted anyone would notice his theft for years.

T.A. 2991

“In honor of the fiftieth anniversary of Smaug’s death, the Arkenstone shall be displayed for all to see.”  Dain declared.  Thranduil openly yawned, but Bain was appropriately solemn for the occasion.  With that statement, the King of Erebor gave the signal for the masons to start raising the lid on Thorin’s sarcophagus.

The block of marble was carefully hauled away.  Dain bowed the approached the tomb.  He reached in, then stopped.  “It’s not there.”

For a moment silence reigned.  “What?” asked Dain’s son, Thorin Stonehelm.

“The Arkenstone.  It’s not there.”  Dain pulled back, confusion written all over his face.  “Orcrist is there, but the Arkenstone is not.”

Thranduil came over to confirm Dain’s statement.  “Who would steal the Arkenstone but leave a sword of Gondolin?”

“This would be so much easier, Maedhros, if you were just a wee bit smaller.”  The Arkenstone flickered in sympathy.  Maglor sighed, the put down the tools and silver wire.  Instead, he raised his hand to his cloak pin.  The pin brightened under his touch until it glowed like sunlight.

“I think I’ll leave you with Elrond for a while.”

[darling-danger]

Red (Part 3)

pairing: Daveed Diggs x Reader Summary: Nothing is fixed, nothing is broken. In the end, is it worth all of the effort?  rating: Angst, angsty angst,  word count: 3982 inspiration: “What does it feel like, to lose everything?”

@pearltheartist @justaswimmer18 @hamilbroke @butlinislin @reddyex @arya-durin-51 @perfectionistdia

BONUS: I urge you to listen to Spanish Sahara by Foals after reading this, it really adds to it all. (another link to the song at the bottom of the post)

​

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 (WIP) 

“Daveed, wake up.”

Daveed hears these words echo in his mind and opens his eyes almost instantly. He’s resting in his room and for a moment, he’s completely taken back.

He directs his hand up to his neck where he expected the gash, raw and wounded; however, the moment his hand reached the skin it was met by the texture of a large scar, still burning from treatment. Then he lets his eyes wander around his room: the curtains are open for the first time since you left, allowing some of the light seep into the once dark room.

And there, where Daveed felt the bed dip, near the edge of the bed, was where you sat. You weren’t facing him, rather you had seemed to be looking at something else at the moment before catching him at the corner of your eye. A small smile tugs at your lips as you turn your body to face him. He’s breathless, any thought or idea in his head now a forgotten memory. His mouth is slightly agape, his pupils dilate and he has to remind himself to breathe because he’s seeing you for the first time since you left. There’s a pain in his chest, it dulls the center of his being. Why were you here? He knows the correct answer but he’s running through his mind trying to find any reason you would want to be anywhere near him – a lying, unfaithful man who deserved what he got the previous night.

It hurts to see you at his side, where you had been so many times before. Whether it be the opening of a show or simply cuddling in the morning you were always there by his side, and then you weren’t, and he was the only one to blame.

“I don’t understand… what..?… Why?” He mutters hazily.

“That’s alright,” You begin, moving closer to where he was lying. You cup his cheek with your hand and he sighs, nuzzling into your warm palm, bringing his own hand to rest on top of yours.

“I’m here, you’re safe, nothing else matters.”

You take your time and stare deep into his beautiful eyes. At this moment, he is entranced by you, under a spell-like state of wonder and admiration of your very presence. Daveed sighs as you lean over and shuts his eyes in relief when he feels the softness of your lips.

“I missed you.”

But then Daveed’s body jolts and he now finds himself panting for breath, a thin layer of sweat over his face and neck. He backs himself only to meet the hard arm of a sofa. No. He brings his hand back to his neck and immediately feels the stinging. His fingers run across damp bandages that cover the fresh wound and he comes to his senses. None of it was real, you sitting by his side comforting him; it wasn’t real, not even close. His left eye throbs slightly but he can still clearly see his surroundings.

There’s a TV across the room and a small wooden coffee table in front of him; he’s lying on a red sofa with brown cushions. Shit. He’s at your brother’s place. Daveed’s eyes quickly dart around the room until he sees someone sitting by the table. It takes a moment but he then realises it’s Robbie, watching his every movement as he sat on a chair.

Their gazes lock, not a single sound is made and the silence that surrounds them is overwhelmingly uncomfortable, palpable even. The only thing that can be heard is the low hum of the ceiling fan accompanying the silence.

Daveed breaks from Robbie’s gaze and makes slow, sure movements; he removes the small blanket that he had seemed to be given and tucks it into the side.

“Do you know how fucking lucky you are?” Robbie’s voice cuts through the dead air, Daveed shifts slightly, seemingly refusing to answer. “Lost any more blood and that gash of yours could’ve been fatal.”

Does Daveed answer? Clearly not as Robbie visibly gets irritated with his behaviour.

“You were never the silent type Diggs,” Robbie fumes. “Cut the bullshit and face me.” Knowing it is better to not yank the lion’s tail, Daveed does just that and turns his attention to Robbie. He looks just like you, Daveed thinks to himself as he stares into the same eyes he used to look at every day.

“Where is she?” Daveed asks, his voice husky and tired.

Robbie’s fingers fiddle with each other, nails scraping against the skin. “She went to out to leave your dog with Anthony and Jazzy since you’re clearly not in any position to be taking care of yourself let alone your pet. She probably went to get her stuff too.”

Daveed nods and he feels the guilt return. Every breath only adding to the pressure in his chest. Gravity seems to have a profound effect on him, feeling himself sinking into whatever inferno he belongs to. Then he realises what utter shit he’s gotten himself into: first, cheating on his girlfriend. Second, fucking up so bad that he’s somehow managed to be in a room with your brother which might as well be a death sentence.

“I need to see her.” Daveed begins, pushing himself to stand up. Robbie quickly mirrors his movements, standing up to Daveed’s height.

“You’re not gonna do shit Diggs, you hear me?” Robbie says, taking a few steps forward until he’s a breath away from Daveed. “You think I’m just going to let you go like that? Huh? After you break my little sister like that?”

In the blink of an eye, Robbie has Daveed by the collar, his hands tightly clamping on Daveed’s shirt. Robbie’s jaw is clenched and his nostrils are flared, indicating what could happen to Daveed in a few moments. Daveed is also on edge, every muscle taut and the adrenaline making its way through his system. Yet he manages to stay calm, outwardly accepting whatever form of retribution Robbie has for him.

Again, however, Robbie’s eyes drill into Daveed’s. Robbie sees a man who he thought of as his brother – his family. He sees a man who made you happy, more so than anything he had seen before in his whole life. His soul is filled to the brim with hatred for someone who he trusted and cared for so dearly, it burns inside him – he wants to hurt Daveed, he wants to make him pay for what he did. Still, after everything Daveed has done he can’t bring himself to hurt him. His fists somehow grip tighter until his knuckles turn white and he has no idea what to do. But he would do anything for you, and he understands you would resent him for laying a hand on Daveed. Making up his own mind, he puts Daveed down, moving away so his back is turned.

“You should just fucking go, brother.” The use of endearment sends another sting towards Daveed, knowing just how much Robbie thought of him as family as well. With a deep sigh, Daveed grabs his things on the table; he grabs his wallet and some keys and makes his way towards the door.

The room continues in its silence but the weight in the room somehow lifts. There is no tension, no emotion. Nothing is fixed, nothing is broken – just silence.

As Daveed heads to the door to hail a cab outside, Robbie meets him again, albeit without looking at him. Robbie’s right shoulder meets Daveed’s and Daveed can feel a slight push coming from Robbie’s shoulder. Daveed hears a quick sigh before Robbie gives him the message:

“She should’ve just left you on that fucking street, you know that?”

And with that Robbie pushes past him, making his way to his bedroom. Finally, Daveed is alone. He’s not ready to be alone, not again. As he leaves the house there a knocking in the back of his mind, nagging him. You fucked up, bad. But don’t give her up, you owe it to her. After all you’ve done, try to fucking do something right this time.

The apartment is nothing short of a mess. You dropped off Teddy with Anthony, allowing yourself a goodbye to your beloved companion. After that, you drove around a bit, thinking about your next move. Eventually deciding to finally go to the apartment you used to share with Daveed to collect your things. And here you were an hour later, your clothes packed and a small box of trinkets and other miscellaneous things.

When you first arrived you thought nothing of the clusters of beers and items around the apartment. Once you finished fixing your things, however, did you take notice that all your pictures with Daveed were grouped together on the floor, rather, just left around in a small cluster that you mentioned.

The apartment looks grey, lifeless and completely void of any sort of any emotion. The place you called home, the place you thought you’d eventually permanently live in, now just a solemn reminder of what could’ve been. You let go of your luggage and place the box on top of it before walking around.

There are the pictures that remain untouched. You make your way towards them, kneeling down and picking up a random frame. Your fingers begin to shake as you recognise the picture of you and Daveed during his birthday last year. You can still hear the music, feel the warmth of Daveed as he held you. You remember dancing – after all the festivities, all of the guests had left – when it was just the two of you. Two lovers on a cold evening.

“Dance with me.” You can hear him say it as if he’s been saying it every day since then. The memory of you two dancing in the middle of the living room to soft music, it forces the tears. You bite your lip in resistance, not wanting to cry for a man who had betrayed you, but your mind still latches on. Your mind runs through the feeling of him wrapping his arms around you, moving slowly to the slow rhythms. You hum nostalgically, just as you did when you laid your head on his chest, free from worry. If only you could have warned yourself then. You maybe would have saved yourself a heart.

The frame, cold and rough now feels like poison to your skin and you place back on the floor. This was your fault, none of this would have happened if you stayed with Daveed. If you hadn’t left he wouldn’t have slept with her that night –. No. You cut through your own harmful thoughts. You try and convince yourself you have nothing to do with Daveed from this point on. But somehow, you can’t ignore the feeling that you still have a lot to do here. The place is wrecked, empty bottles of liquor left around the house, the unkempt state of the entire household, Daveed – who could have died had you not arrived sooner – was also a wreck. Your relationship now a puzzle you needed to solve, only, maybe you weren’t the right piece of the puzzle.

Enough is enough, you have to leave this place for now. It’s too soon, and you have your own life, a life you don’t want to be affected by your current situation. You move to pick up the box on top of your luggage only to bump it, forcing it and its contents to spill on the floor.

At that very moment, you hear the door open.

Too suddenly you’re faced with him.

As quickly as you could you placed all of the things back into the box, tucking it into your arm and grabbed the handle of your luggage.

“I was just about to leave. Goodbye Daveed.” You say without meeting his eyes, as you know if you had you would’ve ended right then and there. Daveed doesn’t say anything in protest.

Only when you’re walking past him does he grab you softly by the arm.

“Please, wait…” You hear him croak out. Your other hand lets go of the handle. Then you let your emotions take control. The pent up rage, the hurt, the anguish, it all comes through when your hand meets Daveed’s cheek and you realise you had just slapped him. You’re panting, hearing your heart beat through your ears and you know there is no reversing this.

“No Daveed.” You say firmly. “No more.” Finally, to end it, your eyes wander up eventually meeting his. The handsome face you used to wake up to everyday lacked the life and the colour you were so used to seeing. His eyes, just as tired as yours. You can practically see the thoughts running around his pupil. He wants to say something, he needs to. But he wishes to not push your further than he already has, so he holds his tongue.

You turn, ready to leave when you hear him speak up.

“You dropped something.”

Breathing deeply through your nose your turn your head to see him holding a small velvet box. You look back into his eyes and answer him.

“That’s not mine.” He takes your hand and places the box on the small space of your palm.

“It’s yours,” His voice wavers. “It’ll always be yours.” He lets go but you can feel his fingers linger for only a bit before your hands are cold again. You stuff the box into your pocket and leave with your luggage.

After a long, thoughtful drive you find yourself back at Robbie’s place. The cracks in your well-being are beginning to show and you know that can’t happen. You’ll get through this, get it together before going inside. You remove the keys and place them in your pocket, feeling the small box you had forgotten about.

