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copperhawks · 4 years ago

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Dee’s asleep and not checking this blog much anymore so Imma write another essay cuz I wanna and I’m so excited for the next chapter of The Lost Mage, maybe she’ll backread through this during the next hiatus lol.

Anyway. To no one’s surprise, I also absolutely adore The Lord of the Rings series. I’m sure a lot of Pierce fans are probably simultaneously Lord of the Rings fans, they’re similar genres after all.

My favorite character was always Faramir. In both books and movies, Faramir was my boy. I didn’t care about Legolas much, the pretty boy of so many a young girl’s eye, or Aragorn, the gritty honorable hero who also caught many a young girl’s eye.

In the books, Faramir is flawless, practically. He is another Aragorn, in many ways, though perhaps just SLIGHTLY more scholarly. Both of them don’t want to really fight or lead but take on these roles because it is necessary and it’s what’s best for their people. They both are very grounded in terms of who they are, neither of them thinks themselves above anyone else, they don’t really seek power ever. This is why neither Aragorn nor Faramir is truly ever tempted by the Ring in the books, at all. Faramir is patient and kind and compassionate and has a very quiet sort of strength that hides in darkness until someone shines a light on it. He is the opposite of his brother, a foil to him the way Aragorn is, just slightly less flashy than Aragorn tends to be.

In the films, Faramir ends up somewhere in-between his brother and his king. He IS still tempted by the Ring, for similar reasons to Boromir, but he is able to eventually fight off the temptation and let Frodo go. He has flaws, he has insecurities that nearly cause his ruin, but he has a strength that allows him to overcome them. He still has that compassion and the patience from the books, though it’s shown less simply due to a lack of time, but it’s there. And he has his quiet strength still, too. He’s not flashy, he’s not seeking glory ever. Most of the time, what he’s seeking is acceptance, love.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that this lil mini essay is going to be about which of the Lost Mage’s characters reminds me most of Faramir. And you’d be forgiven for being surprised that this essay actually starts with his brother.

So let’s talk about Don.

Poor Don. Poor irresponsible, jealous, weak Don.

Don the Deadbeat, Don the Defective, Don the Deficient, Don the Discriminatory.

If you’re been in the Lord of the Rings fandom for any significant length of time, you’ve probably seen and read at least one essay about why Boromir is not a villain. Why his failure to resist the Ring is not a sign of irredeemable weakness. Why he was actually the most relatable character of all of them, aside from perhaps Sam.

If The Lost Mage were Lord of the Rings, Don would probably be seen as a villain, too. At least, for a while.

Boromir fails a lot, too, but this doesn’t mean he doesn’t TRY to do good. He tries to protect Faramir from his father. And fails. He tries to save Merry and Pippin from the orcs and dies for it. And still fails. He tries to resist the Ring and protect Frodo as best he can. And he fails.

But he’s trying, above everything else, to protect his people, to be a good leader, to do what he believes needs to be done to defeat the darkness in the world. And he is led astray, yes, but not out of personal desire for power ever. He’s trying his best to accomplish multiple tasks and please multiple people in a situation where not everyone can be appeased. Boromir wants to help, but feels as though his contributions and opinions are being brushed aside unfairly. The people he came all this way to try to protect are being dismissed as unworthy and untrustworthy, despite everything he has seen them do to keep the darkness at bay and away from the rest of the world. Boromir has had to lead his people to their deaths too many times to not take this personally.

Boromir fails. But his death provides an example of honor and leadership that Aragorn ends up following later on. Boromir’s sacrifice does not end up being in vain at all, as both Merry and Pippin live on and are rescued and are instrumental in helping defeat Sauron. Pippin in particular in instrumental in protecting Boromir’s own brother. And Aragorn goes on to take up the mantle of King, leading the kingdom of Gondor and Men in general into a new age of peace and prosperity. Boromir fails.

But he succeeds, too.

King Donatien is fighting similar darkness. Both internal and external.

Don is, at heart, a good man. A kind man. A man who wants little else but to make life better for his people, human and animal. A man who will take in injured otters who won’t survive in the wild, a man who sees his mother murdered in front of him and has to find a way to move forward after that while answering calls for vengeance from everyone around him. A man whose personal beliefs are now at war with the needs of the nobility which are at war with the needs of the common people. Don needed to appease the nobility whose families were being massacred one by one but in doing so managed to unravel the only way of life many common people knew.

Don fails.

But does this make him a villain?

No, of course not.

Don was an 18 year old placed in a position of leadership during a time of crisis and who had much of his support slowly whittled away, placing him at the mercy of his own personal One Ring of Power.

Could Don have been a good leader in other circumstances? Maybe. Probably, even. Don would have been an excellent peace-time leader. He could even have been a decent leader during a crisis had the crisis not included a bunch of people working to chip away at any support he might have and tear down his mental stability.

Sadly, that’s not the circumstances we find Don in. The circumstances Don finds himself in put him in a position of always having to fail someone. Whether it’s Sav, the mages, the nobility, or even his own cats. Don fails.

But this arguably makes him one of the most relatable characters in the whole story. Because a lot of us can probably empathize with that feeling of having way too much responsibility thrown on you in the middle of a major crisis and just wanting to put your head down and sleep for a few months but being unable to.

Numair is, arguably, our Aragorn. He has flaws, yes. But he is the epitome of goodness so far. He’s the one who’s got things together the most, the most stable of the main characters, the kind and compassionate and patient hero who is there to support everyone else as they stumble and fall. He is big and flashy and powerful and capable. He is quite the opposite of Don in so many ways. But Numair, like Aragorn, is able to recognize that just because someone seems to be nothing but a failure doesn’t mean they aren’t TRYING to be better and doesn’t mean they don’t just need a little help.

Daine, I think, would be the Faramir. Sav’s too flashy for Faramir, I’m not sure where he’d be placed on the Lord of the Rings spectrum of heroic characters here. Maybe Sav’s Legolas. Or Eowyn. Oh gosh Sav’s Eowyn isn’t he. Regardless, Daine is our Faramir. Quietly strong, compassionate, somewhat broken down, loving, caring, patient and understanding. Someone who doesn’t really fall to temptation, either, and is able to fight through the darkness for someone else’s sake, no matter how far into the dark she is herself. Someone who refuses to lose belief in anyone, but won’t stand by and let bad things happen, either.

Don is TRYING, we’ve seen that. He’s not a villain. He’s perceptive and can be kind and compassionate in the right moments. He falls victim to certain vices and is incapable of pleasing everyone who wants something from him. But he’s trying. So so hard. He’s trying to let go of the man he loves and let him be happy with someone else. He’s trying to keep the peace between the nobility and the commoners, as impossible as they are making it. He is TRYING to work past his own trauma surrounding magic for the sake of his own people. He is trying. And that’s important. That’s SO important.

Don is perhaps not my favorite character. Boromir wasn’t, either, still isn’t. I’m a Faramir girl through and through, that’s just part of who I am at this point.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not ROOTING for Don. I want Don to get better, to BE better, because we’ve seen glimpses of the kind of man he can be, the kind of leader he can be. Don can be exceptional. Don can be inspirational.

Don the Dauntless. Don the Dedicated. Don the Dependable.

#tamora pierce #tortall #the immortals #the immortals quartet #daine au lb #king donatien

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aelnare · 5 years ago

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;;Sprich mir von allen Schrecken des Gewissens, von meinem Vater sprich mir nicht.

