#but /oh no the mithril/

[sapphoismymuse]

i love recognizing characters in rings of power cuz it’s like “omg yay!! elendil and isildur!!”

…

“oh no… elendil and isildur…”

[planetvries]

I ❤️ Balin 🥹

[sandinthepipes]

Me shaking Peter Jackson by the shoulders like a stuck vending machine: IF THEY'RE NOT GAY WHY EVERYTHING ELSE? WHY PETER? WHAT IS THAT?

[transingthoseformers]

Thoughts for feral sparkling Orion in the Divorce AU being raised by Alpha Trion. He's like "ah my brother" and expects to treat him as he did before just smaller since he wasn't around Sparklings much and then his life becomes pure chaos.

Orion bites hands that move too fast near him because in the Acid Wastes where he bubbled into life alone that meant a predator and he had to react agressively to deter them. Alpha Trion constantly going to Remedy, Head Doctor in Iacon, to get repairs and saying he has everything under control. Ratchet the mentee of said doctor Doubts.

Orion climbs on top of the highest bookshelves and leaps down at unexpecting "prey" cue his future co-workers learning quickly how to avoid being attacked and "always look up". Ironhide meeting his Prime when he's sent to pick up a book and flying toddler descends for his face only to be beaten back by an archivist who leaps forward and grabs him midair by the scruff bar giving him a little shake and bearing her own teeth until he backs down enough to be sat down. And Ironhide stunned watches the Sparkling scuttle away and this is how he meets Chromia, who is the best at handling Orion because she wrestles back.

Ratchet, young innocent, first form Ratchet who is a very obedient studious preteen watching horrified as they attempt to give Orion his shoots.

Everyone who knew him during this phase just looking at Jazz who jokingly says Orion needs to be a little wilder, he's too polite and shuddering and absolutely none of them being surprised by the Megatronus Thing.

Omg yes, Alpha Trion just being clueless to newling behavior

That's adorable, ohhh. Remedy and Ratty know full well AT had his hands full and then some when it came to baby Orion. He's like a damn wolverine, absolutely willing to take on "prey" many times his size🥰

Chromia: "bACK! BACK I SAY! BAD ORION, BAD!"

Ironhide was just flummoxed, and Chromia is like "yeah he does that, you okay? Did he bite you yet? Have you had your tetanus shot?"

ohhh nooo Ratty nooooo. I exactly HC too that Orion/Optimus is just. So way terrible when it comes to getting his vaccines and always has been. I saw it in one damn fic but the idea is the best.

Jazz over here trying to goad Ori back into bad habits /j

[risingsunresistance]

all the gold skills is SO weird, never thought i'd be anywhere near this. how do i get gold in cactus and netherwart someone please send help despite all my farming fortune i still barely break bronze-

[9ofspades]

No but there should be a rumor that hobbits had sharp teeth and a separate belief that hobbits had night vision and some of the dwarves, upon seeing hobbit teeth, would be like “well now I don’t know what to believe.” Some might even just never have noticed their teeth and have spent the entire time thinking the hobbits wanted to eat second breakfast with their EXTREMELY SHARP TEETH. In the Hobbit, they’d frequently have consulted Bilbo on what’s happening at night or in dark spaces, and Bilbo would be like “oh yes that’s all part of this whole thing where I turned invisible once and now I’m the New Gandalf” and never question it, so the misconception doesn’t get corrected. Later, people are always asking hobbits to open packages, the way you ask that of your friend who always has scissors/a knife on them. Hobbits think it’s because they have a reputation for always being prepared to open parcels of food and never find out it’s because everyone thinks they bite it open with their fangs.

[sharpmidnight]

I'm reading Bagginshield fics, and my favorite thing is reading different types of courting and I'm totally getting way into it

Flower? Sure. Totally a hobbit thing

Gifts? Makes sense. And the different types? Makes it great. Rock? Bead? Mithril?

Gestures?

Food?

Actions?

Hair? Braiding? Touching hair?

Yes to all

But what i love most is accidental courting

One does said courting thing by accident

The other: Oh, he didn't mean that.....or did he

[elisabethdeep-blog]

Gotta make a post about my best DunMeshi neurospicy boi

Lotta content out there about Laios' autistic traits but where o where is the Senshi rep?

Senshi's dedication to Dungeon trophic systems makes Laios' special interest look like a well-thumbed pamphlet. (Granted Senshi has had significantly longer to cook; Laios is a baby).