You pull it out and examine it, your fingers sliding across the smooth surface of the cube.

Swallowing the guts to open the box, you finally do. Your thumb pushes the lid up before your eyes meet the silver band with the red jewel resting on top.

And with a whimper, you finally break.

It had been weeks since you saw Daveed. But every now and then he sends you messages. You don’t exactly know why you haven’t blocked his number yet, but that doesn’t stop you from reading his messages.

From Daveed; 3 weeks ago: We need to talk. Please

From Daveed; last week: I’m near the restaurant we used to go to all the time.

From Daveed; yesterday 2:35 a.m.: I need to talk to you, please. From Daveed; today 5 a.m: God, I’m so sorry, I know you hate me just please.. I need to talk to you

You sigh, conflicted about your feelings. You had left your relationship back at his apartment, all your memories and best moments. You sit by the window on a small seat, watching people live their lives like nothing would ever happen to them. You told yourself that you were through with him. But you lie to yourself as you hold the small velvet box, holding onto the ring that could have saved it all.

“You’re thinking about meeting him, aren’t you?” You’re surprised when Robbie pipes up from where he sat on the couch.

“I’m done with him, Robb.” You assure to Robbie, but mostly to yourself. You hope it’s true.

Robbie sighs and makes his way to you, kneeling so that he can clearly see your face.

“You went out in the middle of the night to save him from dying on the street, you still haven’t blocked his number, you still haven’t deleted the messages he sends you, and you keep that box you got from him. All of that doesn’t really say ‘I’m done with him’ to me.”

Of course, he has a point, he knows you inside out, how your mind works and knows when you truly need something or not.

“If meeting him is gonna give you the closure you need, please just do it,” He begs, resting his hands on either side of your face. “Seeing you like this is like dying every day, it’s not exactly the best for either of us.”

You nuzzle into his hand and nod. You can feel the tears running down your cheeks and Robbie wipes them off with his thumbs.

“I don’t know if I can do this Robb.” You say, your voice slightly shaking.

“Of course you can.” He says, grabbing your jacket and tossing it to you. “And if anything goes wrong, I’ll be around the corner helping my co-worker move into the neighbourhood if you need me, alright?”

You stand, inhaling as you try to calm yourself. “I’m going to walk there alright?” You don’t hear a response, and you assume it simply answered yes. You leave the house, and you text Daveed, unsure if you’ll be ready to face him again.

To Daveed: Meet me at the park in 20

“Let’s just get this over with.” You breathe out. You met up with Daveed but neither of you said a word until both of you sat down on a bench in the park. It was a nice afternoon, a shame since no matter how bright the day was, how warm the sun made your skin feel, you were reminded of him each time.

“Yeah…” He responds, scratching his neck. You turn your attention to him as he tries to come up with something to say. He’s wearing an Oakland hoodie, as per usual, his hair is as wild as ever and his dark glasses sit secured on top of his nose. God, it’s almost as if you forgot what he looked like.

“Is there anything you had in mind?” You hear him say. He seems to have blanked for a moment, those weeks appearing so eager and ready to speak with you have proven false, as you suspected.

For the hundredth time of the day, you take a deep breath to try and calm your nerves.

“Why did you do it?” You ask, apparently catching him off guard.

He shakes his head and bows it slightly in shame. “I don’t know, I was…” He sighs. “I was lonely, I don’t know what came over me. When it was happening I tried to stop I-I really did…”

You shut your eyes and push away every bad thought trying to make its way to the surface.

“I didn’t want to do that to you, I swear, but when you came back and you didn’t have a clue… I felt almost, happy.” He confesses. “Like a kid who was able to steal some candy from the store. But after a while, I couldn’t keep it. I couldn’t live with the guilt, how could I?”

You open your mouth, about to respond quickly, but you hold your tongue.

“I am so sorry, I really am. Of all the shit I’ve done in my life that’s the one thing I wish I wouldn’t have done.”

“But you did.” You whisper. “You fucking did it.” You repeat flatly. You notice Daveed wincing slightly. You want to slander him, completely shame him for what he’d done to you. You want everyone to know what he did. Yet you haven’t told anyone besides Robbie. You tell your friends you two are on a break. You talk of revenge, but your actions tell a different story.

“That night you told me about everything,” It’s his turn to move his attention to you. “I couldn’t slap you. I told you I couldn’t. I just couldn’t believe it at the time. Then when I saw you again, in our-uh, your apartment, I did it, I slapped you.” You let out a dry laugh, taunting yourself.

“I thought it would make me feel better, I really did. But it didn’t. I was so caught up thinking I could have revenge that I didn’t think it would make me feel worse. You were just recovering from the night before. You’ve had enough. Daveed I-I’m sorry too…”

You sniff, tears already pricking at your eyes. He sees you and allows you to rest on his shoulder.

You never thought the two of you would end like this. Nothing is fixed, you feel no closure. This can’t be it.

“I didn’t want it to end like this. Never like this.” You whisper against his chest. You feel a small tear drop on your cheek that belongs to Daveed and it only furthers your sobbing.

“I know. We could’ve been engaged by now, y��know. Maybe even looking for our own house.”

You both smile at the possibility of starting a life together. You’re still somewhat in denial, a part of you convinced this was all a tragic dream and you would wake up in bed with Daveed by your side. You wish. There’s another part of you that wants to be with him again. All that time together, it couldn’t have been for nothing. If you tried, maybe you could fix this together, just like your mom did before you.

From a distance, you hear the soft rumble of thunder, a sign that you should head back home before the rain comes.

“Let me walk you home,” Daveed suggests as he stands up. You’re about to protest against it, but a voice tells you otherwise. Just a little more time, just a little more with him.

Both of you walk back to Robbie’s house, slightly tired from running a bit in fear of getting caught up in the storm.

“Is Robbie home? I don’t think he’d be happy to see me.” Daveed inquires as he looks around at some people who are making their way down the street, strangely in a hurry.

You fumble with the keys to the door, not taking notice of any of the people. “He’s around the corner helping his co-worker with something I think- ugh this lock, okay got it.”

You open the door and turn to Daveed.For a moment you get lost in each other’s eyes, the both of you reminiscing about your first meeting.

“I guess this is it.” Daveed sighs.

You nod, biting your lip.

“Goodbye Daveed, I –“

You’re cut off when you hear your phone ring. You check the caller ID and see Robbie’s picture on the screen. Daveed stands there awkwardly, not sure about what’s happening.

“Hello? Robbie?” You answer but instead of your brother’s voice, you hear panting from the other end.

“Hello? Hello is anyone there??”

“Uh.. yes? Who is this? Can I speak to Robbie?” You ask the person on the other end of the phone.

“You’re his sister, right? Oh my god… I-I”

As you’re listening to the voice you notice Daveed looking at something passing by as the people on the street run around the corner.

“Everything happened s-s-o fast I didn’t realise until… Jesus..”

Your attention is then immediately grabbed by the sound of a loud siren echoing through the street. Daveed looks at you as your eyes lock onto the ambulance hastily making its way, passing by the house. You feel as if your heart had made its way up your throat, your breathing stops as your mind divulges into all the worst possibilities it could think of. The earth stops turning momentarily, the rain that had started to fall comes to a halt, and for a moment you only have one thought:

Don’t turn left, God… please don’t turn left.

Then the ambulance immediately veers to the left.

Your breath escapes you as your knees buckle and you fall to the ground. Daveed manages to catch you, holding you close as the rain begins to fall onto the earth. Just as the sky rumbles, you feel the world crash around you. Nothing is fixed, but now everything is broken.

(Listen to me after reading this)

[mollymauk-teafleak]

The Seal Lullaby: Chapter 8

Completely forgot to post this morning!   (Also, I have a ko-fi now so if you like this fic, maybe consider kicking me a few bucks? You have no idea how much of this story has been fuelled by the pineapple iced tea from the cafe in my local Waterstones)

As always thanks so much to @minky-for-short (genuinely do not know what I would do without this lady) @childofdustandashes @oversaturated-ocean @purearcticfire @arya-durin-51 @kilocurican @hollywoodx4 @brainypaperbullets @lookatvanessasface and all the other lovely people who keep me sane every day

Eliza had never liked sleeping in, she’d always felt like the day had been wasted if she spent most of it in bed. Her dreams were always light, the slightest touch of sunlight on her eyelids enough to wake her, almost like on some subconscious level she was afraid of missing out. Alex, in contrast to his wife, slept sparingly but deeply, his body making sure to get the most out of what few hours he gave it to rest. He and Eliza fought a near constant, playful war over her trying to push him into bed earlier and earlier every day, changing his alarm clock when he wasn’t looking to give him a few hours more, but he could never quite seem to shake the instinctive schedule of a hunting animal.

This made the situation they found themselves this morning a familiar one; Eliza’s eyes fluttering open, already bright and alive and awake, twenty minutes before her six o'clock alarm which she had even on Saturdays, while Alex kept on snoring softly.

She woke up with her head pressed to Alex’s chest, her legs knotted around his hips, some of her hair having wandered into his mouth. They always fell asleep in such a hopeless tangle. Part of it was the fact that they usually just fell asleep minutes after fucking hard enough to put dents in the wall behind the bed where the posts smacked rhythmically into it, part of it was Eliza being an unashamed blanket hog and Alex needing to cling to every scrap of warmth, part of it was his anxiety running like an underground river through the pit of his stomach reminding him that if he woke up in the grip of a nightmare, which he often did, he’d need her close. Either way, untangling themselves in the morning usually took some time.

Eliza didn’t mind today, she had no plans to be anywhere but here. She’d discovered that loving someone as acutely as she loved Alex brought with it a strange enjoyment of the smallest things. She’d never thought she’d get so much warmth and delight, strong enough to feel like a miniature sun radiating between her ribs, simply from watching anyone sleep.

He just seemed so content and relaxed, in a very rare way for her poor Alex. His chest moved slowly, surely, like bellows, making Eliza think of the workings of some great ship, of mechanisms and gears and weights. But then she carefully shuffled closer to him, felt his cool skin, such a warm colour but those few degrees lower, a discrepancy she associated with comfort in a peculiar kind of way. Not the comfort most people thought of, blankets and fires and heat, but the comfort of having cold water run across irritated skin or a breeze when the weather was suffocating or ice running down a parched throat. That was her Alex all over, not what anyone would expect but that only made what she felt for him sink deeper.

Eliza heard the blood rushing through his body, the picked-up rhythm of his heart, still faster than hers even as he slept. That was one thing their children had inherited from their daddy; she always noticed the flicker of surprise across the nurse’s face right at the very beginning, when they would press the stethoscope to her skin, against the little swelling that no one would notice but her and Alex, and find the second heartbeat buried inside her. They’d recommend relaxation, certain foods or medications, murmuring about foetal distress, but eventually they’d cotton on that it was just the way they were. That faster than average heartbeat would still be there a month later, nine months later when they could listen to their heartbeat without the interference of her skin, a year later, two years, five years. Eliza had felt it yesterday morning when she’d squeezed Philip in a hug before he left for school, when she’d straightened Angie’s tie after she’d tied it too tight, when AJ had been refusing to wear his raincoat and she’d had to wrestle him into it, when her youngest, sweet little Jamie, had been feeding just a few hours ago and his little form had been pressed to her.

The same quick, lively rhythm in every chest. And here it was now, under her palm, echoing through Alex’s ribs. It was like a little lifeline, a thread, connecting all of her family and her mornings were always brightened by feeling it.

Eliza lost track of the time as she lay there listening to Alex’s heartbeat and watching him sleep, not asleep herself exactly but somewhere in between where she couldn’t feel the minutes slipping by and couldn’t be touched by anything but what was right in front of her, blurred into half reverie, half reality. The only way in which she was even vaguely aware of the day progressing was the room slowly building with light, filling up with an increasing tideline of the pale, translucent sunlight of the later morning. It was as if, even in Eliza’s wildest dreams when anything and everything became a possibility, all she wanted was to be here in bed with her husband next to her. A simple desire maybe, but Eliza could not be more content. How many other people could say that what lived in their dreams matched their reality so perfectly?