He was a boy on the edge of becoming a man when his world slowly but surely began to fall apart. Drystan von Reuß, son of the princess of Dale, did not understand the anger within himself. He did not understand the distance between him and everyone else. But there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried his best to be a good son, to make his father proud, to make his mother smile. But whenever his mother smiled his father became angry. And whenever his father was proud, his mother became sad. There had been a time when he thought himself the reason for that. Had they not been happy when they first married? Lady Mother often spoke of that time. Brand was the crown prince, the golden boy, the wonderful future. They loved him. They adored him. Drystan was ready to die for him. The two boys were the best of friends, playing between the flowers in Dale’s gardens, fighting each other with wooden sticks. They hunted dangerous dragons and wild beasts in their dreams together. Nothing could tear them apart. Nothing and no one. But deep inside his heart, hidden away between hopes he never dared to speak about, dreams he never dared to dream, there was a different feeling altogether. There was agony. There was pain. And worst of all there was jealousy. And nothing he could do about it. He was seven when he first realised that there was something different about them. Something different between them. Where Brand was met with smiles and laughter, only cold hands and stern faces greeted Drystan. His father grew ever more distant, he could hear them shout at night, fight and bicker. Over the kingdom, over their honor, over the truth. Uncle Bain and Sir Lancelot turned away when Drystan approached with Lord Heinrich. They turned away from him, they turned away from his father. All he wanted was to make them proud. It was during that time that Brand became too busy to play with him. A future king needed a different sort of upbringing, a different sort of teacher. He was the heir after all. And Drystan was left to bend and break under his father’s iron fist, always eager to please but never good enough. He was seventeen when he dreamed of dying a hero’s death. When he dreamed of being a knight in splendid armour, living forever in songs and poems. His father would be proud of that, what other choice did he have? Mother would be sad. But she was always sad. And at least he would give her a reason for it. At least she would have to think of him for once. Brand laughed at him for that. All he had wanted was to make him proud. He was a grown man when he stood upon a bloodied battlefield, watching Dain Ironfoot defending a motionless body, a dead king. A dead cousin. Dain died that day, like so many others he died protecting the king of Dale and their kingdoms, the vision they had built for their future. But Drystan survived. And there was nothing to be done about that. Drystan, the spare, the one they had never wanted. He was the one that survived, for fate played a cruel game in those days. They cried for Brand. They sang songs and wrote poems, they would remember him forever. And princess Tilda, his own mother, was so so proud. Drystan could not help it. He was jealous. He was angry. He should have been the one to die. And Brand should have lived. Should have ruled. He had been ready to die for the other, but not even that he was allowed in the end. He was guilty all the same.

#meinliied #aelernil #there you go #the title which is also the Heinrich tag translates to #speak of all the conscience’s terror but of my father do not speak.#or all the terror of the conscience #;;sprich mir von allen Schrecken des Gewissens; von meinem Vater sprich mir nicht - Heinrich von Reuß #headcanons #drys having serious survivors guilt?#drys being jealous of Brand while also fiercely loving him?#YOU BET ON IT #Giuli you challenged my honor I hope I defended it well

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cienie-isengardu · 6 years ago

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Darth Vader and the violence against imperial low-ranking soldiers (Old Trilogy)

I have habit of re-reading star wars comics & books, mainly focusing on Darth Vader. I have quite clear idea of his character, shaped by various sources AND my own thinking & analyzing made over the years.

One of the things that never sit well with me is idea of Vader using violence against low-ranking soldiers for no fair reason.

Don’t get me wrong, Vader killed a lot of imperial soldiers, there is no deny of that. Either he sent them on very dangerous - sometimes simple suicide - missions without regard for their life or because “there was no mercy for failure among the Imperial military”. Vader was the ultimate executor of those who either betrayed Empire or were incompetent. Looking how the whole Imperial Army became corrupted, how so many people put their own ambitions and gains over the welfare of the Empire, Vader’s ruthless presence was essential to keep the whole military in check.

And Dark Lord of the Sith was effective at his job, to the point that some characters - like bounty hunter Dengar - thought about him as a really busy man, who “had his own political agenda, men to command, an Empire to run“.

As much as Vader lacked patience for fools and tolerance for failures - what usually resulted in someone’s death or at least force-choking - in the movies alone he never punished or threatened imperial low-ranking soldiers. All the verbal & physical violence was directed at officers, especially those with high status. At admiral Motti, for being disrespectful for Vader’s belief about Force, at admiral Ozzel for incompetence, at captain Needa, for too hasty reporting success (catching Millennium Falcon) that turned out to be failure, at just-promoted-to-admiral Piett - if he failed him again. At Director of the Advanced Weapons Research, Orson Krennic, for being more focused at competing with Tarkin rather than performing a recommended task. But common troopers? Nope.

Frankly, the Old Trilogy gave us very noticeable contrast in Vader’s behaviour that always depended on with whom he worked. The undertone of famous scene during Imperial Meeting in ANH was much different than, let say, boarding Leia’s ship. For better analyze, here a short summary.

In A NEW HOPE:

After stormtroopers took over the rebel ship, the first thing Vader did was looking for enough alive rebeliant to interrogate. The few who fell in the first phase of imperial attack were dead, Vader didn’t say anything, just moved on. Stormtroopers went with him.

Next scene, Vader personally interrogated Antilles after his trooper reported that “The Death Star plans are not in the main computer”. Not satisfied with rebel’s lack of cooperation, Vader ordered “Commander, tear this ship apart until you've found those plans, and bring me the passengers! I want them alive!” He sounded angry (then again, the man can’t say a word without being terrifying) but there was no threat what will happen to stormtroopers if they will not find the plans. They didn’t, as far as we know, no imperial soldier died in result.

Stormtrooper captured instead Leia, Vader had no patience for her lies and imprisoned her. Commander Daine Jir* pointed out flaws in Sith’s plan. No violence against him or against commander Praji*, who reported “Lord Vader, the battle station plans are not aboard this ship, and no transmissions were made. An escape pod was jettisoned during the fighting, but no life-forms were aboard.” Vader’s final words in that scene, “There'll be no one to stop us this time” sounds not only confident about the future; the use of “us” is an interesting choice of words. No stop “me” or “Emperor’s plans” or Empire as a whole. Us. Vader referred to himself AND his troopers who hunted those rebels (and plans of Death Star) for a while.

During meeting with the most important Imperials on Death Star, minute or two after showing up with Tarkin, Vader was force choking Motti while saying the famous “I find your lack of faith disturbing”. If Motti didn’t act so arrogant, Vader wouldn’t feel obligated to prove him wrong. There is visible contrast between Vader on battlefield (surrounded by his own soldiers) and Vader surrounded by high-ranking officers. The Dark Lord of the Sith is one of the most powerful being in Empire yet he is “outsider” during the meeting. There is no place at table for him, he isn’t part of military nor government the way Motti, Tagge or Tarkin were.

During battle of Yavin, Lieutenant Tanbris* informed “We count 30 rebel ships, Lord Vader, but they're so small, they're evading our turbolasers.” Vader’s reaction? “We'll have to destroy them ship to ship. Get the crews to their fighters.” Once again, Vader used plural “we”; he was going to join his troopers in fight against rebels. [Side note, since Tanbris is part of Vader’s own crew, it makes sense he went straight to his boss, not to any official commander of Death Star. Then again, the 501st Legion wasn’t personally responsible for protecting battle station but Vader involved himself in fight on his own because no imperial high ranking officer - be it Tarkin or Motti - either didn’t think about using TIE fighters or were too arrogant to believe rebel attack may be dangerous to them]

Vader met two imperial pilots on his way to his personal TIE. He calmly told them “Several fighters have broken off from the main group. Come with me.” Not much emotions, no threats what will happen if they fail him. During fight, he only told them to cover him while he is dealing with rebels.