Senshi's limited emoting is baked-in to his character model- that thousand yard stare, most of his face occluded by his habitual helmet (masked, even...... How many folks pine for covid masks obviating the need to manage their faces constantly?)

He overheard someone mention his special interest and Walked Right Up to a Group of Strangers to brazenly asplain them a thing. Marcille makes a bridge-mending bid regarding the mosses in the scorpion hotpot (after her previous truculent outbursts) and he totally deadpans her, because he didn't even notice.

He is VERY COMMITED to his ethical position on dungeon ecology. More than once he's disrupted Marcille Right at the point of release of a spell, after she's been chanting for like a paragraph, because she's going to contravene some principle of his.

Also

Speaking of Marcille, he demonstrates some pretty rigid, black-and-white thinking around magic, that doesn't seem internally consistent. He's repeatedly reanimating magical constructs (golems), an explicitly controlled magical act, but is Very Very reluctant to submit to being charmed with WaterWalk; his spoken reasoning about this just doesn't hold water.

Oh and he's totally neglected his personal hygiene for basically ever. He's averse to cleaning up for the sake of being bespelled, but other than magic, seems fine with getting the salon treatment. This isn't a Toph Beifong 'protective layer of earth', he's just forgotten to care about not being covered with monster gore.

PDA? The fellow has one (1) social skill, namely, he exercises any discretion on opening his mouth to argue. But that holds him back exactly NONE when he decides he's done listening. The first time we see this is gathering Mandrakes, when he doesn't SAY he's done with Marcille's opinions, but he Does just go ahead and exercise his damn autonomy. a MUCH stronger example is when Chilchuck is guiding them through the trap rooms. Senshi gets roundly (and rightly!) chewed out by Chilchuck, and his response isn't the sensible 'sorry Chilchuck, maybe I could walk more directly behind you so I can more closely match your steps', but to BRAZENLY DANCE ALL OVER THE TRAP FLOOR! the only reason that doesn't kill the whole party is The Plot. It's not even that he doesn't appreciate Chilchuck's skill- he just don't like getting chastised! Same with Anne the Kelpie! Senshi's gonna do what Senshi's gonna do! He WILL not be rushed, he WILL not be chastised, he WILL not be directed! How do we think he came to be living in a dungeon all by himself in the first place!!

AND THE BREAD!

THIS IS NOT THE DEMAND OF A NEUROTYPICAL DWARF

Look there's more. After Chilchuck's impassioned and heartfelt plea, Senshi suggests they should return to the surface because they're 'low on seasoning'.

He's a dwarf who turned his adamantium shield into a cookpot.

He can meticulously maintain his mithril cooking knife but not his axe.

He responds well to other characters meeting him halfway but initiates few (no?) such bids himself. There's rarely any guile in Senshi, and when he is being shifty, he's Bad At It- and again, usually its in service of demand avoidance, like when he capitalises on Marcille's toilet break to reanimate his golems.

Senshi is the monomaniac that society has spent Decades trying to iron out of my wrinkly brain.

I hope to see him also find a place in the neurosparkly constellations.

[rey-jake-therapist]

"Sauron is not enough evil and scary in Rings of Power"

Because he was scary in LOTR?! That thing is scary to you?

I'll tell you what : Sauron's eye in the movie NEVER scared me. Not even a little bit. I remember that the first time this big ridiculous eye appeared on screen, we all chuckled because... "That's it? that's Sauron?" . And the least that we can say, it's that in terms of personnality... Well he has none, right? The conversations must be nice:

"Hey Sauron, how are you today?

Sauron: RING! RING !!! AHHhrhzjjjjjjj RING!!!!!!!

Oh yeah, the ring, sure Boss. Anything else you need?

Sauron: RIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!!!"

Fascinating.

I hate to break it to you, but movies Sauron is BORING. He's boring because he's hardly an entity. He's more a concept, and at the end everything about him rests on what the characters tell us about him: that he's extra evil, very cruel, a tyrant, obsessed by the One Ring, yada yada. But since he's no more than this giant eye on a tower, he never becomes tangible. We believe he's evil because that's what everybody says and also because of what his unpaid employees do, but he never gets to do anything himself, so we don't really see it.