The peace was broken before restlessness could set in, the room finally growing too bright for Alex’s oversensitive eyes to remain closed against. Eliza was shifted with him as consciousness found his muscles first, tension flexing its way through them, then his mouth as he made a low growling sound, almost like he was annoyed at being woken up, then finally his eyes, screwing up and snapping open.

“Morning,” Eliza whispered, her voice cracking with its first spoken word of the day, a smile growing on his face at how cute he looked when he was sleepy.

“Hey,” Alex grunted back, wriggling his arms free and stretching them high above his head, joints popping all the way down. Once he had full control over his body again, he could smile back, entwining his body around her and pulling her over so she was on top of him. Eliza gave a sleepy giggle at finding herself draped over him, happily snuggling in so her mouth was pressed to the hollow of his neck. She breathed in his scent, the slight tang of salt and the dark musk that reminded her of night time, something of the acerbic smell of his typewriter ink, a little of the dust from his beloved old books. And more than a little of her, her own perfume from the countless times every single day their skin brushed together until it was an indelible part of him.

“I missed you,” she found herself saying in a low, gentle voice.

“While we were asleep?” Alex asked, surprised and bemused, “I didn’t go far.”

“I know,” Eliza felt a little silly, blushing and glad that their position hid her face.

Alex’s hands found more energy, coming up and running down the ridges of her spine, “You know what? I missed you too.”

Eliza shivered happily, kissing at the side of his head along the line of his hair. Suddenly, she didn’t feel silly any more. Alex took that away from her, giving her the power she’d never had until she met him, to say whatever she felt in whatever way she felt like it without needing to check herself or feel ridiculous or shy. He took all those bits of her and loved them just like any other.

“Were you watching me sleep again?” Alex hummed in happy puzzlement, revelling in the memory of her dark brown eyes, always reminding her of the colour of ancient trees, which had been the very first thing he’d seen when he woke up.

Eliza grinned, putting more agency in her own muscles, lifting herself up to kiss at the bridge of his nose now, slowly meandering her way down to his lips, “Can’t a girl watch her man sleep?”

“I’m not a man,” he pointed out in a playful tone, eyes bright.

“Either way,” she snorted, her kiss at the corner of his mouth becoming a nip as if to chastise, “You’re mine. And I reserve the right to enjoy the simple pleasure of watching you en repose.”

“I am yours,” he hummed, looking infinitely pleased by that fact.

Eliza grinned down at him, her hair falling in a curtain down one side, catching the sunlight and shining with an almost ethereal glow, the kind of colour scheme Alex had only ever seen on the palettes of watercolour artists. It put such a deep, cavernous need in him, to hold her and pin her above him. To suck and lick and breech and explore with his fingers, press and stroke and pinch and rock her until she couldn’t take anymore and pushed him away. Eliza felt it crackle through the air between them, as clear as if he’d said it aloud as if there would be words for a feeling so profound. She started to smile, her body shifting in an unspoken answer to his unspoken question.

Of course, it was as soon as their lips came together that the door swung open.

“Mama!” AJ’s voice, somehow so loud and full for such a little thing, having inherited his father’s name, volume control deficiency and short stature, “Pops!”

Eliza gave Alex a smile as their kiss broke, neither of them holding any annoyance. This was just part of their life. The need would still be there, as healthy as ever, the next time they found themselves alone.

“Good morning, sweethearts,” Eliza rolled off Alex, beaming genuinely at her two youngest; AJ looking ticked off, his black hair in an electrified cloud around his face, Jamie sporting a sparser and somehow neater version, along with his perpetually anxious expression.

“Jamie’s hungry,” AJ informed them, shaking the hand his tiny brother was clinging to as if in evidence, “Woke me up.”

“Like you aren’t a little nightmare when you’re hungry,” Alex propped himself up on his elbow, smirking.

“He doesn’t mean it, baby boy,” Eliza chuckled a little at the very grown up look of indignation on AJ’s face, “Come on up.” She patted the bed, smoothing out the blankets, having a sneaking suspicion that this very invitation was why AJ had brought his little brother along rather than asking Philip, who also shared their bedroom, to take him.

AJ was a funny little thing but he worked hard to hide a soft, generous heart. Eliza could tell he was going to grow into a brilliant older brother, a brilliant person. She was very, very glad she’d persuaded her husband to name this baby after him- AJ being a way of not getting little Alex confused with big Alex- she didn’t think any of their children would turn out to be so suited for it.

Jamie hadn’t quite got the hang of walking yet, he moved his legs in too big of a circle, plopped them down too heavily. It was only the irresistible desire of wanting to walk around and devotedly follow his older siblings that had gotten him on his feet so quickly. The slippery material of the seashell patterned onesie he wore wasn’t making the task any easier, AJ had to half carry him over the short distance to the bed, giving him a little too enthusiastic of a boost that left him sprawling across his mama’s lap.

“Oh!” Eliza righted him quickly, knowing Jamie was an easy crier and burst into tears at the slightest provocation. He soothed in seconds once she had him in her arms, “Hello, my little angel.”

Alex scooped up AJ in turn, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his mussed-up curls. None of their babies ever got within his reach without getting a flurry of kisses and a tight hug. AJ pretended to grouch, maintaining the ‘too big for cuddles’ stance he’d been occupying recently. But it only took two seconds for him to start hugging back, his arms just about long enough now to wrap entirely around his Pops’ waist.

Eliza smiled, the sight of them warming her through as if this morning hadn’t already been perfect enough. She got Jamie all settled, hiking the old shirt of Alex’s she wore to bed down off her shoulder so he could feed, one arm supporting him, the other resting against his head, one thumb stroking his silky baby hair.

“Hungry, huh, little man?” she murmured, feeling him cling onto her for comfort and warmth, burrowing instinctively into her softness as all the tension melted away out of his little bones. The knowledge that she was who her little boy turned to for this, that she could do this for him, it was enough to make a few happy tears seed behind her eyelids.

Alex grinned at her, from behind the forest of his little namesake’s hair. She saw the request in his eyes, he didn’t need to say it. Something was missing.

“Go on then,” Eliza beamed at him.

Excitement flooded his face and he shifted, disturbing AJ who had almost drifted back to sleep. He didn’t even need to leave the bed; the walls of the cottage didn’t take much to cross.

“Hey!” he hollered, knocking his fist against the wall for good measure, “Mama and Pops’ bed, front and centre! Ten hut!”

It was a drill they were all familiar with. Angie turned up first, cocooned in her duvet so she looked like a giant marshmallow with legs poking out, “Alright, alright, I’m here…” She hopped up in between Alex and Eliza, leaning against her dad.

Philip wasn’t far behind, looking like a sleepwalker, only able to make vague grunts, falling face first across everyone’s legs and not moving, like that was all he was prepared to do. He’d gotten so long and so lanky in such a short space of time, like the roly poly baby fat had been transferred directly to pure height and muscle and sinew. His feet hung off the edge of the bed.

Now everything really was perfect. Alex attempting to hold as many of his children as he could possibly manage, Angie nodding off against his shoulder, AJ plucking at one of Philip’s curls, Philip semi unconscious and blissfully unaware, Jamie soothed and safe in her arms. Eliza leaned back against the pillows and just basked in it all, in the low chatter, the harmony of so many soft breaths, the more tangible warmth of the blankets and sunlight and the much purer, richer warmth of having the people she loved most in the whole world close by and safe and happy.

Eliza couldn’t imagine how any dream could possibly be better.

-

Eliza found herself drifting a little, some daydream state coming and settling on her shoulder like a bird, its song in her ear distracting her and carrying her off until it took Angie coming in and lightly tapping her mama’s arm to bring her back.

“Sorry, honey, I was off on some other world,” she blinked fast, shaking herself a little and rapping her knuckles lightly against the counter like she was trying to keep herself grounded with the noise and the thud.

“Well, welcome back,” her little girl gave her a wry smile in return. There was so much intelligence in that smile, so much awareness for a girl who was only seven.

Eliza kissed her forehead, right on the galaxy of freckles that ran up from the slant of her nose and across her cheekbones, the ones she’d predicted from the very first time she’d held her baby in her arms. She didn’t think she’d get enough to rival Philip, who was covered from head to toe, his face and across his shoulders and down his arms, the tops of his legs. They bothered him sometimes, she’d seen him looking in the mirror with a tight, unhappy expression, she’d heard from a regretful Maria that some words had been thrown at him at school. So, Eliza took every single opportunity she could to tell him how she admired his speckling, his decorations, repeating as often as it could come up naturally that they were unique and special and beautiful. She would kiss them whenever he wore short sleeves and prayed to god that he’d find someone when he was older who would love them just as much as she did.

She didn’t think Angie would face the same issues, her freckles were just a slight spatter compared to Philip’s torrent. Like whatever or whoever had constructed her daughter’s face had been compelled to add a finishing touch, taking a paintbrush dripping with the most gorgeous earthy brown and lightly tapped the edge to form the spray over her golden skin Eliza admired now. Poor Philip must have had more of a Jackson Pollock type.

“How’s the homework going?” Eliza asked, her hand resting on Angie’s thin shoulder. She was built from wire, her little girl, mind and body and soul.

“All finished,” Angie replied, leaning into her mother’s touch and wrinkling her delicate nose a little, her eyebrows that were already slightly joined by a light bridge of more flaxen hair knotting together fully, “Emily Dickinson is weird.”

“Weird?” Eliza grinned bemusedly, “Do tell, baby girl.”

“Well…” Angie struggled to hop up on the counter, needing a little boost from Eliza to really get there, “We have to research a poet for school so Pops gave me her book. And she’s really good, I like it, but she’s so sad. Like really lonely?”

Eliza nodded slowly, remembering that she had a cup of coffee in her hands. She loved the smell of coffee, it reminded her of cool mornings with howling winds and rain that she knew she didn’t have to go out in, of Alex’s warmth and hardness pressed against her under cosy blankets, of Alex himself, just Alex.

“She was a bit of a recluse,” Eliza agreed, nodding, “Lived alone in her room most of the time. If I remember correctly, people used to gossip about her, say she was a ghost.”

“Really?” Angie blinked curiously, eventually nodding, “Yeah. They seem like the kind of poems a ghost would write. If they could hold pens.”

Eliza laughed, her light, golden, ringing laugh that all her children treasured, “Yeah…she wasn’t though, people just didn’t understand her. She was a genius and a little bit different, sure, but people have a way of twisting things they don’t understand.”

Angie swung her legs, her expression thoughtful and relaxed, “People do that a lot with clever artists, don’t they?”

Eliza’s eyes flickered from stirring the coffee, up to her daughter’s face, “They do, honey. It’s never really fair but people seem to prefer demonising and gossiping to making the effort so they can understand those who are different.”

Angie didn’t quite understand all the words her mama used but she got enough that she didn’t press for an explanation. She did have one question that was sitting uncomfortably in her chest.

“Do people do that with Pops?” she murmured.

Eliza blinked, a little startled, having to swallow back something that rose in her throat before she could answer, “Your father isn’t lonely, baby girl. He has all of us.”

Angie considered this, looking down at her knees, still sporting blooms of scabs from where she fell down the other day while teaching AJ how to skateboard.

“He doesn’t seem sad,” she agreed, her voice quietening under the weight of something she couldn’t even name, “But…I read little bits of his stuff? And that seems sad. And angry. And kind of lost?”

Eliza tapped her nails against the side of the mug, the ringing sound doing nothing to break the building, obtrusive quiet, “I suppose it does.”

There were copies of the four anthologies of Alex’s that had been published so far sat there with un-cracked spines on one of their bookshelves, advance copies were sent to them though Alex flatly refused to read his own writing. They came in stiff, grand looking cardboard packages with the equally ostentatious logo of Jefferson Publishing, were opened, the cover briefly glanced at then abandoned on the bookshelf closest to the door where they were opened. The idea that their children might go looking in them, see their father’s name on the side and get curious enough to open and read, had never occurred to Eliza. Or maybe it had and she’d been too scared of it to look any closer.

“But…Pops isn’t a ghost, is he?” Angie pressed again, sounding less and less sure with every word.