So, in ANH we have one a bit force-choked admiral, no threats against low ranking stormtroopers or imperial pilots. Vader doesn’t have patience for Motti’s arrogance & bullshit, but he doesn’t mind Jir’s insight and is one of few imperial high-ranking officers who takes part in dangerous fights against enemy. Vader doesn’t speak much with other high-ranked officers (beside Tarkin) and in final battle he doesn’t just sent people on front line - he personally take action to secure Empire’s victory (and if not for Han Solo, he could succeed) while Tarkin, underestimating enemy, put faith in superiority of the Death Star.

In The Empire Strikes Back, Vader’s status in imperial army changed. Until now he operated outside of military hierarchy and though he was always the second-in-command of Empire, now he was officially titled as Supreme Commander. Also, Vader already knew Luke is his son and became obsessed with finding / capturing him. The idea of having son at his side, made Vader closer to idea of overthrowing his master and thus “tread on thin ice”. Because of the “promotion” to official Supreme Commander, for understable reasons, we see Vader more around officers than stormtroopers. Still in TESB:

the first man killed by Darth Vader was admiral Ozzel. Reason? Incompetence. Even then Vader’s line “you failed me for the last time” indicates that it wasn’t the first mistake that Ozzel made. Unfortunately for the imperial officer - due to his obsession with finding Luke - Vader lost patience more quickly than usual. (General Veers tried excused admiral’s mistake but Vader didn’t punish him in any way for speaking on behalf of another officer who clearly never was favored by Sith Lord; captain Piett get promotion)

The Rebel Base was under attack; though in the movie alone we didn’t see Vader in battle action (not like in Star Wars Battlefront), it’s clear he joined troopers at some point and went into Rebel Base before that was secured.

Later, Vader sent pilots after Millennium Falcon that hides in asteroid field which is like, the most(?) obviously cruel thing he did to common troopers, as far as movies showed. Then again, ANH already proved how high ranking Imperials do not care for people in general and Vader lack of care for wellbeing of subordinates does not stand out that much from “imperial norm”. What I mean, we still did not see him tormenting troopers for fun or act out anger by hurting them but using available forces in military operation that was important to Empire (and Vader’s wish to save find son). This does not excuse the callousness of Vader’s decisions but there is no malice towards troopers per se. He is doing what imperial officers would do - use troopers to archive victory for the glory of Empire.

Still, Vader does not mind use bounty hunters and mercenaries to do the dangerous job. Something that does not always sits well with imperial officers (Piett). If Vader could hear or feel in the Force admiral’s complain, he did not show any anger or care for it.

Captain Needa was second victim of Vader. This one death seems like unnecessary violence, especially since the officer was presented quite as honorable man (willing to take all blame on himself). But Needa reported capturing enemy’s ship that turned out to be not truth and was killed in result. No mercy for failure, after all. Still, no man under his command was put in harm way, as far as we know.

Later Vader was busy on Bespin, with the torturing Han Solo and fight with son. When once again Millennium Falcon run away (and the supposed ), the face of admiral Piett makes it clear, the man was painfully aware he failed. Yet Vader did not kill nor threaten him in any way. Maybe Piett was to some degree liked by Darth Vader (he chose him after all) or maybe Piett was truly lucky man cause the Sith was too busy with his emotional/family conflict to care. Piett survived and was once again seen in RotJ.

Return of the Jedi puts once again Vader in different perspective. This time the focus on Sith does not involve much military matters, now his story resolve about personal conflicts; duty vs desire, master vs son and so on. Of course, we still can see Vader working well with admiral Piett or warning / threatening Moff about delays in construction of Death Star but he had no chance to take active part in combat like in previous movies.

So, in the Old Trilogy there is not much hints Vader used physical or verbal violence against low-ranking soldiers. He was willing to sacrifice their life for “greater good” of Empire (or his own plans) but as far as movies shows, he did not force choke them for mistakes or talking back, like he did to Motti or director Krennic in Rogue One. And this shapes a lot of my thoughts about Vader, his relationship with other imperials and how he fit - or not - the imperial norms.

Of course, comics and books presents the matter in various ways but this is something for another meta(s). A meta(s) I hope to write in nearest future. For now, remember that the higher in rank someone is, the more critical, judgmental and strict Vader became.

* the names of imperial soldiers comes from additonal sources.

#star wars #darth vader #vader and stormtroopers #imperial officers #my analysis #my meta #yay i finally write this one it sit in my drafts for like months already #basicly i despite the idea that vader is using violence against common troopers for no reason #he will send them in dangreous places on suicide mission yes #but he is not gonna out of his way to scare or hurt or humilate them

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lostinaseaoffictionalbliss · 6 years ago

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Tattooed Love

Summary: Soulmate AU. You have a small tattoo of your soulmates first initial and while you know him as soon as you see him it takes time to tell him how you feel.

A/N: this is for @thatfanficstuff 500 follower challenge. I also want to thank @mirandaaustin93 for being my beta. She isn't even into The Hobbit, but she watched it just for me and read over this. I can't thank her enough.

If you like this post and can Buy Me a Coffee

Warnings: none. I actually even made sure the boys lived because I can't handle their deaths.

Word count: 2203

Loyalty, honor, a willing heart. Those were the things Thorin looked for in a person, the things he respected. It was also something you had to offer. You were at the meeting in Ered Luin. You heard about his quest to reclaim Erebor and while Dain and the others told him it was the company's quest and theirs alone you refused to sit back and do nothing. The desire to help, to prove yourself, and to do the right thing burned deep in your soul and coursed through your veins hotter than a forge’s fire. That was how you found yourself riding with Thorin to the Shire to meet the rest of the company and meet the burglar Gandalf had chosen to assist on the quest.

But truth be told those weren't the only reasons you had for joining such a dangerous quest. Even though they were the main ones. In the back of your mind and somewhere in your heart you hoped to meet your soulmate as well. Ever since you were old enough to understand what the little D rune tattooed on your ankle meant you had been looking for him. Everyone was born with a similar mark. For dwarves or in your case half dwarves the letter was a rune, but it was always the first letter of your soulmates name. It always looked like a tattoo, but the markings weren't always located in the same spot.

As soon as you met the stoic warrior with tattoos on his head and forearms you knew it had to be him. Just his rough voice sent a tingle down your spine and while most found his gaze and the way he held himself intimidating you didn't. It made you feel protected and if you were being honest a little bit aroused. However you kept this to yourself. For one you had just met him and wanted to get to know him before you blurted out you thought he was your soulmate. For two you were about to embark on a dangerous mission and more important things needed to be discussed.

You sat listening intently to Thorin as he spoke of the mountain and seizing the chance to take back Erebor with a smile. You were proud to call him king, but then talk of the front door being sealed began and arguments once again broke out because no one thought Bilbo could survive the wild. It made you sigh. Dwalin looked over at you with a raised brow. “What seems to be the matter lass?” You shook your head. “Pointless arguing. Gandalf clearly chose the hobbit for a reason. So what if he's gentle and doesn't know how to defend himself. There's thirteen and a half dwarves here we can defend him if need be until we reach the mountain.”

Dwalin let out a gruff laugh. “Thirteen and a half. You're funny lass.” After that moment you wanted to hear him laugh more and so you made it your personal mission to make him do so. Even if you weren't sure how to do it. That night everyone of the dwarves sang and you joined in, but your eyes were locked on Dwalin the entire time. His deep voice, the glint in his eyes that said he was a fierce warrior, and the way he held himself all drew you in. Like a moth to the flame or a dwarf to gold. There was no doubt in your mind he was your soulmate.