Shelob scared me. The Nazguls terrified me. Heck, I was more afraid than Gollum than I was of Sauron. Don't laugh, did you see his teeth? I would be at least afraid to catch an horrible disease if he bit me...

In ROP, however, Charlie Vickers nails it as Sauron. He may not be literally on fire, but his evilness and his cunningness are palpable in season 2. I mean, the way he treats Celebrimbor?! If that's not sheer cruelty I don't know what it is, and it will get even worse in the episodes to come. Sauron doesn't take no for an answer. He tortures Celebrimbor, not physically but psychologically to bend him to his will. Since day #1, he lies constantly to Celebrimbor, flatters him, tells him what he wants to hear, gaslights him, isolates him from his people, nearly drives him to madness and only at the end, threatens to destroy his city if he doesn't do what he wants... That's not evil enough for you?? Oh, and add "creepy" on the list too, for this poor girl he keeps being weird with.

And as for the scary side of Sauron: Charlie proves to be an excellent actor when he manages to express his moments of contained rage through his micro expressions. For example, every time Celebrimbor resists him, his face changes enough for the audience to see he would tear the poor man's eyes out if he could, but it doesn't last long, blink and you miss it ! Same in the last episose 6, when King Durin refused to deliver more mithril to him; it was so obvious he wanted to kill the old man on the spot, but he's patient, he'll let the Balrog do it for him. Because yes, he's vicious and likes to keep his hands clean, so he tells animals do the job for him when he can!

But it's there, and we already got to see a glimpse of the sheer fury that can possess him when he loses control : in Numenor, when he beat the shit out of the men who had mocked him, and on the raft when Galadriel rejected him. That was probably just a forestate of what we can expect from the next seasons, folks.

By the way, I wrote all this with love. I love that TROP made Sauron tangible. I can see the threat he is now. I understand why everyone during the LOTR is terrified at the idea that he may come back. And I don't want anyone to fix him, mind you...

TROP Sauron, stay as you are, get much worse, PLEASE!

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Hey! I hope you're doing well!

I was wondering if you could do a little something with the reader being Gil Galad sister and falling for Celebrimbor everytime they meet (Gil galad teasing his sister about it👀).

Fluff or angst, I let you choose 🫣❤️‍🔥

This was so fun to write!! It might be a bit ooc from Gil Galad but I love the idea of him being an absolute menace to those he's close to.

The Princess of Lindon

The first time you met Celebrimbor, you couldn’t understand why your brother held him in such high regard. Standing in the gilded halls of Lindon, he seemed a touch too serious, his golden hair catching the sunlight in sharp lines that matched the geometric precision of his voice. His words, though, carried weight: precise, deliberate, but never unkind.

“You must be Ereinion’s sister,” he said, bowing his head slightly, though his eyes—bright as polished mithril—never left yours. “He speaks of you often.”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, flicking a glance at your brother, who stood at Celebrimbor’s side, his mouth twitching in a barely restrained grin. “I hope only good things.”

Gil-galad didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “I told him you’re stubborn as a dwarf and twice as likely to quarrel.”

“Charming,” you shot back, your tone sweet as honeyed wine, though your gaze lingered a moment too long on Celebrimbor’s face. He was watching you, amused.

In the days that followed, you found yourself seeking his company more than you intended, drawn to his quiet passion for his craft. Each visit to his workshop was another step into a world of firelight and molten beauty. You marveled at the works he created, from delicately wrought circlets to great armaments destined for Elven lords.

“What do you think?” he asked one evening, holding up an unfinished pendant. Its design was intricate, almost fragile—a series of interwoven vines encircling a starburst.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. When his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you, the heat from the forge wasn’t the only thing warming your cheeks.

+++++++++++

The afternoon sun poured through Lindon’s archways as you descended the steps leading to Celebrimbor’s forge. You had intended to slip away unnoticed, but your brother, as always, had other plans. Ereinion appeared out of nowhere, his long strides carrying him into your path with a smirk that could melt glaciers.

“Off to the forges again, are you?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The crown of Lindon glittered faintly in the light, but his expression was anything but regal. Mischief radiated from him like heat from a forge.

You sighed, stepping around him. “Yes, brother, I am. Kindly move.”

“What gift have you for him this time? A poem? Another rare flower?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Or are you simply going to gaze at him longingly until he notices?”