Eliza shared her doubt. She knew what Alex was, he wasn’t a ghost. But what he was sat just on the fringe of an impossibility. Enough that Eliza herself still reeled from it.

“No, honey, he isn’t,” she eventually nodded, wincing internally as it became clear she’d left too much of a pause, “He’s your daddy.”

Angie nodded too, mimicking her mama, though her little heart was still troubled. She’d rather not hear any more.

“So,” Eliza cleared her throat a little, firmly banishing the awkwardness through sheer force of will, “Did you come just to discuss the merits of gothic poetry with me? Or can I do anything for you, baby girl?”

Angie giggled, having the indelible ability of small children to shrug away bad vibes with so little effort, “I can’t find Pip, mama.”

“Philip?” Eliza hummed, “Is he not in his room? In the fort?”

The Hamilton kids had used the few days of genuine sunshine that summer to collect as much driftwood as their collective arms could hold and cobble together a rough but surprisingly sturdy shack at the bottom of the garden. Philip had done most of the construction, begging a hammer and nails from Alex, which he did get but his father firmly drew the line at him using the bandsaw. Angie had carefully painted it and sanded down the rough edges. AJ had collected shells and rocks for the wonky path that led to the lopsided door. Jamie, seeing as manufacture began only a few weeks after he’d taken his first steps, sat underneath the aging apple tree and amused himself by waving a twig in the air, like a tiny foreman.

“No, I looked there,” Angie hummed, shaking her head so her bob bounced, “He’s not in any of them. Not in the living room either.”

Eliza frowned though she wasn’t worried. Philip was nearly ten, he could look after himself. Perhaps Alex had sent him to the store, they’d been doing that to try and give him some burgeoning sense of independence, knowing that every pair of eyes in the village knew him and would look out for him.

“Here,” she said gently, sliding the mug over to Angie, it had been far too long since Alex had drunk something, “Take this through to Pops, okay? He’ll know where Pip’s got to.”

Angie took the coffee carefully, “Okay, mama.”

“Hey,” Eliza said softly before she turned to go.

Angie turned around, tilting her head curiously.

Eliza kissed her cheek, “I love you, sweetheart.”

Angie flushed a little, her vague little smile growing into something genuine, “I love you too, mama.”

Both of them felt better for that as they parted.

Angie was careful not to spill any of the coffee as she made her way up the stairs, every floor in the cottage was an obstacle course of raised edges and buckled runs that the lot of them had carefully memorised and mapped out but it did no harm to be cautious.

There was an unspoken rule in their house that only mama could come and go through Pops’ office as she pleased, the children had to knock. Not like they were ever denied entry, as soon as Angie rapped her knuckles against the dark wood, she heard her father’s voice, “Come in!”

It was just a small reminder that this was where he worked, that he was usually busy whenever they entered and they needed to respect that.

Sure enough, when Angie pushed back the door, her father was dropping his phone down on the desk with a heavy and resigned thud, slumping in his chair and rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Boy, am I glad to see you, my angel,” he sighed, looking exhausted but the wry, crooked, alive smile Angie knew was still there.

“Why?” his daughter smiled back, her grin deepened and lengthened by his use of her special nickname, coming and perching on the end of his desk. She winced at how it croaked in protest and shuddered but she never worried that it would break. This old thing had held taller mountains of paper than Angie herself.

“Well, because of this,” Alex grins, taking the coffee cup and holding it to his chest like a talisman, breathing in the scent of it and feeling nerves that had withered and shrunk back like coral in no sunlight coming back to life and flooding with colour and ideas.

“I aim to please,” Angie shrugged, nudging his leg with one leaf-patterned sock.

“And secondly,” Alex continued, after a generous sip, “Because I really could use someone who can make me smile.”

Angie grinned, feeling awfully proud that she was considered someone who could accomplish that. People at school, teachers, other kids, all she ever got back from them was that she was ‘quiet’. ‘Reserved’ was another word they were all fond of, it had appeared several times on her otherwise glowing report before the summer. A kind way of saying the other word they passed around in more hushed voices when they thought she couldn’t hear. Antisocial. Weird. Outcast.

She only prayed they didn’t say those things in front of her Mama.

But her Pops saw her as someone who could make him smile. And he was who she chose to believe.

“Why do you need to smile?” she grinned, thinking that if she asked for a sip of his coffee he’d probably give her one. That was the kind of thing her Pops liked to do for her, little things to make her feel grown up, like a co-conspirator of his. Like they were best friends as well as father and daughter.

“Because,” Alex rolled his eyes, a diluted version of the frustration she’d seen on his face when she walked in reappearing in the valleys and lines of his face, “My publisher is being a word Mama quite rightly reminds me not to say in front of my little ones.”

Angie giggled, deciding to rest her feet on his knees so she could prop her face up on her hands. At this age, it felt like her body always ached and felt just a little too heavy to lift sometimes, like after only eight years her skeleton had just had enough. Mama would rub her shoulders on an evening and kiss her whenever it hurt, promising that it was just growing pains and wouldn’t last.

She knew all about her Pops’ clashes with his new publisher, Mr Jefferson. He was one of the best in all of New York, she’d heard Grandpa say last time they’d visited, but he and Pops seemed to disagree on just about everything under the sun, right down to having spent two hours on the phone last week bickering about font sizes. At the dinner table, as they’d all been amusing themselves by listening to their father pace in the hallway, snapping and exasperating and gesticulating wildly despite the fact that the man he was arguing with was thousands of miles away, Pip had asked why Pops didn’t just find another publisher. One who didn’t grate on him so much, who he’d never been reduced to calling a ‘pompous blowhard asshole’ (Eliza had given him a stern look for that one, Alex had gotten one of his own when he’d finally wandered back in). Mama had just sighed and rolled her eyes and smiled in that enigmatic way she did sometimes and said that, despite appearances, daddy and Mr Jefferson actually did work very, very well together.

“He’s an idiot,” Angie said grandly.

Alex grinned, the laughter lines that ridged his face filling in the way she’d seen them do a million times, “Damn right, angel.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, her smile became mischievous, “But you’re an idiot too, Pops. So, it all works out.”

Alex paused for a moment before he busted out laughing, the whole of his wiry frame shaking with it, making the battered old chair he sat in creak and screech, almost as if it was laughing along with him.

“I love you, angel, you know that?” he beamed a little softer now, but with more sincerity, running his hand along the desk, shining not with polish but with overuse, until it rested over hers.

“Yeah, I know, Pops,” Angie nodded, “I love you too.”

It was a few moments of companionable silence as Alex drank the coffee down to the dregs with his usual reckless enthusiasm before Angie even remembered why she’d come in here in the first place.

“Oh!” she piped up, “Have you seen Philip? I can’t find him anywhere.”

Alex frowned, his pupils flickering from side to side as he thought, “Ah, not since breakfast. I thought he was doing homework in the dining room.”

Angie shook her head, “Not in his room either. Or the fort. Or the kitchen.”

He worried his lower lip idly, “Huh. I haven’t sent him to the store or anything…you know what, I bet Jamie pulled him in to helping him finish that Lego thingy he was building.”   

“Probably,” Angie hummed, though she had already poked her head into Jamie’s room and found him still napping peacefully. But something told her not to give her father this particular scrap of information, he was already starting to look seriously worried, eyes narrowed and lips tight. Philip would be somewhere. No sense in scaring her daddy. Her brother would be somewhere.

“I’ll go help them. Last night they were trying to put a plane’s wing on the front of it cos they thought it was the nose,” Angie hopped down, her expression back to cheerful and relaxed.

“Yikes,” Alex’s worry faded too, taking his cue from his daughter. If she wasn’t worried, then he saw no reason to be. She was safe, she was happy so he was satisfied, “You go sort them out, angel.”

“I will, Pops,” Angie kissed his cheek before she left, feeling a tickle. His usually trim goatee was encroaching on his upper jaw, he needed to shave. Or rather, he needed Mama to remind him to shave.

Angie hadn’t gotten an answer to her question. But she’d made both her mother and her father smile and that was something of a success.

Alex and Eliza finally got their moment to be alone later that night, after all the children were asleep or at least, in the case of Philip and Angie and maybe even AJ, the little rascal who seemed determined to grow up before his time, in their beds. Alex could guess what each one of them was doing as he wandered down the hallway, pausing just a little outside each door he passed; the door decorated with pictures cut out of old National Geographic’s behind which Philip was probably scribbling away at the desk, writing in the black moleskine notebook which had been his favourite present from his last birthday, sipping the glass of spiced milk Alex had pressed into his hands along with a forehead kiss before he’d run upstairs. Jamie would be asleep for sure, he knew that, he’d been watching fondly as Eliza had tucked him in after his last feeding with his cuddly blue duvet pulled right up to his nose. And AJ would be in the last bed, the one closest to the window so he could look out of it and daydream, holding his torch between his knees and a book in his hands that he’d never get around to reading because his head would start to nod within ten minutes and he’d fall asleep with his cheek pressed to the windowsill. Alex could trust Philip to pull the blanket over his shoulders so his little namesake wouldn’t wake up shivering at least. The lines that would be pressed against his face, Alex could do nothing about.

Behind the next door a few steps away, decorated with twisting vines that Eliza had helped her daughter paint one rain soaked Sunday and carefully pencilled quotes from much loved books, The Hobbit, Harry Potter, The Velveteen Rabbit, Winnie the Pooh, Alex could guess Angie was sitting cross-legged on her bed, blanket pulled up like a tent over her head, whatever book she was up to right now spread over her knees. He hoped it was the collection of Emily Dickinson poems he’d recommended to her. There’d be a glass of lavender and honey milk (she was allergic to cinnamon) on the side table which she’d grope for every so often without taking her eyes off the page. And she’d be smiling. They’d all be smiling, his boys and his girl.

So, Alex could head to bed smiling.

His smile only grew wider when he walked into the warm , dusky gold glow of his and Eliza’s bedroom, seeing his wife curled up in the leather wingback over in the corner, the one so used it was cracked and worn and turned calico, reading in the lamplight. She looked up curiously when he walked in though it only took a moment for her to grin back. Alex wondered for a moment at the profound joy he felt at the decidedly simple fact that his wife and his daughter had the same expression when they were lost in a book.

“Hey there,” Eliza brought his moment to an end, raising one eyebrow, “You okay?”

“A little better than okay, I’d say,” he smirked slightly, wandering over, deciding to just go ahead and discard his t shirt as he did, leaving him in just the black shorts.

“Good,” Eliza bit her lower lip and allowed herself to eye him shamelessly as he approached, the way his muscles rippled under his skin, the way the angles of his body cast shadows in the odd lighting.

The differences between who he had been the first day she’d met him and who he was now were so obvious in that moment. He was more filled out in the lower half, clearly eating and eating well every day when Eliza was pretty sure she’d been able to see his ribs as she’d handed him his first bowl of chicken soup. He didn’t shift and fidget constantly, like he was held in a constant readiness to brace and fight, he was relaxed. His shoulders actually slumped!  Like his paranoia had finally retreated enough for him to be bored, like the restless, anxious energy that had buzzed through him for the first few years of their relationship had fled. He looked sure of himself. He looked safe.

“Good?” Alex smiled crookedly, seeing the expression cross her face, the deepening and darkening of her eyes.

“Maybe even a little bit better than good?” she teased lightly, casting her book to the floor so both her hands were free to hold his face once he came within reach, pulling him down and pressing her lips to his. Now they were finally alone, they both realised that the ache for each other that had swelled within them that morning had only grew and intensified under their ignorance, without their knowledge. Leaving them with this fire, the one they could taste in that first kiss, as Eliza hummed against the silky line between Alex’s goatee and his lips and he tasted a faint tingle from the toothpaste she’d just used before bed.

What was the point in waiting any longer?

Alex pulled away for air, though as his hands dipped down he realised that Eliza was wearing an old shirt of his, one from a concert he’d never been to for a band he’d never heard of but he’d fallen in love with it at the thrift store, with nothing underneath and that stole what little breath he had. She giggled as the blush ran from his cheeks, down his throat to his chest; she’d known he’d like that. There was no resistance from her as Alex took her hands and led her over to the bed.