As you left the Shire and traveled over rolling hills and across little rivers you talked to all the company getting to know them better. You made friends with Fili and Kili easy enough. They were sweet and could easily make you laugh. You also talked to Balin enjoying the stories he told you, but your favorite talks were with Dwalin. You could listen to his voice all day. He told you stories of battles he had fought in, mischief he had caused as a dwarfling, becoming best friends with Thorin and many more. In return you told him stories of your childhood, how you learned to fight because you wanted to honor your father who had died in battle, how people put you down for being a halfbreed, and anything else you could think of.

The more you talked to him the more you fell in love. Dwalin was everything you could hope for in a soulmate. He was brave, strong, protective, loyal. Most importantly he had a soft side that not many got to see, but you did. One night while most of the company slept you and him sat up talking long into the night. “There was this little fawn it had gotten separated from its ma, ya see. Well it was so tiny it was gonna die on its own. So I smuggled it into the house, fed it milk until it was big enough to survive in the wild and let it go.” He told you. It was the sweetest thing you had ever heard. This big tough dwarf who could easily crack skulls with his bare hands had taken care of something as gentle and precious as a lost fawn.

Getting to see that side of him made you realize there was more to him than meets the eye. And so you spent every night you could listening to his tales whether they be of gruesome fights or of helping someone in need by escorting them home safely, stories of boys’ night and getting plastered or of buying a single mother food for a week. Yes, Dwalin was a tough seasoned warrior, but he was also a soft kind soul once you got to know him. It warmed your heart that he allowed you to see the deeper part of him. You even had to stop yourself from telling him you loved him a few times.

Things seemed to be going great between you and Dwalin as well as for the company until one night you made camp near what used to be a farmer's home. Gandalf and Thorin argued and the wizard took off. That was just the beginning of the trouble that would ensue that night. Just as you were about to take the last bite of the stew Bombur had made Fili came running toward camp saying trolls had Bilbo. You dropped the bowl grabbed your sword and followed after him like all the other dwarves. The battle was going in your favor until one of the trolls caught you and threw you into a tree. You landed on your leg funny and felt your ankle roll painfully. There was no doubt it was sprained.

Bilbo was captured and the dwarves dropped their weapons. Some were put on a spit over the fire while the rest of you were put in sacks. You closed your eyes and held back the whimper that was in the back of your throat. If you were going to die you would do it bravely. You wouldn't let the others know you were hurting as bad as you were. You were a warrior and you would die being strong like a warrior. You watched the spit looking at Dwalin sadly wishing you had told him how you felt. Now you would never get the chance to tell him, he was your soulmate and you loved him. Or so you thought.

The hobbit had managed to play for time. While his plan was a bit strange it had worked and Gandalf had showed up in time to turn the trolls to stone. All of you were released from your bags and off the spit. While some of the company went to look for a cave you sat there letting your ankle rest. You poked it and let out a hiss. “Let me have a look at it lass. You took a pretty hard hit.” You looked up at Dwalin and nodded not even thinking about the little soulmate tattoo he would find. You just wanted to make sure it wasn't broke as you didn't want to be a burden the rest of the journey.

Dwalin knelt next to you and pulled the leg of your trousers up, untied your boot and pulled it off. He lifted your leg and went to examine it. When he spotted the little D rune he took pause. The stoic warrior had felt himself falling for you more and more as you grew to know one another. He also remembered the rune on his right shoulder that was the first letter of your name. Deep inside he had prayed that you were his soulmate, but you were so soft, so gentle, so sweet, and perfect. He was none of that. He didn't want to get his hopes up in case he was wrong, but now he had a reason to have hope. For the first time in a long time he felt his heartbeat pick up and was honestly a little nervous.

“Y/N, lass.” He looked up at you his eyes more serious than you had ever seen. You could see the different emotions playing in his eyes. Nervousness, happiness, pride, love, and a little fear. All of it made you very nervous, but you didn't take your eyes off his for a second. “I think it's time I showed you something.” He shrugged his fur coat off and moved his tunic showing you his mark. There it was for you to see. A little rune depicting the first letter of your name. Honestly you didn't know how to react. This whole time you had been afraid to tell him how you felt when you had nothing to fear.

You smiled at him, the pain in your ankle completely forgotten and pulled him down for a kiss. His lips were chapped and rough just like he was, but having them pressed to yours was the sweetest feeling in the world. Tingles ran down your spine, your heart picked up pace and you felt like nothing bad could happen as long as he kept holding you like he was. Dwalin’s hands had come to rest of your hips and despite his tough exterior he held you gently, like a butterfly he was afraid to crush. When he pulled away he rested his forehead against yours. “I love you, Dwalin,” you whispered knowing he would hear you.

“I love you too, Y/N. And I swear to protect you to the end of my days.” He promised. And no matter the hardships you endured on the quest he kept that promise. He made sure the orcs didn't get you as you ran, he protected you during the thunderbattle, in the goblin tunnels he hit any one of the nasty creatures that dared touch you, hanging from a tree he protected you then too. A skinchanger, spiders, elves, and a dragon. He watched over you through it all. He even kept you safe during the battle of the five armies. There was nothing he wouldn't keep you safe from. You thanked Mahal for giving you such a perfect soulmate. Without Dwalin you just knew you would be lost.

When the day finally came for your wedding you couldn't be happier. The smile on your face was more stunning than even the Arkenstone. What made the day better was the fact your best friends, Fili and Kili were walking you down the aisle while Thorin was officiating. It had been a miracle they had survived the battle, but they had and here they were to experience the happiest day of your life with you. You fussed with your hair one last time before opening the door and smiling at the boys. “Time to get you married,” Fili said. Kili had a cheeky grin. “I know you're excited for what comes after.” The young prince wiggled his brows. You smacked him, but accepted his and his brother's arm as they were offered.

Dwalin blinked rapidly. He couldn't believe how beautiful you were. The stoic warrior felt he was looking at an angel as he watched Fili and Kili bring you closer to him. As soon as you were standing across from him he held your hands in his and smiled. For anyone that didn't know how he was with you it was a strange sight, but for the company they expected nothing less. You stood there barely hearing a thing Thorin said as you gazed at your soulmate with all the love and adoration your small body could muster. If someone asked you what was said during the ceremony you wouldn't be able to tell them.

The only thing you remembered was promising to always love Dwalin and him promising you the same. Of course Kili then yelled from the crowd, “Kiss already.” Dwalin let out a growl, but did just that. Normally he wasn't one for public displays of affection, but today he made an exception as he kissed you with everything he had. “Your mine and I'm yours for now and until the end of our days,” he whispered. “I wouldn't have it any other way,” you whispered back.

#dwalin #dwalin x reader #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #soulmate au #happy ending for all #thatfanficstuff's favorite things #dwalin fanfiction #the hobbit reader insert

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berjhawn · 6 years ago

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Elastic Heart - Part 19 - Battle Begins

Warnings: Fighting, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, ETC

Pairings: Hobbit X OFC; Thranduil X OFC; Fili X OFC; LOTR X OFC

A/N: Since Tumblr is Broke you’ll have to go to my master-list to find all the other parts.