Your pace quickened, but he matched you step for step. “Perhaps you should write him a letter, sister. Something heartfelt. I can help! How about—‘Oh, Celebrimbor, your hands of steel and heart of fire have utterly captured me—’”

You stopped abruptly, spinning to face him with a glare sharp enough to rival any blade in Celebrimbor’s workshop. “Do you ever stop talking?”

He grinned unabashedly. “Not when I’m having this much fun.”

“I’ll have you know,” you began, jabbing a finger at his chest, “that your meddling will get you nowhere. Celebrimbor and I are merely—”

“Friends? Colleagues? Acquaintances?” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “Sister, even the trees know how you feel. You could outshine the Two Trees with the way you look at him.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but no words came. The accusation struck closer to home than you cared to admit.

Taking your silence as victory, Ereinion leaned down, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Listen, all I’m saying is, if you’re going to keep this up, I expect an invitation to the wedding. I’ll even officiate, if you like.”

You shoved him—gently, though it didn’t stop him from stumbling back a step, laughing as though he’d won some great battle.

“Go bother someone else,” you snapped, marching off toward the forge.

“Don’t keep him waiting!” he called after you, his voice still laced with amusement.

++++++++++

Years passed, and your visits became a quiet ritual. Sometimes you brought small gifts—a poem you’d written, a rare flower you’d found during a walk through Lindon’s forests. Other times, you simply sat in the corner of his workshop, content to watch him work, the rhythmic hammering of metal a soothing cadence.

Gil-galad noticed, of course. He noticed everything.

“Planning on making him a crown, sister?” he teased one afternoon, catching you on your way to Celebrimbor’s forge.

You glared at him. “Planning on minding your own business?”

He feigned a look of shock. “Oh, but it is my business! The sister of the High King consorting with Eregion’s lord? What will people think?”

“They’ll think you’re insufferable.”

“I am insufferable.” He grinned, leaning in. “But at least I’m not pining.”

Your glare could have felled an Orc, but Ereinion only laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Go on, then. Don’t keep him waiting.”

++++++++++

It wasn’t just your brother who noticed. Galadriel, with her piercing gaze and sharp tongue, was impossible to fool. She cornered you one evening after a feast, her eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to amusement.

“Celebrimbor?” she asked bluntly, swirling her wine.

“What about him?” you replied, feigning ignorance.

Her lips curved in a knowing smile. “You watch him as though he’s a riddle you’re trying to solve.”

“And you watch everyone as though you know the answer,” you shot back, though your face betrayed you, the faintest flush creeping up your neck.

She laughed—a rare, musical sound. “He’s a good man. Just be careful. His heart is tied to his craft as much as it could ever be tied to you.”

++++++++++

The moments you shared with Celebrimbor were often quiet, but each one built upon the last, weaving a bond as delicate and strong as mithril. He never spoke openly of his feelings, but his actions spoke for him. He listened when you spoke of your dreams and fears, crafting small trinkets to match your words—a silver leaf when you told him of your favorite tree, a delicate sunburst when you mentioned longing for the warmth of Valinor’s light.

One night, as you stood beneath the stars, he handed you a simple ring, its design understated but flawless.

“For you,” he said, his voice almost hesitant. “A reminder that even the smallest things can endure.”

You slipped it onto your finger, the cool metal warming almost instantly. “It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

He hesitated, then added, “Not everything I make is for kings.”

++++++++++

By the time Elrond began visiting Lindon more frequently, the dynamic between you and Celebrimbor had become a favorite subject of teasing.

“Have you told him yet?” Elrond asked, his expression far too innocent for someone meddling in your affairs.

“Told who what?” you replied, pretending to be oblivious.

He only smiled. “You’ll know when you’re ready.”

++++++++++

Ereinion wasn’t often in Celebrimbor’s forge. The High King had little need to concern himself with the intricacies of smithing, but today he’d come with a purpose—a commission he needed to discuss. Yet as he pushed open the heavy doors, he paused, one hand still on the iron handle.

The scene before him was not what he’d expected.

His sister and Celebrimbor stood close together, the soft glow of the forge casting golden light over their faces. Celebrimbor’s hands cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek, while she held onto his tunic as if afraid he might vanish. They were locked in a kiss—tentative at first but growing deeper, the unspoken feelings between them finally laid bare.

A sly grin grew on his lips.

“Am I interrupting?” he called, loud enough to startle them apart.