Alex thought for a moment, tried to follow which of all the things his body was screaming at him to do to her, for her, with her, it wanted the most. Once he’d decided, he ran with it and Eliza was right on his heels, as soon as it became clear from the way he lay prone on his back against the pillows and ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, where his head was at.

Alex groaned softly as Eliza swung a leg over him so she was perched on his chest, his head caught between her thighs, what he wanted so close, enough that he felt the hairs on his skin stand to attention and his mouth fell open in desire. His hands, fluttering in his excitement like flustered birds, found a perch on the backs of her knees, thumbs rubbing the soft flesh alive with nerves. That and the rest of it, feeling his warm breath against her flesh, disturbing the wetness gathering there at a furious pace, the light in his eyes, the hunger in them he made absolutely no effort to hide, drew such a low, rapturous moan from Eliza that shook Alex so deeply it felt like the resonance of the universe.

“Can I?” he emphasised the whine of desire in his voice, knowing she loved it.

Eliza took a shivering breath and gathered the hem of the t shirt in her hands to hike it around her waist, letting him see all of her, every rose pink, shining inch of her. That sufficed as an answer, she felt.

“Remember to tap my thigh if you can’t breathe,” she reminded him, taking a moment to reach down between her thighs and stroke his cheek. She was only too aware of how he could push himself too far, forget his own, more basic needs while chasing their lust.

Alex snorted, his teeth flashing at her in the gloom, “You think I’m scared of drowning?”

“You are the worst!” Eliza giggled, blushing in that way she did where her whole face went red, “Shut up!”

“Ah, I think you know one really good way to get me to shut up right now,” he raised an eyebrow, challenging her, making her shiver with his words as much as his actions.

“Oh my god…” Eliza rolled her eyes, rising a little on her knees, one hand holding on to the headboard, the other resting against her face, within her reach for when she’d need to bite down on her fist.

“Save it,” he purred, running out of what little patience he’d had and pulled her down to him, burying his face between her legs.

Eliza gasped, feeling electricity course through her from the exact instant he touched down. He started off slow, searching, running the flat of his tongue between her lips, back and forth in deep, measured laps. Only when Eliza was shivering and her chest was heaving and he could feel the tension ringing through her legs did he begin to pick up his pace and vary his pressure, craning his neck in a way that would give him an ache in the morning so he could press his face flush against her. He was soaked in minutes, jaw working and muscles snapping, doing everything he could think of, giving her every trick and twist he knew. After she was moaning and whining into her fist, he began to use his teeth to nip lightly, his lips to suck and pull at her, his tongue to penetrate but only after she’d earned it with the muffled, lusty sobs that dripped from her throat to the hot air between them until they filled his mouth with sweetness.

Eliza was in paroxysms, riding his face with determination and sheer delight, eagerly taking every drop of pleasure he so willingly gave her. He needed to shave, she realised quickly as his rough face and angular lines had her pulsing and pomegranate red against his mouth.

Alex was simply floating, thrown back to times of rare joy, the mornings when he’d slide into the water with a full belly and rested muscles itching for the freedom and expanse of the sea, the first time his mouth would fill with water and salt would flood his tongue and he’d feel like he was home. God those times had felt good but the taste of that unspoiled, curt salt, as beautiful as it had been, it didn’t even come close to how damn good Eliza’s vulva tasted. His hands roved up her back, scrabbling for her, wanting her closer even when it was physically impossible. He just wanted her, even as he had her, shameless and greedy, unwilling to relinquish his grip on this bliss after being forced to live for years without knowing it. He would always want her.

“Alex, oh Alex, more, God, right there, yes…oh yes…”

Eliza’s whole body rang with his name, like she was a complex, exquisitely carved instrument and he had been training for years. But she couldn’t climb forever. It became too hot and wild to keep a hold of, by all laws of physics and entropy it had to.

She came with an almost painful brilliance, throwing her head back and thankfully keeping the strangled cry of his name at an acceptable level thanks to her palm pressed to her mouth. She came once more, her oversensitive clit caught on his nose as she pulled away and left her arching and drenching him further. She whimpered and shuddered as she fell back, between his legs, hair in a dark cloud, eyes hazy, heart racing so hard she vaguely wondered who was beating that drum so loudly so late at night.

“Eliza?” the word drifted to her from somewhere far away, looping a rope around her wrist and pulling her back to earth, “Baby? You okay?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice a satisfied rasp, “God, Alex, that was so amazing…”

Alex shushed her gently, not wanting her to try and talk when she was so exhausted, reaching down and finding her hand. Still, the smug and gratified smile he wore could light up a room.

They both needed some time to find themselves, just basking and giggling at how they were so tangled, Eliza basically using Alex as a pillow, her legs thrown over his chest and yet neither of them showed any desire to move.

“You are…really, really good at that…” Eliza mumbled, eyes closed, a dazed smile on her face.

Alex gave a low, sleepy rumble of laughter, “You shameless flatterer.”

“Well,” she snorted in mock defensiveness, “My brain’s broke. And whose fault is that?”

“Mine!” he cried delightedly, punching the air weakly and making Eliza dissolve into enough sniggers to shake the bed.

Eventually Eliza had her strength back and the hard bulge she could feel through Alex’s shorts, pressing against her tailbone, was giving her an idea for how to put it to use.

“This for me?” she wondered out loud, shifting her hips to work it a little, her heart giving an excited kick at the breathy gasp her movement drew from her husband.

“Eliza…” he whimpered, feeling his body throb, knowing she felt it too.

“Easy, baby,” she pulled herself up, tucking her legs under herself, tossing out her wild hair and giving in to her hand’s desire to pull away his shorts, “I’ve got you.”

She wanted to do so many things to him and from the way he trembled and the depth of the blush his skin that taken on, Alex would give an immediate and impassioned yes to all of them. Selkie Alex had been and continued to be enamoured with the whole concept of sex toys, items that existed simply for pleasure and fun and enjoyment. They owned more than a few, many of them picked for aesthetics or for a sudden exultant thrill to try something new and Eliza’s mind raced with how she could use them, the decedent array of ways she could have him writhing and panting and clawing at the sheets.

Sometimes there was a downside to too much choice. Or maybe she was just indecisive.

“Alex, if you could have anything in the whole world right now, anything to make you happy, what would you want?” she mused, her voice warm and playful, fingers teasing the thick, tight curls at the base of his erection.

The pads of her fingers kneading at him, transparent liquid already beading and running in a salty tingle down his length, Alex’s answer surprised no one more than himself.

“Falling asleep in your arms,” he panted desperately.

Eliza’s mouth opened a little in surprise, eyelids fluttering and her heart swelling for a slightly different reason. After a moment, her gaze turned fond and determined. There would be so many nights for all those other ideas, right now he’d convinced her.

Eliza pounced, straddling him and kissing him lustfully as her hand wrapped around his length, feeling him respond instantly to her touch, his moan hot against her lips. They made out with no haste, only a blissful, idyllic amusement, Eliza working him over with as much attentiveness as he’d given her, like for like, love for love.

Eating her out had brought him so close, she was relishing his cracked, relieved groan of release within two minutes, feeling heat speckle her wrist. After one last forehead kiss, she had him lick it off her skin and they were both finally done, collapsing into each other’s arms, the warm glow from their love making dispelling the need for blankets.

The ache for each other didn’t go exactly, just transmuted and flowed into a more embolus form, something at a lower ebb but would last much longer, never satisfied and guttering out, only fuelled by moments like this one, where they would fall asleep in each other’s embrace. The ache would come back, the hunger would always resurface. But this wasn’t hunger, this was satiation.

This was being mated.

Eliza whimpered softly in her sleep as Alex tried to extract himself, hanging on until the last possible second, only the fact that it was somewhere in the region of three am stopping her from waking up completely and protesting more firmly.

“Just getting a drink,” Alex murmured, his voice full of sleep, kissing her forehead and brushing back some of the hair that had fallen across her face, “Won’t be two seconds.”

Eliza’s face still crumpled in sleepy annoyance but a few more kisses, one for the back of her hand as he carefully placed it on her pillow, one for her cheek, once for her forehead again, each of them tasting of the reluctance in her body as it eventually let him go.

“Two seconds,” he repeated, even though Eliza had already been taken by sleep. Maybe the reassurance was more for himself. He did always feel an uncomfortable pull, even now when he’d been passing as human for years, when even he couldn’t deny that he was fully integrated, somehow moving out of Eliza’s sight still felt like tugging against a fishhook.

The thought, prickly and oddly shaped and awkward to hold, was discarded somewhere on the stairs well before he got to the kitchen.

The fact that the light was on made him jump, brought back a flood of old instincts that made his nerves crackle and stiffen, but it was gone in a second. Alex knew those footsteps.

“Angel?” he leaned in the doorway, now unsurprised to see his daughter padding across the tiles.

He’d kept his voice low and gentle, trying not to shock her, but it was kind of hard not to make someone jump when you came upon them in a kitchen in the early hours of the morning. And his little angel was kind of jumpy anyway, she shot up like a startled cat.

“Sorry,” Alex couldn’t help but smile a little, coming up with his hands raised in playful surrender, “Only me.”

Angie played with the hem of her sleepshirt, “You need to wear a bell, Pops.”

“Hey, you’re the one sneaking around,” Alex’s smile didn’t fade, coming up and holding her face as he kissed her curls, “What’s up, sweetheart, can’t sleep?”

She’d been having a lot of nightmares recently, his angel. Like a stubborn cold she couldn’t shake, most of the reason why she had her own room. It had broken both her parents’ hearts for so long until it became just part of their reality.

“No, I was just thirsty,” she insisted, indicating her glass of water as proof.

He studied her face for a long moment, looking for any trace that she was lying to him to keep him from worrying. But she met his eyes without a tremor, a small, tired, ghostly smile crossing her face.

“Okay, angel,” he murmured, answering with a smile of his own, “As much as I love to talk to you, you need sleep. Off you go.”

“Yeah, Pops,” she nodded, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, “I’m going.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too,” she skittered across the cold floor on the balls of her feet, curls bouncing.

Alex would never be sure what exactly made him ask his question. Maybe it had been nagging at him since Angie had poked her head into his office earlier that day. Maybe it was something that ran a little deeper than that, that had been festering for much longer than just one Saturday but he’d been ignoring it so reverently, he hadn’t even realised.

“Hey, angel?” he murmured, catching Angie’s attention, her sweet, freckled face turning to him, just on the fringe of the kitchen’s halo of light.

“Where was Philip? When you were looking for him earlier, did you find him?”

Angie paused, like she realised then that her dad’s supposedly innocuous question was anything but. Though the slight anxious shake in her voice as she answered was all her own.

“It was really weird actually,” One hand left the glass she clutched and rubbed at the bridge of her nose, Alex recognised it as her tic when she got scared or unsettled. She left a drop of water in the crease of her face, condensation from the glass but right now, in that second, it looked for all the world like a tear.

“Oh?” Alex frowned a little.

“Yeah, he was down on the beach. Wasn’t playing or anything though, he was just…standing there. Staring at the sea,” Angie’s eyes slid down to the floor, her voice quieted, “I had to call his name three times before he heard me even though I was right there. And he looked…he looked like he didn’t even know me?”

She waited for her father to say something to that but nothing came and all of a sudden it felt like the shadows around her were creeping closer, reaching for her, winding around her ankles. Angie turned and sped off, wanting nothing more than to be in her own bed with the invulnerable shield of her duvet pulled over her head.

And Alex was left alone, his heart hammering in his ears like the roar of a wave taller than the trees rushing at him to knock him off his feet and tear him in half.

And he could do nothing to get out of its way.

[thetimelesscycle]

The Hobbit Fanfic: The Heart of Erebor - Chapter 63

Summary: ‘He could stand the wild light in his uncle’s gaze. He withstood the crazed glint that entered the ravenous stares of his companions. He endured seeing the dragon’s greed take them all. But when that madness seeped also into the eyes of his own beloved brother, he knew something had to be done. He just wasn’t expecting it to be this.’-The gold sickness of Erebor claims one more, and the path of destiny is irrevocably changed.