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As a battle rages around me I look around to see all my friends fighting against the Orcs as one. Thranduil and Bard fight on in the city of Dale as the dwarves fight on upon the plains that lie before the mountain. I watch as Thorin, Kili, Dwalin, and Fili climb unto rams and head up to Ravenhill after Azog. I stare at them for a moment before I feel the scenery around me change. I look around to see ruins of an old watchtower and the smell of blood was thick on the air.

I see no one as I slowly walk along until I reach the top of the tower. I look down at the plains to see the dwarves and elves over powering the Orcs with help from the eagles and Beorn and smile. I hear something behind me and I turn to see Fili walking toward me a smile on his face. I smile back at him and as he reaches me I wrap my arms around him.

“I missed you.” I say to him but he doesn’t reply he just gently cups my face in his hands and gently places a kiss on my lips. I feel heat fill my body as my eyes close and our kiss is deepened. Suddenly he pulls away and I look into his eyes to see them slowly growing cold.

He looks down and I follow his gaze to see a sword plunged into his back. My eyes widen as I cry out in anguish. He turns away from me and I see Azog standing behind him. Fili stumbles and as I reach out to grab him he falls over the edge of the tower and tumbles to the ground. I stare wide eyed at his lifeless body before I look back to see Azog was gone.

I look around and see Kili fighting with Bolg to protect Tauriel when he is suddenly impaled as well. Tears pour from my eyes as I watch Tauriel fight against Bolg. I hear another cry and I turn to see Thorin being impaled by Azog and I cannot contain my sadness as I let out a ear piercing scream in pain.

I quickly make my way down the tower to Fili where I see Dwalin cradling him in his arms and my heart completely breaks. I reach up and clench the piece of hair that he had braided before I lean down in front of him and bury my face in his chest. I feel Dwalin’s hand gently touch the top of my head before he places his head on mine. I cry out into his chest, “Fili get up! Please I can’t do this without you! Get up!” I scream it over and over again until I feel myself being shaken awake.

“Randír!” Mahrie cries out as she shakes me. “Wake up!” My eyes widen as I jump awake. “Are you alright?” She asks as my eyes dart all around me finding anything to make me realize it was just a dream. “Randír!” she says as she smacks my cheek. I pause tears streaming from my eyes.

“I am sorry, I just had a nightmare.” I say as I reach up and gently wipe the tears away.

“I heard you screaming and came to check on you.”

“Thank you Mahrie, I didn’t wake Frieda did i?” I ask as I try to compose myself.

“Thankfully not, but I am worried about you. I know you have probably seen many horrors in your life but you mustn’t let them control you.”

I smile as I say, “You are right.” I slowly stand up and look around to see the sun about to creep over the ridge and I turn toward her and say, “When the chaos starts I want you to stay close to Frieda, and stay in the great hall. I won’t be able to protect you.”

She nods as she says, “Are you sure you’re ready to fight?”

I look down at my hands and remember Fili’s blood being on them in my dream and say, “I have to make sure my nightmare doesn’t come true. Thank you Mahrie,” I grab Ithildin and quickly make my way from their home to where they had roomed Bilbo. When I arrive I see him sneaking out and I smile as I sneak up behind him and poking him in the shoulder say, “Are you sure you won’t get caught?”

He jumps and I smile as he turns back to me and says, “It’s just you,”

I smile as I say, “I see you’re sneaking back to the mountain,”

“I am.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

He eyes me for a moment before he says, “What do you need?”

“Will you tell Fili, that I miss him and I will see him soon?”

Bilbo smiles as he says, “You really do care for him don’t you?”

I smile as I say, “This stays between us, but I love him. When this is all over I’ll follow him anywhere.”

He smiles as he says, “I knew there was something going on between the two of you. Fili’s lucky to have you.”

I smile and leaning down to hug him say, “Thank you Bilbo; now off with you. I’ll make sure no one realizes you’ve gone.”

“Thank you Randir,” He says as he turns an heads off toward the mountain.

I walk toward where Thranduil was camped and upon reaching it walk out onto the balcony that looked toward the mountain and smile as I say, “I will keep you alive, all of you.” I close my eyes and let my voice carry as I sing out an elven song about love and battle. I meant it to calm the people of Laketown and perhaps relax the elves but I had no idea it would give them the courage to fight. I glance behind me to see Thranduil and Bard staring at me and I smile as I say, “Shall we then?”

I watch as Bard mounts his white horse while Thranduil climbs up upon his massive Elk. Thranduil then turns to me and says, “Innas lle nor-yassen amin?” (Will you ride with me?)

I look toward the mountain before I turn back to him and say, “Amin innas,” He holds out his arm to me and I gulp down a breath of air before taking it and allowing him to pull me up onto the Elk behind him. We ride toward the gates until Thorin fires an arrow at the ground before us.

“I will put the next one between you eyes.” I hear Thorin call out and I grip tightly to the back of Thranduil’s robes. The dwarves start to holler in excitement until the Elves behind us draw their bows and aim toward them. I watch as they all go quiet and hide behind the stones. I tighten my grip on Thranduil and he instantly raises a hand stopping the elves from firing.

“We have come to tell you, payment of your debt has been offered and accepted.” Thranduil calls out and I slowly manage a quick glance toward the mountain as Thorin yell out, “What payment, I gave you nothing! You have nothing!” Thranduil turns toward Bard and I follow his gaze.

“We have this!” Bard says as he reaches into his into his pocket and pulls out the Arkenstone holding it up for all to see. I gulp down a breath as I once again look around Thranduil’s shoulder at the dwarves.

“That stone belongs to the king!” One of the dwarves cries out and Bard replies, “And the King may have it, with our goodwill. But first, he must honor his word.”

It is silent for a moment before Thorin cries out, “The Arkenstone is in the mountain, this is a trick!” he goes silent again and my heart drops as I realize Bilbo is telling him the truth. I quickly climb down off Thranduil’s Elk and standing between him and Bard I stare up at the gates.

“Throw him from the ramparts!” I Hear Thorin yell and my heart drops. I watch helplessly as Thorin tries to throw Bilbo over the edge until I hear Gandalf cry out, “If you don’t want my burglar them please don’t damage him. Return him to me.” I slowly turn toward Gandalf as he continues saying, “You’re not making a very splendid figure as king under the mountain are you Thorin son of Thrain.”

“Never again will I have dealings with Wizards, or Shire rats!” Thorin cries out and I turn to see Bilbo scrambling down the side of the gate toward the ground and I quickly make my way over to him.

“Are we come to terms? Will you have the Arkenstone for what was promised?” I hear Bard cry out from behind me as I help Bilbo. “Give us your answer. Will you have peace or war?”

I manage a glance back up the gate side as I wait for Bilbo. I silently pray that he takes the deal but I see a Raven fly up to him and know he will not. “I will have war!” he says as he turns to the east. I follow his gaze to see an army of Dwarves marching towards us. It is the Iron foot, distant relations of Thorin’s. “Ribo i thangail!” (Rush the Shield-fence) Thranduil cries out as he rides his Elk toward the front lines.

“Come along Bilbo!” I call out as I wait for him to hop over the large stones. I glance up to see Fili looking down at me with sadness in his eyes. I gently reach up and grabbing the braided piece of hair give him a reassuring smile. I watch as the side of his mouth tilts up momentarily before his attention is pulled away by his uncle.

Bilbo and I quickly make our way to Gandalf’s side as we all walk toward the dwarves. “Who is that? he doesn’t look too happy.” Bilbo says as I keep my eyes on the dwarf army.

“That is Dane, Lord of the Iron Hills, Thorin’s cousin.”

“Are they alike?”