His sister turned first, her face a picture of mortified surprise. Celebrimbor, ever composed, cleared his throat and took a step back, though the slight flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

“Ereinion!” she exclaimed, her tone sharp enough to cut. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied, striding further into the room. “But I suppose I don’t need to.”

She glared at him, arms crossing defensively. Celebrimbor, meanwhile, was very pointedly looking anywhere but at the High King.

“It’s about time, really,” Gil-galad continued, his grin widening. “I was beginning to think I’d have to forge an alliance contract just to get the two of you to admit it.”

“Brother, dearest,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “go away.”

He ignored her, addressing Celebrimbor instead. “Welcome to the family, old friend. About time you made it official.”

Celebrimbor opened his mouth as if to respond, but your glare cut him off. “Don’t encourage him,” you hissed.

“Encourage me? I’m practically overjoyed!” Ereinion raised his hands in mock surrender. “But fine, I’ll leave you to your…moment. Just remember—dinner tonight. And don’t be late.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out, laughing under his breath. Behind him, he heard his sister mutter something about his insufferable nature, but it only made him smile more.

He had waited years to see her happy, and now she was. That, to him, was worth every ounce of teasing.

[edwardallenpoe]

another bagginshield story idea because the writers block is still kicking my ass but I need to write it down.

What if Bilbo lies about his and Thorin's relationship and tells whoever asks that they're partners. HERE ME OUT! I know this sounds shitty BUT

What if he does it so that people can leave him alone. Or to get discounts/tax benefits (however taxes work in Middle Earth/The Shire). What if he uses his Scary Boyfriend Privileges. What if people already assumed they were together and he was too exchausted with Everything to correct anybody and at some point after wearing the mithril armor everyday and having braids Thorin put in and doing traditionay hobbity and Dwarvish courting customs he's says "fuck it we practically are at this point" lmao. Like they share food and spar together and both of them have continually refused marriage proposals and Bilbo's like "well if he doesn't know we're married then sucks to be him" about Thorin.

WAIT BETTER IDEA HIT WHILE I WAS WRITING THIS

BOTH of these cringefail losers lie. :00 Imagine: after months of living in Erebor and doing traditionally Dwarvish courting customs and Bilbo keeps being badgered about it he lies and tells people he's courting Thorin. And also uses this as a way to keep potential suitors from marrying Thorin. He's intercepting letters from suitors and being like "oh whoops sorry news must travel slow to Ered Luin but Thorin is already engaged:(( yep I know. Welp. Good day."

Then. For some reason both he and Thorin travel back to The Shire right. They're staying there for a month or two. rumors obviously start about why and where Bilbo had left. And while they're there they do traditionally hobbity courting customs and so nosy cousin's and neighbirs start badgering Thorin about their relationship and their adventure and Thorin's just like "yeah we got married back in Erebor. Yep right after he slayed a dragon. Yeah he was too cool to not marry. Yep."

And so someone like random like Drogo Gamgee or smt mentions what Thorin's been talking about to Bilbo and a dwarf from Ered Luin sends Thorin a raven and they both find out what the other was saying behind each other's backs and make out so hard Mordor explodes. Or something.

Idk it is like. 5:30 am rn. I had maybe an hour of sleep before I woke up in a cold sweat to write this down and read @/conkers-thecosy fanfics. You're welcome.

Edit: chapter one of Dragonfly is now here :>

[sindar-princeling]

rop season 2 episode 1 thoughts

at this point you gotta admire the creators' dedication to absolutely bizarre choices when it comes to sauron. 15 minutes in I'm already going what the hell and fuck. like what was that supposed to be. genuinely

Charlie Vickers has grown on me; he still doesn't have much to work with in terms of the script or the plot though

this whole introductory sequence was there....... I'm not sure why? we could already extrapolate all that, and I mean All That, from the previous season

it still pisses me off that Galadriel is The Main Idiot and Everything Is Her Fault

also, I am reminded of all the plot and worldbuilding choices that annoyed me before. why is mithril important for the elves' survival again?