Inspired by the following quote from ‘The Hobbit’: “So grim had Thorin become, that even if they had wished, the others would not have dared to find fault with him; but indeed most of them seemed to share his mind-except perhaps old fat Bombur and Fili and Kili.”

*Cover Art Courtesy of Toastytoastie

   /THE HEART OF EREBOR\

ACT VI -The King Beneath the Mountain-

Chapter 63

New Oaths and Old Wounds

Though Bilbo was not the only one who might have wished otherwise, the coronation ceremony was far from the conclusion of the day’s events. It was not just a simple matter of Thorin accepting his crown and being done with it. There were too many bridges to rebuild for that, too many shattered alliances that needed to be pieced together anew, shard by scattered shard. If the act of crowning Erebor’s new king itself had seemed daunting, then this was a challenge worthy only of the most stalwart of Durin’s blood. A challenge Fìli stepped forward to receive with head held high, knowing the duty he was about to accept, and knowing it was not his alone.

For that was the first matter Thorin chose to address; his nephews’ place in the line of succession. Whilst their initiation was not a trial such as Thorin’s had been, it was a clear and final message to all who bore witness that the eldest line of Durin was united in this venture. The fissures that had ensured they were not standing together when it came time to face their doom were now gone, healed over by mortar stronger than any stone, bound never to break again.

No doubt it would bring comfort to the many who had heard the rumours of what had happened above Erebor’s gate so long ago, exaggerated and further poisoned by Valin’s whispered venom. It was not a mistake Thorin would soon forget, Fìli saw that promise in his uncle’s eyes even as his lips spoke only the official words, and he silently nodded his own agreement with the sentiment. He did not know if Kìli was aware of their exchange, his brother said nothing, merely touching him lightly on the arm when they were both called to take their rightful place on either side of their king. It put them squarely in the line of fire, on display alongside Thorin for all the world to see. That should have been daunting, but, for his part, Fìli found he was simply glad to be able to sit down at last. There were still many to speak with, many to thank, and the very idea of standing through that entire ordeal made his leg ache.

Well, he amended in the privacy of his own mind, ache more.

As it was, they were all three of them seated as Erebor’s subjects were invited to swear fealty to their lord. Unlike those of the king, these oaths were not strictly of tradition, for Thorin had been true to his word that he would demand no loyalty despite the crown he wore. What was asked was only what was willingly offered, so it was no great surprise that the first to come forward were the faces of old; Balin, who had been friend before he was counsellor. Dwalin, shield and ax and brother-in-arms. Gloin and Oin, who had always claimed their blood ties to Durin’s line, and now professed their loyalty with the same pride. Lofi, who had served Thror and Thrain, and intended to spend the remainder of his years in service to a king of that line. Tyrth, who was of a mining family, with no ounce of noble blood in his veins, and yet none dared suggest he did not have a right to his place on the King’s Council.

Others came forward as well, both expected and not. Noble families who had been disinherited along with their monarch when the mountain fell. Influential merchants from the Iron Hills. Travellers and traders and all manner of folks who perhaps believed more in gaining the favour of a wealthy king than in the promises they were making. Fìli knew better than to believe all were in earnest - Erebor was a mountain wrought of temptation, and more than his line would be tested by it - but enough of the faces he saw bowed before the throne were familiar to give him hope that, for every insincere word uttered, others were honestly meant.

Thorin received them all graciously regardless, whether or not he believed their overtures to be in earnest, and his stately demeanour did not waver until Dain stepped forward, Svala ever at his side and Rin a step behind, to bend his knee before his cousin.

“Dain.” The throne room fell suddenly quiet, expectant. With a single gesture, Dain had made a statement that more than just Thorin were struggling to grasp, a hint of surprise slipping into the king’s words as he continued, “There is no need for you to bow before me.”

“On the contrary, Thorin,” the Lord of the Iron Hills corrected him calmly. “It is custom to show respect to one’s king.”

“But I am not your king, Dain,” Thorin replied just as softly, even if the room naturally carried the words. “That is a right that is yet to be earned, like any other.”

“And still, here I am.” Though his knee might be bent, Dain held his head high, meeting Thorin’s confusion with a steadiness that did not waver. There was in him as much of the Durin stubbornness as Thror’s line had ever inherited, and Fìli could see it now glowing in his eyes. “Ready to swear fealty, if my king will hear my oath.”

After a brief hesitation, Thorin inclined his head, permission and acceptance of whatever Dain intended. Fìli was certain Thorin was as unaware of what that might be as he himself was. Whilst Dain had been ready to concede the throne, and had even voiced his support against any opposition more than once, none of them had expected him to make a pledge of loyalty. Not after all he and his kin had suffered at the hands of Thror’s madness. Not when he still stood to lose everything if Erebor proved itself cursed still.

“I make no promise to blindly follow,” Dain began, his gaze never wavering from Thorin’s own, his words carrying the weight of the lord and leader he was. “Nor do I pledge my armies in defence of Erebor’s wealth. Those who stand here today in witness have seen firsthand that it is nothing worth spilling the blood of our kin to preserve. Instead, I pledge to defend that which has been all too easily abandoned in the past. That which we have set aside as unimportant in the face of bewitching rewards, forgetting too often that such things breed only a greater hunger that can never be satisfied. I will fight, shed blood, and die to protect those who dwell beneath the mantle of your protection; our kin, the greatest treasure Erebor will ever produce. For this, and this only, my ax is yours, King Beneath the Mountain, and it will serve you well for so long as you wield it only on the battlefield of righteousness.”

He trailed off, letting stillness settle in the air, and for a moment it hung over all, a mantle of trepidation and anticipation both. Fìli lifted his eyes from Dain’s blazing expression to watch his uncle, wondering how Thorin would receive such an oath. For a long moment, the king did nothing, simply sitting in place and watching the dwarf kneeling at the foot of the dais. Then, slowly, he rose, descending the steps to grasp Dain’s arm and pull him to his feet.

“There is no need to bow before me, cousin,” he repeated, laying a hand upon Dain’s shoulder. “I accept your oath as it has been given, and swear never to abuse the trust you have shown on this day. Erebor and the Iron Hills are sister nations as much as our forefathers were brothers, and I would see them restored to the friendship of the days of old.”

“They say bonds forged in the midst of adversary are the strongest.” Smiling in a manner that was both grim and yet also cautiously hopeful, Dain returned the hold. “We shall do better than the days of old, Thorin. We must.”

Nodding his solemn agreement, Thorin then lifted his head to gaze past the Lord of the Iron Hills, disbelief flitting briefly across his face as he spoke, “Lord Stormsword…”

The Firebeard had not ushered forth with an entourage, but instead had traversed the walkway alone, coming to stand beside his sister, who cast him a knowing glance. He said nothing at first, studying Thorin acutely, before nodding as if to himself.

“If this is the oath that is asked of us,” he said aloud. “Then I, too, am ready to swear allegiance to my king.”

Stepping away from Dain, Thorin stood before the bold dwarf lord, something like bemusement on his face. “You did not wish to be bound to a lord in such a fashion,” he reminded the Firebeard ruler.

“And I will not be,” Steinn said with a careless wave of one hand towards his brother-by-wed. “I am bound to protect my kin, both those of my clan, and those of yours. If ever an oath was spoken that would bind the Seven together again then this is it, and I will stand by it for as long as I do still live.”

There was nothing that Thorin could say to that, and so he merely reached out his hand, grasping Steinn around the forearm in a sign of a warrior’s respect. Fìli let out the breath he had been holding, relaxing a little in his seat as he realised the invisible battle that had just been won. Barriers had been torn down here, doors opened, and he found himself eager to discover what might yet lie on the other side.

A new future for Erebor, its people, and its King.

~The Heart of Erebor~

With oaths sworn and loyalty pledged, Thorin moved on to those who owed no such promises to the King Beneath the Mountain. Those who instead deserved to receive, a gesture of friendship and gratitude extended to the individuals who had done their part to make this day happen. Gold was, of course, the obvious gift of choice, and Kìli felt certain that many of those gathered half expected Thorin to simply shower their guests in riches and be done with it. A great deal more thought had been put into the matter than that, however, just as with the fate of the Arkenstone, and it was no gaudy wealth that was dragged out of overflowing chests when King Bard of Dale stepped forward to pay his respects.

Instead, the promise circumstances had meant Dain was unable to uphold was reaffirmed. The masons of Erebor would continue their work in restoring the city of Dale to its former magnificence, and the forges of the Lonely Mountain would be put to work in replacing the defensive armaments that had been destroyed when the dragon came. In return, Dale would once again call itself an ally to its neighbour, so that in due time the two kingdoms might return to the vision of united peace they had once been.

To Elrond of Rivendell, Thorin did grant gifts of gold and silver, though not in the form others might have expected. Many looked on in confusion as the Lord of Imladris was granted a small bounty of furnishings and silverware, whilst Kìli did his best to control the laughter trying to break free. He dared not look at Fìli, for fear seeing his brother’s face would break his fragile hold on his composure, and Thorin’s completely sober expression was not much better. Elladan and Elrohir did not seem to share his compunctions, exchanging an open grin behind their father’s back as he accepted Thorin’s generous gifts with all the grace and decorum his station demanded.

To the Rangers there was nothing that Thorin could give to truly repay the debt that was owed. They were a people in exile, a truer and harsher banishment than even Erebor had suffered, and neither gold nor trinkets would appease the hardships they faced day by day. Instead, all he could offer was the same boon that had been granted to him and his kin; aid, whenever and however they should need it. Narrán accepted the king’s pledge with his customary gruffness, and the resignation of one who knew that such aid, should it ever be called upon, would likely arrive too late to make a difference.

That thought was enough to stifle the smile still trying to find purchase on Kìli’s face. A stark reminder that, though their battles might now be behind them, there were still others in Middle Earth whose fate was less certain. Others who had helped them.

It troubled him that it should be so. That he had not realised it was so until that moment, as Narrán turned to walk away, Ana beside him. The only two who had answered the king’s summons. The only two the rangers had dared to spare, for theirs was an existence that teetered always on the brink, ready to tumble into the abyss at the slightest straying step. It was not right, it was not fair, but there was nothing he could do to change it. Fate may have chosen to favour the Line of Durin for the time being, but they could not force it to extend that goodwill to others, no matter how deserving they might be. Not… not now. But perhaps… perhaps someday… The thought did not have time to fully form, there were others who needed to be thanked, recognised, rewarded. Yet it stayed with him regardless, a lingering malaise that would not be swiftly banished. Not until he had found a way to overcome it.

Bilbo was the last to present himself before the throne, looking awkward and unsettled to be the centre of attention as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to say something, but did not know what that something might be.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin saved him the need, speaking first. “What gift would our burglar ask of the King of Erebor?” Warmly, he added, “You may name anything you wish, Bilbo, and it shall be yours.”

“Well,” Bilbo began nervously, his voice growing stronger as he went on, “I was rather hoping, if it is not too much trouble, that we might take a break for a bite to eat?”

His words were met by a roar of approval by all who were within earshot, the sound echoing uproariously through the vast chamber. Thorin waited patiently until the noise had subsided, a faint smile playing about his lips, and spoke only once all was settled again.

“That, Master Baggins,” he said. “I believe we can do.”

 ~The Heart of Erebor~

With her part in Thorin’s coronation complete, Dìs had not waited to witness what followed. It was not in her nature to sit still whilst there was work yet to be done, and the celebration banquet could hardly be expected to ready itself. She was not alone either, for Bombur joined her not long after, Bifur and Bofur in tow, to take on the monumental task of ensuring all the food he had prepared was laid out as it should be. Confident he had it well in hand, Dìs left him to his appointed duty, drifting instead about the Great Hall, making certain that all the seating arrangements were correct, that none had been overlooked, and that nothing might yet occur to throw a dampener upon the festivities.