“I’ve always found Thorin the more reasonable of the two.” Gandalf slowly looks down at Bilbo and I can already see that this wasn’t going to end well.

As Dane rides toward us upon a giant pig he says, “Good morning, how are you? I have a wee proposition if you don’t mind giving me a few minutes of your time. Would you consider just sodding off!” The people of Laketown flinch back at his sudden outburst but I remain firm. “All of you right now!”

“Stand fast!” Bard calls out and I gently place my hand upon Ithildin’s hilt ready for anything. “Come now Lord Dane!” I hear Gandalf cry out and I slowly turn toward him.

“Gandalf the Grey?” I hear Dane say and I listen carefully to their conversation. “Tell this rubble to leave or I’ll water the ground with their blood!”

“There is no need of war between Dwarves, man, and Elves. A legion of Orcs march on the mountain. Stand your army down!”

“I will not stand down before and Elf! Not least this faithless woodland sprite. He wishes nothing but ill upon my people. If he chooses to stand between me and my kin, I'll split his pretty head open! See if he's still smirking then.” I feel anger fill my chest as I grip tightly to Ithildin.

“He’s clearly mad, like his cousin!” Thranduil calls back to Dain.

“You hear that lads!” I hear Dain say but I don’t hear the rest as I feel something once again come over me.

“There are coming.” I say making everyone go silent around me even the Dwarves from the Iron Hills.

“When will they be here?” Gandalf says and my eyes jerk to the right as I say, “It’s too late, they are here!” As I finish speaking the earth starts to rumble beneath our feet. They follow my gaze and see the Were-Worms burst out of the ground like daisies.

“Oh, come on!” Dain cries out as his army quickly resituates itself against the Orcs. I glance toward Ravenhill and feel my heart drop. Azog was there just like in my dream. “The Hordes of Hell are upon us! To battle! To battle, sons of Durin!” Dain cries out again as the Orcs moves closer to them. I pull Ithildin from his sheath as I stroll up beside Dain and say, “If you’ll have me, I will fight with you.” He says nothing but nods in agreement.

I glance back to see the Elf army not moving as the Orc army is about to attack and hear Bilbo say, “The Elves, will they not fight?”

“Thranduil! This is madness!” Gandalf cries out and I slowly turn to Thranduil and give him a sad look. Then I turn back toward the Orcs and brace myself for their approach. As the Orc army is heading towards us suddenly the Elf army joins in the fight and starts attacking the Orc army with the Dwarf army joining them. I wave Ithildin around like crazy as I take out all the anger from my past out on them. I glance over to see part of the Orc Army start heading towards Dale and my face blanches.

“Azog. He's trying to cut us off.” Gandalf yells and my mind instantly goes to Frieda and Mahrie.

“All of you, fall back to Dale! Now!” Bard cries as he starts riding toward the city upon his white steed.

“To the city! People, this way!” Gandalf cries as he and Bilbo run toward the city with the people of Laketown close behind. As I fight I turn to see an Orcs running toward me but before it reaches me Thranduil brings his sword down slicing its head clean off its shoulders.

“Thranduil!” I cry as I turn over to him. “Please take your elves to Dale, I need you to make sure a little girl named Frieda and her mother Mahrie is safe; will you do that for me please?” He eyes me for a moment before he nods and rides off on his massive Elk toward Dale followed by a handful of Elves. “Thank you my friend.” I say before I quickly turn back to fighting.

The Dwarf army and I continue to fight the Orcs until I hear Dain cry out, “Thorin! Where's Thorin? We need him. Where is he?” I look back to the mountain before I turn and quickly decapitate a advancing Orc. We continue to fight until I hear Dain call again, “Fall back! Fall back! Back to the Mountain! Fall back! Hey you she elf fall back!” I quickly fall back until I am standing beside him behind a line of prepared dwarves.

I glance over at him and say, “He will come, Thorin will not abandon you.” He looks down and I see the doubt in his eyes as he nods slightly to me. I look back toward the Orc army as it moves forward to attack when suddenly I hear the horns of Erebor sound behind me. I hear a loud crash and turn to see a huge golden bell smash through the wall of the mountain. My heart lifts as I see Thorin and the rest of his company run out of the mountain and as they run past us toward the Orcs Dain cries out, “To the King! To the King!”

Will Continue -

#berjhawn #berjhawn writes #hobbit fanfiction #hobbit x oc #hobbit x reader #the hobbit #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x ofc #thranduil x oc #Thranduil #fili x OC #fili x ofc #fili #fili fanfiction

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journeyinyourhand · 6 years ago

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The Cruel Prince by Holly Black Review (Spoilers)

The Cruel Prince follows the story of Jude Duarte, a human living among the creatures of fay in a magical place called Elfhame. When she was 7 years old, along with her two sisters, she witnessed the murder of her mother and father by the man who would become her foster father, a man she would learn to love and respect. This man’s name is Madoc and he is the high general for the King of Elfhame.

In the Kingdom of Faerie, humans a are viewed upon as second class citizens. Humans in Elfhame fall into one of several categories: People who were tricked to be in service of the fay, a human who has shown some special skill that is favored by one of the fay, used as lovers to keep the blood of the fay alive (it is very hard for the fay to have children), or in the case of Jude and her twin sister Taryn, as wards under the protection of one of the fay. This is especially shown in the schooling of the gentry (the highborn of Elfhame). Even though being human, Jude and Taryn are allowed to join these lessons being the foster daughters of Madoc, the high general. In school, Jude and Taryn constantly get bullied for something they can’t change about themselves, which is the fact that they are human. While reading, I viewed this portion of the book to be an allegory to the big problem of bullying in our world in this day in age. Kids can be bullied for the smallest things, usually things that they can’t change about themselves. Jude decided that if she is going to be picked on, she is going to make life a living hell for the people who are picking on her, especially after witnessing her sister cry from being bullied. The main culprit for all the bullying that is done to Jude and her sister is the youngest prince of the high king, Prince Cardan. In the first half of the book, I hated Cardan. He is such a jerk. What you start to find out later in the book is that just like in the real world, people who are bullies tend to get bullied themselves in some other capacity. Cardan is being bullied at home by his older brother Balekin. Since he is humiliated at home, he wanted someone else to share in his pain. This doesn’t excuse Cardan’s behavior, but it does give reason to it. One member of Cardan’s posy, Locke, shows an interest in Jude and decides to somewhat stand up for her and try to woe her. To his success, it works. Jude starts to really like Locke. She likes his company, she likes kissing him, she likes having someone pay attention to her for something other than the fact that she is human.

One thing that Jude wants more than anything is to make a spot for herself in the kingdom of Elfhame that is more than just the human foster child of the high general. To do this, she wants to become a knight. Growing up in Madoc’s household and being taught with the gentry, Jude has become proficient in sword fighting and views it to be one of her only skill sets. Jude plans to volunteer to be picked to be a knight at the next tournament but her dreams get shattered when Madoc tells her that he won’t allow it. Madoc’s decision here is really the inciting incident for later decisions in the book. Jude would have been happy being a knight but since she is not allowed to do the thing she wants, she ends up finding a place for herself in another way. Jude still decided to fight in the tournament and her skill catches the eye of Prince Dain, the next King of Elfhame. Prince Dain recruits Jude to become a spy for him for the fact that she can lie unlike the fay and that she is pretty good with a weapon. He also grants her resistance from glamour. The spies of Prince Dain are called the Court of Shadows.