CIRDAN HIII CIRDAN <33333

I'm so glad they kept his beard

believe me, I AM trying to find things to like about this show, but the plot choices feel like so much unnecessary drama. Galadriel and Elrond fighting feels.... tiring. I feel like all Galadriel does is fight with people

oh are we getting Rhun?? 👀 Nice

this is a personal opinion but the elven women have wayyy too strong and modern-looking make-up

it's a shame galadriel gets the ring because she's power-hungry and reckless, not because she's one of the mightiest elves in middle-earth. she SHOULD be power-hungry, don't get me wrong, it's one of her best traits, but this way you don't put any sort of accent of how very important and mighty she is

sauron having a Badass Walk into mordor at the end of s1, which was a really cool shot to end a season on, only to then get himself in chains and then turn away and come back to Celebrimbor has got to be the most '???' moments of this show. they really have no idea what to do with him

overall I'd say my main gripe, apart from the plot solutions, is that this show doesn't have much to say. it's showy, it's lore-heavy (even if I don't like the lore they came up with), but so far it still has little heart and thought behind it. to me at least it doesn't feel like it really wants to tell you something

[acklesgotsnackles]

"yeah i wont let anyone have any of my gold. im willing to risk war, death and destruction to protect it. oh hey bilbo have this priceless mithril chainmail. why? well its a gift. as a token of friendship of course." i know what you are

[iseathegalaxy]

rewatched the hobbit trilogy (i love it, fight me) and no-one will ever convince me there's no romantic subtext between bilbo and thorin (intended or not)

because how can you look at me straight in the eye and tell me there isn't something more than friendship when thorin, in the middle of having dragon fever and being completely consumed by the treasure that sorrounds him, doesn't trust any of his brothers, his kin, the dwarves he has always been with but he trusts bilbo, only him, the stranger he just met and didn't even like at first and who he told he was a burden and no help and should go back home

how can you look at me straight in the eye and claim there's just a friendship when, again, in the middle of this all-consuming trance thorin is in because of the piles of gold he still gifts bilbo a mithril mailchain to protect him, all while mistrusting everyone else

how can you look at me straight in the eye and utter that there's nothing there when it doesn't even cross thorin's mind that the one that has the arkenstone could be bilbo but immediately thinks of everyone else

how can you look at me straight in the eye and declare they just share a mission when bilbo is the only one there with him in death (not blaming the others for their absence, merely pointing out a creative decision) and thorin asks for forgiveness and they both share this very intimate last moment

and how can you look at me straight in the eye and speak that there is nothing romantic in bilbo's words when, after balin says thorin will pass into legend, he replies that "to [bilbo] he was never that, he was... to [bilbo]... he was..." and he cannot bring himself to finish the sentence! all while balin is smiling knowingly at him!

be it either because it was on purpose or just another side effect of men refusing to write fully fledge female characters (or a female character at all) and therefore giving the men the kind of deep, complex, incredibly intricate relationships the world refuses to acknowledge for anyone but straight couples, we'll never know, but they're there and oh god, do they make me cry when they end like this one does

[transingthoseformers]

Why am i now imagining CML trying to do your average camp games and Damus remains unenthused

...

Until it's time for Capture the Flag. That is when the rest of the camp see a glorious side to him they haven't seen quite yet.

[siriusblack-the-third]

Matching Misfortunes: Peter Pevensie

I binged read and watched the Narnia books and films, and idk what possessed me but I wrote. so. Let's go. Please check out the other parts for the other siblings!

.

Peter’s skin itches.

He heaves even breaths through his nose as he leans back to avoid the sloppy punch Easton throws at him, and stops himself from going for the throat for the third time in half as many seconds.

This is the fourth fight he has gotten himself dragged into since term began on Monday. It is Wednesday today, and Peter’s blood pounds in his ears, through his limbs and his flexing fingers as he holds back; doesn’t hit hard, doesn’t go for the liver or the heart or the head, does not give into the bloodlust that whispers siren songs of battle and blood-covered blades in his ears. He stops himself, clenching his fists and dodging the abysmal hits from the three boys that surround him, and refuses to lift a hand against these insolent children.

He is a King.

He is a boy stuck in a schoolyard brawl he did not start.

Peter’s skin itches.

He wants to claw it off— he imagines that this is what snakes must feel when their body gets much too big for their scales, and they have to go through the painful process of shedding their outer layer and come out stronger and larger. He suppresses a grim twist of his lips as he kicks out— harmlessly, wrestling against the lust that sings a song of death in his ears— at that idiot Michael’s knee to send him sprawling to the ground with a yelp, and thinks that what he went through was rather the opposite, really. He grew up, and then was forced into a body too unfamiliar, too awkward, too inexperienced. Too young.