In truth, there was very little left to do. They had had months to prepare for this day, and though ill health had harried her more than she would have liked she had been able to keep a steady hand on the rudder throughout. That did not stop her from feeling as though she had forgotten something now, a nagging sense of restlessness that saw her circling the room again and again, Inga a patient pace behind, seeking out whatever had been mislaid. There was nothing that she could see, however, and she came to a halt in the middle of the room, hands on her hips as she huffed in frustration.

“Is something wrong, my lady?” Inga, never prone to voicing her concerns, clearly thought better of it now, her soothing tones echoing slightly in the empty hall. Dìs frowned, wishing she could give her oldest friend an answer. At least one she could be certain was truthful.

“I do not know,” she admitted at last, turning in a slow circle, as if the wrongness would leap out at her of a sudden and announce itself to all the world. “Something is missing.”

“Aye,” Inga agreed quietly. “Many are.”

Dìs froze, understanding threatening to floor her as Inga’s simple words explained the absence she had felt ever since setting foot in this room. She had not expected it to hit her so suddenly, so unexpectedly after all these years. The quest to reclaim the mountain had brought a multitude of old memories back to the forefront of her mind, of Frerin, of Nali. She had felt anew in many ways the pain of their loss, but she had thought those ghosts laid to rest along with the Arkenstone. That was what the ceremony of remembrance had been for, yet it was only now that the empty spaces they had left behind reached out to draw her in.

Standing in the heart of her old home, in a room prepared for celebration but yet still devoid of it, it was so easy to imagine them both where they should have been. Frerin, seated at a table surrounded by a crowd of listeners as he regaled them with some fantastical tale of might and magic, using his spoon as a sword whilst warier hands snatched laden platters away from the reach of his swing. Nali, flitting here and there about the room, soothing over any discordance, tripping over any feet, his light laughter easily heard even above the din of the gathering. She could picture it so clearly in her mind’s eye and it made her chest ache, a foreign lump lodging in her throat and refusing to be moved as her eyes burned with the threat of unshed tears.

She chastised herself even as she lifted a hand to dash away the moisture building at the corner of her eyes. This was meant to be a happy occasion, a joyous day for her family. Yet, reminding herself it was so did not stop the grief she felt in that moment, more poignant than any she had felt in a long, long while. Standing silently at her side, Inga raised a hand to lay upon her arm, gently guiding her away from the larger chamber and into one of the adjoining rooms, where her sorrow could remain yet a private thing. Her loyal companion hesitated a moment, then, a rare flash of uncertainty darting across her face, before she dipped her head in a quick bow and excused herself from the room.

Dìs barely noticed her departure, lost in a maelstrom of emotions she had not seen coming as she wrapped her arms about herself and tried to command her pain to be gone. It did not obey her, enraged like a caged beast at last set free, railing its defiance, screaming its fury. She wanted to scream herself, and nearly did in surprise when another voice broke through her misery.

“They are with us still.”

She had not heard Thorin enter and she whirled, knowing he should not be here, prepared to rebuke him for abandoning his duties without good cause. The words died in her throat as she laid eyes on the crown resting across his brow, an old wound torn open anew, and a sob took their place. Thorin closed the distance between them at once, his expression soft as only she and her children had ever seen it as he gathered her in his arms and pulled her close. She allowed it without complaint, for once not feeling the need to struggle and fight, to gather the strength to keep pushing forward and drag him with her when the shadows clung too tight.

“They should have been here,” she whispered against his shoulder, feeling his hand pass over her hair, careful not to tangle in the delicate mesh entwined in her golden locks. That was another gift, another keepsake she would hurl willingly into the deepest pits of Middle Earth if it meant she could speak again with the one whose hands had done the crafting. “How can it be home without them?”

“Dìs…” Thorin sighed softly, his breath ghosting over her as his hold briefly tightened. “My dear, brave little sister.”

“I am afraid,” she retorted harshly, denying what she knew was his unfaltering faith in her strength. She had been strong through every hardship, every tragedy, every blow meant to lay her low. But the fight was over now, over and done, and she just wanted to break. “I am afraid that this will all be taken away, and I can’t lose anymore, Thorin. I can’t.”

“I know.”

Thorin’s grip was one of reassurance now, of empathy. He had shared in so many of her sorrows, had watched as every small comfort they managed to eke from a cold and harsh world was stripped away from them, and he understood, at least in part, the horror she had faced in thinking her children dead, even for as short a time as it had been. Neither of them trusted to good fortune any more. Though it might have been kind to them of late, they knew all too well how swiftly the tides could turn. She could see that truth in his eyes as she pulled back enough to meet his gaze, but there was something else as well, a fathomless calm that grasped her and held her steady despite how she wanted to waver; a promise.

“I will not lie to you, Dìs,” he stated, his words still soft, still gentle even as he smiled ruefully. “And not simply because you will know any falsehood I tell you for what it is at once. We have fought a great many battles to make it this far, and the fight is not over yet. Others may still try to take this from us, evil may still lurk in the shadows. Even now, we are not safe. We never will be. But we do have each other, Dìs, and we will face whatever may come side by side.”

“You know all that means is we will die together like fools,” she uttered the grim thought aloud without taking the time to check her tongue, too weary to care as she lowered her head to rest against his shoulder once more.

Thorin’s soft chuckle vibrated through his chest as he chided her, “Such dreary words are my domain, sister.”

“Ah, yes. My apologies, oh wise king. I did not mean to overstep.”

Thorin hummed his dubious acknowledgement of her insincere words, but he did not speak again, content to linger in silence for as long as that was what she needed. It amused her slightly that they had changed places so seamlessly, even as a quiet corner of her mind not wholly drowning beneath the onslaught of her sudden grief noted with pride the strength her brother seemed to have drawn from the day’s events. For as long as he had been assailed by doubt, it did her heart good to find him steady once more, a wall against which she could break without fear she would send them both scattering.

Sensing her slight change of mood, Thorin withdrew a step to look her in the eye as he asked, “Are you ready?”

“No,” she answered truthfully, taking the arm he offered regardless. “I will never be ready to face this world without them.” He nodded his understanding, her own grief reflected back at her in his eyes as he simply waited for her to continue. She drew in a fortifying breath, and then rewarded his patience, “But we are of the Line of Durin, and that duty comes first.” She let herself smile, then, though it hurt to do so, reminding herself of what she still had left. "Before two errant young princes start a war in the Great Hall."

"I do not mind," Thorin admitted. "So long as they win."

[jo-the-schmo]

Breaking... Ch.17

Masterlist (will update for needed parts soon)

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

A/N: Bet you weren’t expecting this so soon were ya? Aren’t I just full of surprises? I never sleep!!!!! Also I tried something new with the tags so hopefully it works!! I regret nothing

Wordcount: 2016 (neat)

Warnings: Fluff, cute, then blood

Tags!: @iamnotthrowingawaymyshit @renae-writes @deltablue202 @literally-melonkitty@meunicorn @favouritefighting-frenchman @demi-godamit @gum-and-chips@sweaterkitty-fluff@pinkyiger7@littlemissshortcakes@msageofenlightenment@unprofessional-inhumanbeing@fandom-panda-221@hummusandchips @spoopy-piineapple@ashwolfcub@myself-and-the-madman @sweet-fate@superwholockbooknerd526@frozengal2013@lmaodedhaha@itsmikayblr@sarmar29 @arya-durin-77 @phantastic-fandoms@hoshihime98@shinigamired @martapetrovic @robotic-space@iamnotthrowingawaymyshit2(lol) @asprinkleofmermaids @pinkyiger7(I’m tagging you twice my friend!) @satellitesuga @rose-coloured-nihilism  @okie-dokie-artichokeme (I love your URL omg)

 if anyone else wants to be tagged just send me an ask!

Breaking Agreements

Johnny tugged at the bottom of your dress, trying to get your attention.

“Mama says we should give your present now, I’ll go get my drum.” It took you a moment to realize what you were talking about. Aww I did say this would be better with a drum! Angie interlocked your arms once more.

“Come on everyone! TT, Mama and I have something to you in the music room!” AJ and Jaime got up off the ground and ran toward the hall where Eliza was already heading. You saw Johnny slowly going down the stairs, his little snare and sticks in hand, being careful not to drop anything. Wow, he got that fast! He must be excited! Angie pulled on your arm. “Let’s go TT!” Alex stood up and patted his daughter on the head.

“I’ll go with you, sunshine girl, follow me.” Alex winked at Philip who was standing behind you. What was that about?

“Okay, Daddy!” Angie let go of your arm, her and Alex walked off to the hallway, well actually, Angie skipped but not the point. You felt something touch your waist, the same thing press against your back lightly.

“Have you already forgotten about me, ma petite chou?” Philip whispered in your ear. You jumped slightly, turned yourself around, your face heating up all over again.

“Why you have to go and call me a cabbage like that?” You blurted out, he chuckled softly.

“You are quite radiant when you’re flustered, my star.” He smiled. “I have a gift for you as well, but you will have to find it after I see yours.” He turned you back around, keeping his hand on your waist while leading you forward.

“I have to find it? What does that even mean?” You asked with intrigue.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He spoke softly. As you finished squealing internally you approached the music room door. The two of you walked in together, everyone already ready and waiting. Eliza was seated at the piano, Angie and Johnny were standing on opposite sides of her. Johnny already had the strap on his drum secured, the drum leaning on his side. AJ, Jamie and Alex were sitting on the small couch closest to the piano.

“Took you two long enough!” AJ exclaimed.

“What’s going on anyway?” Alexander asked.

“We just have something very special to show you all!” Eliza smiled.

“I’ll go stand by father.” Philip informed. You were suddenly struck with an idea, as he walked away you snatched his hat off his head once more. He turned around with surprise. “Do you have a thing with stealing my hats now?” He asked and you smiled deviously.

“I need it for something, I am about to do something great!” You laid the hat on top of your head and made it point up slightly. I shall now become George Washington; I’m going to make Chris Jackson proud! You trotted over to the middle of the room while Philip walked past you and sat next to Alex. You cleared your throat. “Is everyone ready?” You asked and were met with several yeses. Eliza got ready on the piano.

“Alright Angie, John; Un…deux…trois!” She stared with the first chord and you began your song.

“I was still older than you all now, when I gave myself a command. I may have led myself straight into a massacre, I have witnessed death first hand. I made every mistake and felt the shame rise in me. And even now I lie awake knowing history has its eyes on me.”

(Whoa…whoa, whoa…) Angie and Johnny sang along, Johnny tapping his drum lightly.

“History has its eyes on me…” You stepped slowly over to the couch, stopping in front of it and putting one arm behind your back. “Let me tell you what I wish I’d known, now that I know love and dream of glory. You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story!” You patted Jamie and AJ on the head, smiled at Alex and stepped toward Philip. “I know that we can win, I know that greatness lies in you! Because you’ve taught me from here on in, history has its eyes on you!”

(History has its eyes on you!) They held out. Everyone began to clap and Eliza turned her gaze toward you.

“That was our best run yet!” She exclaimed. You looked down at Philip.

“What’d you think, Sunshine?” He stared up at you, silent for a moment. “Philly?”

“I think…you have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in my entire life! And you look better in my hat than I do! And I look really good in that hat, so.” He stood up, brought his hands to both sides of your face, pushing the hair out of the way. His fingers grazed your cheeks and made your skin tingle. You saw his eyes dart from your right eyes, to your left and then down to your lips. Oh my God, is he going to…? OH MY GOD THIS IS HAPPENING! What do I do?! Do I lean in? Do I stay still?! His eyes kept moving in the triangle pattern as his face came a little closer to yours. Before you could actually do anything, you felt the hat on your head be lifted up. You looked to the side to see Angie placing it on top of her own head, it was far too big on her but the feather fit her style more than Philip’s.

“Oh, look at me! I’m Philip Hamilton! After all these years, I have found my beloved! Mon amour! Ma petite chou!” She put her hands on her cheeks and made teasing kissing noises. FUCKING SHIT! ANGIE I LOVE YOU BUT NOW WAS NOT THE TIME! “You know…I quite like this hat. It makes me look like a leader!” She put her hands on her hips proudly. She tipped the hat up and skipped away, sticking her tongue out as she went. Everyone else just sort of collectively looked at each other and got up.