Being a part of the Court of Shadow, Jude learns new skills and is assigned on missions. One mission is to go to Hallow Hall, where Prince Balekin and Prince Cardan live, and find something of worthy that Prince Dain can use. Jude completes this mission, but not without stealing Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from Prince Cardan’s room and witnessing Cardan getting beaten by a human servant under Balekins orders. The completion of this mission was finding a letter in Queen Orlagh handwriting stating “I know the provenance of the blusher mushroom that you ask after, but what you do with it must not be tied to me. After this, consider my dept paid. Let my name be stricken from your lips” that was addressed to Balekin. Later when Jude opens Alice and Wonderland at home, she finds a piece of paper tucked inside the book with her name written over and over again in Cardan’s handwriting with smudges and holes in the paper from writing too hard. At that moment, she comes to the conclusion that Cardan must really hate her.

When it comes time for Prince Dain’s coronation, everything goes wrong. First, Jude finds out that Locke had been playing a game with her and her twin sister. Locke had asked Taryn to marry him under one condition, she prove her love for him. The way she would prove her love is to let Locke try to get with Jude and not tell her anything about Locke and Taryn. This is such a stupid way to show someone you love them. It’s an awful deal for Taryn. She betrays her sister and gets to see her man cheat on her just so she can marry him. When I found this out, I began to not like Taryn or Locke very much. Locke is an asshole and Taryn chose a boy over her sister and that is just not right. Next, Balekin, along with the help of Madoc, murders the entire royal family, aside from Cardan because he was nowhere to be found, to try to get the crown. The crown can only be passed down from one member of the Greenbriar line to the next and Balekin believed he would be a better king than his younger brother Dain. My jaw was probably wide open when I read this chapter the first time because I was really surprised of the events that passed. Jude was witness to all of this and for a second time in the book, her heart breaks. All that she has worked for to find a place in Elfhame were she belonged was stabbed in the back by Madoc. Jude tries to escape and who does she find on her way, none other than Cardan; the person that everyone is looking for because he is the only one who can crown Balekin now. She brings him to the Court of Shadows and he is surprised to find out that she was a spy for Prince Dain. Even though throughout the entire first part of the book, you really hate Cardan, you start to feel bad for him. All of his family just died, even if none of them really liked him much, and he is just scared about what is to come next. He is scared for his life. The author emoted such hatred for this character to then have you feel sorry for him and to hope that he makes it out alive.

When trying to figure out what to do, Jude leaves Cardan with the Court of Shadows to go home and see what Madoc’s play is. Jude is given a day to come back. If she takes longer than that, the Court of Shadows will cut their loses and kill Cardan. When Jude sees Taryn, anger takes over her and she challenges her to a duel for her honor, which was grievously betrayed. Taryn states that she wanted to tell Jude but she couldn’t because then she would fail the test that Locke gave her to prove her love. Jude then asked what Cardan said to her the day she witnessed her crying from his words. Cardan told Taryn that it was because of her that he kicked dirt onto Jude’s food. Locke tricked him into thinking that Jude stole Locke from Nicasia. That Jude was suffering in Taryn’s place. Jude throws her sword at Taryn and tells her to pick it up. Jude grabs the sword on the wall and tells Taryn she can make the first strike with the better sword. The two sisters start fighting and would have probably seriously hurt each other if Vivi did not glamour them to stop. Well, Vivi was only able to glamour Taryn because Jude is resistant to glamours but Jude ended up throwing her sword across the room as to not seriously hurt her twin when she realized Taryn would not block her blow from the glamour. Madoc pulls the two girls into his study to lecture them about family fighting with family. After Taryn leaves, Madoc mentions that he is not too fond of Locke and does not think he is good for either Taryn or Jude. He also asked Jude if she knew where Prince Cardan was and Jude lies to him saying she does not. Later that night, Vivi offers Jude to run away with her to the mortal world. Jude asked Vivi to give her a day to think on it.

The next day, Jude goes to Oriana’s room to find Taryn since she wasn’t in her room. Taryn is at Locke’s house and Jude catches eyes of a golden acorn on Oriana’s desk. This acorn is the twin to the one she had taken from Locke’s house earlier in the book. From that small acorn, Jude figures out that Oak is not Madoc’s child and Prince Dain had Liriope (Oaks actual mother and the mother of Locke) murdered with poison that was provided by Queen Orlagh of the undersea. With this knowledge, Oak is part of the Greenbriar line and can crown a King, or even be crowned himself. Oriana lets Jude know that Madoc is already privy to this knowledge and Jude suggest that Madoc will probably get Oak crowned king so he can rule as his regent. Oriana does not want this for Oak and makes Jude promise that she will find a way to make sure Oak is safe. Jude gives her a maybe as an answer.

When Jude returns back to the Court of Shadows, she comes to find Cardan drinking and laughing and playing cards with them the Roach, the Ghost, and the Bomb (all members of the Court of Shadows). Jude, angry that Cardan is having a good time, pulls him into the other room to have a chat with him. She has him sit down and then she sits at Prince Dain’s desk and points the crossbow at Cardan. Cardan tells Jude he is terrified and that he will answer any question she has for him. Through the whole interrogation, Jude finally finds out why Cardan hates her so much. He hates her because she has a father that loves her even though she is a human who was born to an unfaithful wife while his never cared for him even though he is a prince of Faerie. He hates her because she doesn’t have a brother who beats her. He hates her because Locke used her and Taryn to make Nicasia cry after he stole her from him. He hates her because after the tournament, Balekin never failed to throw Jude in his face as the mortal who could beat him. Cardan is jealous of Jude. But the thing that makes Cardan hate Jude most of all is that he thinks of her, often. Jude doesn’t believe him at first and goes around the desk and pulls a knife on Cardan and leans in close enough to him for a kiss. His eyes widen and his face shows a combination of panic and desire. Jude then kisses him. This moment of the book is so intense and quite funny. Jude ends up making out with a person she hates while holding a knife to his throat.

Jude comes up with a plan and makes Cardan think that he will be crowing Oak High King of Elfhame to then have him go to the mortal world with Vivi to grow up so that Madoc does not have true influence over him. To enact her plan, Jude ask Cardan to be in her service to make sure that he won’t betray her. He agrees to be in her service for one year and a day after Jude agrees that Cardan can live in Hallow Hall, get every last bottle in the royal cellars, and have the Roach teach him how steal. Cardan and Jude then travel to the Unseelie courts to try and get them to agree to backing a new king. One of the Kings of the Unseelie court, King Roiben says he will back this new king if the king will give him a favor in the future. Jude makes this agreement with him. By this point, Jude has made multiple promises to people she may not be able to keep. She has definitely spread herself thin.

When Jude arrives to Balekin’s dinner, everyone is surprised to see Cardan with her. In Cardan’s mind, he is working alongside Jude to enact her big plan. What he doesn’t know is that Jude was keeping her true plan away from him. She told him to kneel down to show Oak how it’s done to be crowned king and while he was in that position, she ordered him not to move for a full minute. In that minute, Oak crowns him High King of Elfhame. Jude’s thought process is that the safest way to make sure Oak can get the crown when he is older is to have someone else wear it while he grows up in the mortal world. After Cardan is crowned, he makes a toast to Jude, who gave him a gift tonight, one he will repay in full. This scares Jude because she knows how angry he is with her at that moment because Cardan never wanted to be king. The Court of Shadows decide to give Jude her code name after this whole debacle, The Queen.

In the epilogue, Cardan warns Jude that a year and a day can pass in the blink of an eye. He tells her he won’t be a good king. He will be her puppet. Jude will do the work of ruling while Cardan will drink wine and make his subjects laugh. He promises her that he will not be useful.