He was a King.

He is a boy stuck in a body too unscarred to be a King’s.

Kenneth lunges forward to try and grab him around the waist. Peter easily steps out of the way, the part of him that is a seasoned warrior clawing to the forefront of his mind simply to scoff at the graceless flailing of limbs that these children call fighting. Lucy could do better.

Lucy did do better, twelve years ago. Or maybe it was five years ago.

The timelines blur together, in his mind; he can no longer tell whether he is in England or Narnia. He is wearing his school uniform and he is wearing his royal garments, he is walking the halls of Westbrook County Boarding School and he is walking the halls of Cair Paravel. He holds the blunted school practice broadsword in his hand and he holds the razor-sharp Rhindon in his calloused hands, he is a boy and he is a King.

“Fight back,” Easton snarls, dark brown hair falling out of its previously carefully styled place, and Peter thinks of how he has seen scarier Mice dig their teeth into the throats of Minotaurs and suck them dry of blood. He blinks, and the image of him sinking his own teeth into Easton’s throat flashes across his mind’s eye. He blinks again, and he’s back on this makeshift battleground where the mice are gone and his sword is gone and he is in clothes too uncomfortable and the skin is stretched taut over a body that is not really his—

“Fight back, Pevensie, you coward!”

High King Peter the Magnificent of Narnia, Commander of the Armies, Emperor of the Lone Islands, the Lionheart Warrior King, Protector of the People, wants to grab him by the throat and shatter his jaw into a thousand pieces for that grave insult upon his character. Instead, he laughs in his face and sticks out his tongue, like a small child.

He is nineteen, and he is thirty-three. He is not a child, in either world.

Sometimes, he wishes he was. Sometimes, he wishes he was thirteen and in his mother’s home, he wishes he had never left for Professor Diggory’s mansion.

Most times, however, he wishes for something he has almost given up hope for, something he was forced to give up five and a half years ago. He wishes, oh so dearly, for a faithful sword made of mithril in his hand and a heavy crown woven out of golden flowers on his head. He wishes for one last chance to step out of this world that was once his but no longer is, and into a world where he was once High King Peter the Magnificent, Commander of the Armies, Emperor of the Lone Islands, the Lionheart Warrior King, First of the Beloved Four, Protector of the Narnian People.

Easton yells as he lumbers forward, and Peter, too embroiled in old memories of running his fingers through the unicorn Ethrys’ snow-white mane while galloping through grassy fields, does not see the punch coming until it is too late. The loud smack of knuckles against flesh echoes through the school courtyard, and the impact of the heavy fist on his cheek is like an electric shock to his senses.

For a second, he blinks dazedly. And then his brain registers it properly. The pain flares, and with it so does blinding hot bloodlust.

‘Fine,’ he thinks as he lifts a hand to wrap his fingers around Easton’s forearm in a death grip, a high-pitched whistle echoing in his ears and red creeping into the edges of his vision as it zeroes in on the many weaknesses in the three boys’ defenses. ‘You want a fight? You’ll get one.’

It takes him four seconds to get the three imbeciles on their backs, one howling in pain from a dislocated shoulder, the other because of a broken nose and the third from a bruised kidney. His fingers flex around the hilt of a sword that he no longer owns, and he reminds himself that he is not allowed to kill, not in this world where he is not a King and does not lead wars.

He stares down at Easton, the image of a blood covered sword and a slain warrior at his feet flashing behind his eyelids when he blinks. He opens his eyes and the boy stares back, hand clutching his shoulder and face becoming paler and paler the longer Peter holds his terrified brown gaze.

“Don’t bother me again,” he says flatly to the three of them, and turns away, ignoring the teachers that are hurrying across the lawn with yells of his name tumbling from their lips. He lifts his gaze and locks it with Edmund’s for a second, brilliant blue meeting identical brilliant blue, before both of them turn away. One royal brother melts into the crowd of students without a whisper, and the other stalks off towards the dorms with blood on his ever-bruised knuckles and memories of a different world singing through the veins of a body that is too young for the mind it contains.

He is a King, celebrated and honoured for his services to a hallowed land.

He is a mere boy sitting on the roof of the boarding school, fingers flexing around the hilt of a sword that no longer belongs to him, nothing more than a memory he cannot let go of: a memory he refuses to let go of even after five and a half years.