“Well! Time to get some tea!” Alex clapped, almost signaling for everyone to leave, and they did, leaving you and Philip alone to stew in the awkward remnants of what just happened. Both of you simultaneously took a step back from each other, red faced and mumbling. It was terrible.

“Uh, so yeah um, that uh…”

“Yeah, um…so what did you say about needing to find a present earlier?” You laughed nervously, trying to change the topic. Make this torture end!

“Right! That! Well, you’ll have to find it! I’ll tell you which room it’s in but that’s the only hint you’ll get okay?” You nodded and followed him as he walked out of the room, into the hall. “It’s in the study, let’s go!” The two of you quickly made your way over to the study doors and let yourselves inside. If I were Philip, where would I hide a present? Considering you were the smarty pants that you were, it didn’t take much effort for you to figure it’s in Alex’s immense Shakespeare collection. You went over and examined the shelves scrupulously. All’s Well Ends Well, As You Like It, Anthony and Cleopatra, Cornelius, Hamlet, King John, Love’s Labour’s Lost, Macbeth, Merry Wives of Windsor, Midsummer Night’s Dream, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, Midsummer Night’s Dream, A Winter’s Tale- You stopped. Wait a second. You took a second look and found what made you take a double take. Two copies of Midsummer Night’s dream. The one you recognized had gold text but the new one was more silver looking. You picked it off the shelf. “Damn, you found that fast, Star!” Philip exclaimed, leaning against the bookshelf.

“You…you got me my favorite…” You whispered in disbelief.

“Yes, I thought it must be a bit annoying not being able to take it over to your room… I was buying books for school, saw this and knew you had to have it…” He scratched restlessly. “B-But that’s not all! There’s a page marked in there! Well a few actually…Go ahead and open it!” You opened the cover and the pages bump up slightly, you flipped to where this bump ended and saw something. A pressed, slightly discolored pick of baby’s breath. You looked up at Philip.

“Is…is this…?”

“The same flower from our night in the garden? Yes, it is. But that’s not the best part, look at what I marked.” He instructed, you looked back down at the page, moving the wildflower out of the way.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend

More than cool reason ever comprehends.

The lunatic, the lover and the poet

Are of imagination all compact:

One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,

That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,

Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:

The poet’s eye, in fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen

Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.

You looked back up at Philip, slightly confused. “A lover and a madmen are quite similar, what changes them is how they are written. You have faced many madmen, and they will be written as such. However, I will never be your madman. I will write and fight and shape what I am, if it would make you smile. Someday, you will blow us all away, because you blow me away every moment I’m with you.” You look up and see Philip’s face and he is helpless. And his eyes are just helpless. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many things you wanted to do in that moment… You felt a ping rush through your head. No…Not now! Not again! Your head was aching and you felt your pupils dilate over and over again. You felt your hands shaking and looked down at the holding the book. The pages were now old and withered, no longer brand new but the baby’s breath looked like it had just been plucked from the garden. Looking past the book you saw grass on the ground, the wood flooring completely gone. You dropped the book and raised your gaze toward Philip. The sight was familiar but that didn’t make it any less horrifying. There was a pistol in his hand, blood all over his arms and right side, his stare looked blank.

“Phil…ip…s-sunshi….ne” You tried to yell, to cry out, to do something but the blood in your veins was boiling and it made your head feel like it was burning alive.

“I held my head up high…” He said with a gaunt expression. There was a voice, you didn’t recognize it but it sounded masculine.

“Madman, madman, madman, madman, madman, madman, madman. Lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover. Change, change, change, change, change, change, change.” It kept bouncing around in your head, it pushed through your skull and back in again.

“But even before we got to ten…” Philip whispered again. You looked past him and saw figures in black, you couldn’t identify them because they were running back and forth but you could hear the voices. You always did.

“Where is my son?”

“Who did this? Alexander did you know?”

“Stop! You won’t take me! Philip! I need you! Help me!”

“Sept, sept, sept, sept, sept, sept, sept…” Philip mulled.

“Is he alive?”

A blood curdling scream.

“I am not traumatized! I love her! RoseMary! Save me!”

You felt something wet drip down your face and felt yourself lose sight from your right eye, then your left. In this black abyss, it is the only place you’re truly safe, a place of in between. There was nothing there, no one could hurt you, no one could harm those you loved. As long as you were in that Purgatory, nothing wrong could be done. But you always had to wake up.

[fullvoidmoon]

The Wayfaring Stranger

Pairing/s: Thorin x (human!wife)reader

Setting/Timeline: Almost 2 years after BoTFA, Erebor’s catacombs, Durins live!AU

Warning(s)/Genre(s): Mention of death, may elicit trauma/s or phobia/s regarding death, angst, fluff

Word Count: 1,547

The Hobbit, Thorin II Oakenshield, and the Company © J.R.R. Tolkien Context © me

Based on @deepestfirefun‘s prompt.

A/N: Another songfic for our beloved Thorin! And since I posted it today, Aug. 22, therefore I dedicate this to the ever immaculate birthday boy Richard Armitage! May he still be graced with more blessings and all the love in the world in the years to come! WE LOVE YOU RICHARD!! <3 

And since this request was fired in full force, I’ll have this fired in full force as well. And I’m sorry if there’s not much fluff as expected, or so I think. Still, so sorry, and it’s a long one.

If interested, listen to the song here.

The Hobbit tag list: @sdavid09, @life-is-righteous, @fizzy-custard, @igotanaddixon, @deepestfirefun, @fromthedeskoftheraven 

Masterlist: HERE

Part 1 - Whatever You Imagine

“I am a poor wayfaring stranger Traveling through this world alone”

‘Poor soul.’ You thought as you quietly approached the body of a dwarrow, basking in the dim light of the candles as it lay on top of his tomb.

“There is no sickness, toil nor danger In that fair land to which I go”

‘Such young soul. Never deserving to be robbed away with life.’

This young dwarrow had fallen victim of a homicide that occurred in one of the kingdom’s forges, even though the guards on duty within the proximity are constantly on watch.

“I'm going home To see my mother”

Too young that you strongly feel you need to go out there and capture the filth who took away such life filled with hopes and dreams when you heard the news.

“I'm going home No more to roam”

But as much as you wanted to even lend a helping hand in the investigation that’s currently in progress, you decided to take a step back and let your husband, your King, take care of it.

“I know dark clouds will hover o'er me I know my pathway is rough and steep”

Though you were strongly advised not to enter the catacombs, for your husband’s great concern that the events will cause you great sorrow, you still wished to pay respects, visit the young dwarrow as he is laid in his final rest together with his ancestors, and sing a song from your world of origin in his honor.

“But golden fields lie out before me Where weary eyes no more will weep” 

Your feelings and other senses are then overflowing with sorrow as you convey it for the perished and condolence for the family that’s left. For you haven’t realized a pair of sapphire eyes, the purest of blue that you’ve ever seen in your life, looking at you with evidence of ache in the heart and overwhelming love.

-----

“Even though I told you not to, you still decided to go here amrâlimê.”

Though startled, you above anyone else know perfectly well that sultry baritone that only belongs to your husband.

“And you know full well that I will follow no such orders when my mind is set on something that I must do, my love.” You solemnly replied, though tried to lift your voice lightheartedly.

“But I never meant it to be as an order, rather I plead you not to go here.”

“I know that, dear love.”

You continued to hum the song you were singing as both of you stood by the fallen dwarrow, with Thorin silently encircling his arms around you as he slowly pulled you in his embrace from behind. Though trying his hardest to conceal his inner woes, you feel it in the slightest of tremors in his arms as you lay your hands on it, offering calm and trying to tame whatever his inner demons are trying to do to him.

You take a hold of one of his large hands, bringing it to your lips in a comforting kiss. “You fear something Thorin. Do tell me what it is, for I don’t want you to shoulder the pain it causes you on your own.”

A light smile appears on Thorin’s lips as he kisses the crown of your hair. “Do you believe I fear some things, my ghivashel?”

“All of us have fears of our own. It doesn’t make you any less of who you are as an individual though.”

Thorin can’t help but let out a light chuckle at your words. It still makes him wonder how you would know when to give him even the smallest words of comfort even if he doesn’t for one. Definitely one of the million reasons why he fell head over heels in love with you.

With a submissive sigh, “I do fear somethings. I fear of failing everyone as their King, as their leader that they depend on,” Thorin said as he give your wedding braid a gently stroke.

“I fear of the gold sickness that runs in our family, fearing that it might deceivingly attack and take hold of our children in the future.”

He is about to say another thing, but abruptly stopped as he braces himself in saying it. He’s being ridiculous, for he knows not to doubt your understanding about all things that he confides you with. You are his wife and Queen for Mahal’s sake!

“And you fear most for our safety, for my safety. That you fear death will come upon us in its own despicable ways.”

You give him a comforting smile as you turn around to look at his distraught expression. Though he wield himself to conceal it, his eyes, the very thing that draws you to him on your first meeting at Bag-End, tells you all. 

“I’m sorry amrâlimê. I could not help but fear it,” Thorin admits as he buried his face at the crook of your neck, holding you tightly in his arms.

You give him a kiss on his shoulders as you return your embrace with as much vigor. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dearest. For as long as I am with you, in your loving arms and in the fortitude of our home, I am safer than anywhere else.”

Giving a smile that never fails to make him feel so much love, hope, and strength, you pull Thorin in a loving kiss, filled with comfort and encouragement, before turning back to the fallen one who now lays his rest together with the others that laid with him in the catacombs of the great dwarven kingdom they called home.

Still in Thorin’s embrace, you continued your singing, now offering your song for the lad and for your husband that thinks of nothing but for the greater good of his kin, his kingdom, and his family.

-----

With your voice, filled with everlasting beauty even in the most melancholic of songs, Thorin couldn’t help but remember all the things that transpired in his life when he decided to put his life, and his kin’s, on the line to reclaim their home. Particularly those he shared with you.

Though both of you started it rough, always have each other’s throats and bickering from sun up to sun down, Thorin unknowingly learned to take care and protect you, even though he knows it well that your small height and slender figure (that sometimes causes Thorin unwanted thoughts in the night) than the average human is definitely not a factor for him to be that protective of you.

“I'll soon be free from every trial This form shall rest beneath the sod”

And the greatest fear that Thorin fears greatly is the fear of death. Not the fear of death coming upon him, but of death coming to get his love ones.

“I'll drop the cross of self-denial And enter in that home with God” 

Especially if it is the death of his beloved, his Queen, his ghivashel, his wife.

Even though both of you started it rough, always have each other’s throats and bickering from sun up to sun down, Thorin unknowingly learned to take care and protect you, even though he knows it well that your small height and slender figure (that sometimes causes Thorin unwanted thoughts in the night) than the average human is definitely not a factor for him to be that protective of you.

And in return you, also unknowingly, started to fuss about everything he does that screams dangerous, and feel great worries about him.

“I'm going home to see my savior Who spilled his precious blood for me”

In the course of few months after you fell, literally, in front of Thorin from your world far away, he felt that heavy but pleasant pull in his heart, signifying that you hold both his heart and soul on that night when you first sang in front of the whole Company.

And it’s all because you are loyal, honorable, have a willing heart, brave, courageous, and not afraid to show who you really are.

Thorin realized that Mahal may have called upon you to come here from your world to be his One, his wife and Queen. He hoped and wished hard for one day you will be singing more songs in the many halls of Erebor as his wife and Queen. 

And when that day indeed came, with you crowned as the Queen Under the Mountain, with the braids secured with his beads on your ever flowing locks, wearing the crown that Thorin himself forged for you, and filled Erebor’s many halls with your songs, he then vowed one thing.

“I am just going over home.”

With the last notes of the song lingering within the chamber of the catacombs, Thorin II Oakenshield, Lord of Silver Fountains and King Under the Mountain, with completely overwhelmed senses with great love and devotion, vowed to not let his greatest fear fell upon you and to protect you with his all and with his might. As he vowed to bring justice to the fallen dwarrow that lays before him and to the family that he left

Whether he is a king today, or a poor wayfaring stranger who’s just going home in his next life.