I highly recommend this book. The characters are written really well and you really get to see the motivations of each characters even if you are only reading from Jude’s perspective. Cardan is not happy with Jude by the end of the book, but he has always held a hatred/disdain for her. Like they say, there is a fine line between love and hate and that is definitely explored more in the next book.

#the cruel prince #holly black #review #spoilers

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displacedhobbit · 4 years ago

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Update - Greater than Gold

AN: Fun fact - this is one of the first chapters I outlined. It’s so crazy to see how my writing style has changed over the years, but this chapter stays mostly true to my original vision.

Warnings: BotFA, y’all. Battle scenes, injuries, goldsick!Thorin

Also on FF.net and AO3

Chapter 29: The Battle of the Five Armies

Word Count (chapter): 7000

“Thorin, this is madness!” Balin whisper-shouts. No one has moved to follow their King’s command to barricade the entrance to Erebor. The Company anxiously looks from one to another, hesitant.

“I want this fortress made safe by sun-up,” Thorin continues, ignoring Balin entirely and staring down the rest of the Company. “This mountain was hard-won. I will not see it taken again. Now, all of you!”

“Thorin,” Kíli starts, taking a step back when Thorin’s sharp gaze whirls to him. “The people of Laketown have nothing. They came to us in need; they have lost everything.”

“Do not speak to me of loss!” Thorin shouts. “I know well enough of hardship. They have survived dragonfire; they should be grateful.”

“You gave them your word,” Fíli interrupts. “I gave them my word. Are you not an honorable king? Does that mean nothing to you?”

Thorin’s eyes narrow. “Things have changed,” he says sharply. “More stone. Bring more stone to the gate!” Again, no one moves. “If you will not obey me, I will charge you with treason and rid this place of you,” he hisses.

Reluctantly, Bombur and Dwalin move to follow his orders, and the rest of the dwarves eventually follow. Fíli is the last to do so, his eyes locked on Thorin’s tense shoulders as his uncle retreats back into the halls. He decides to follow Balin and Bilbo as they gather more debris, throwing stones into a pushcart that, just that morning, they had been using to clear the gate instead.

“We have to do something,” Bilbo murmurs once he’s sure Thorin is out of earshot. “Isn’t there something we can do?” His eyes search Fíli’s before he turns to regard Balin, pleading.

Balin gives them both a sympathetic look. “It’s the goldsickness. I’ve seen it before, with your grandfather, Fili. That look. That terrible need. It is a fierce and jealous love, Bilbo. It drove Thrain mad.” He angrily throws another chunk of stone into the pushcart.

Bilbo hesitates, eyes flicking nervously between the two of them. “Would it...I mean, if we found the Arkenstone...would it help?”

Fíli gasps, catching his meaning, while Balin chuckles sadly. “That stone crowns all. It is the summit of great wealth; bestows power on those who possess it. Would it stay his madness?” He angrily brushes an escaped tear. “No, laddie. I fear it would only make it worse.” He looks sadly to Fíli, knowing full-well that the last hope he and Kíli clung to was that finding the Arkestone would set everything straight in their Uncle’s mind once more.

“Perhaps it is best it remains lost,” Fíli murmurs quietly, and he physically feels the hope drain away from him. There was nothing more they could do, was there? How else could they make Thorin see reason? He had been cruel to everyone, even to Kíli. It had seemed that Thorin had already forfeited his love for his kin and company in favor of the treasure.

Bilbo nods before looking down at his feet. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

They wordlessly return to their task.

-----

He paces along the rampart. He cannot rest. The Arkenstone stays lost to him, and an army of elves sits at his doorstep. They have finished the barricades, but he knows that they do not have the rations to protect Erebor. He has sent word to Dain, but without the stone, his cousin has no reason to answer. If he doesn’t...well. Thorin will die before he lets a speck of his treasure fall to Thrandiul, the treacherous snake.

A lone rider makes their way up the road. He glares at him, watching intently before recognizing him as the man from Esgaroth that had spoken out against him.

“Hail, Thorin, son of Thrain!” the rider calls once he is near to the foot of the mountain. “It is good to find you alive beyond all hope.”

Thorin doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Why have you come to the mountain armed for war?” he shouts, waving his arm at the elven encampment.

“Why does the King Under the Mountain fence himself in like a robber in his hole?” the man retorts, and Thorin feels his ire rise.

“Perhaps because I am expecting to be robbed!”

“My lord, we have no intention of robbing you,” the man says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “We only come to seek fair settlement. A bargain was struck, was it not? Will you not speak with me?”

With a glare, Thorin heads down from the rampart as the man dismounts his horse. He passes by the Company, who watch him anxiously, as he walks to the old guard station where a small window remains unobstructed. “I am listening,” he says curtly. In his periphery, he can see Balin, Kíli, and Fíli hovering at the entrance to the station.

“I only ask that you honor your pledge. We have been left in ruin. We seek only a small portion of the treasure to rebuild our lives,” the man says.

“I will not treat with any man while an armed host sits at my door,” Thorin snaps, ignoring when he hears Balin swear from behind him.

The man sighs. “That armed host will attack if you do not honor your bargain.”

Thorin laughs darkly. “Your threats do not sway me.”

“What of your conscience?” the man implores. “Our children are starving; will you not help them?”

“What aid did the men of Laketown provide my people?” Thorin roars. “When we came to you, starving and in ruins, your ancestors turned us away. Why should we not do the same?”

“You gave us your word!” the man shouts in response. “A bargain was struck -”

“A bargain?” Thorin interrupts. “What choice did we have but to barter our birthright for blankets and food? To ransom our future in exchange for our freedom? You call that a fair trade?” He paces angrily. “Tell me, Bard the dragon-slayer, why should I honor such terms?

Bard steps back, shaking his head in disbelief. “You gave us your word,” he repeats. “Does that mean nothing?

“Begone, before I let arrows fly,” Thorin sneers. “Kíli, to the rampart,” he continues when the man hesitates to move.

Reluctantly, Bard stomps away in anger, cursing Thorin with every step, mounting his horse and retreating to Dale.

Thorin whirls around and narrows his eyes on Kíli. “Did your king not give you an order? To the rampart.”

Kíli glances to his brother before nodding, obediently taking his place along the wall. Thorin pushes past Fíli and Balin to meet the rest of the Company, which watches him with apprehension.

“What are you thinking?” the little hobbit says, eyes alight with anger. “You cannot go to war.”

Thorin walks past him, casting him a dismissive look. “This does not concern you, hobbit.”

Bilbo persists. “Excuse me, but in case you haven’t noticed there are several thousand armed elves out there. Not to mention a few hundred angry fishermen. You are outnumbered.”

Thorin scoffs. “Not for much longer,” he says, pointedly ignoring the confused looks the dwarves shoot at him.

“What does that mean?”

He smirks. “It means, little hobbit, that you should never underestimate dwarves.”

“Thorin,” Fíli interjects. “Let this be. They can have my share of the treasure; that will be enough for them to rebuild. That can be the end of this.”

Rage fills him once more. “This is your birthright,” he snaps. “I will cut you from my line if you cast it away.”

Fíli’s face crumples. “Uncle, we can end this. Now. Please, see reason.”

“They can have my share instead,” Bofur offers, and several others murmur in agreement.

Thorin glares at them. “Is this mutiny? You will have what you were promised.” He whirls around, stomping off in the direction of the armory. “We have won the mountain; now we will defend it.”

-----

Bilbo watches as the dwarves prepare for war. They are sifting through the pieces in the armory, seeing what is still useful, repairing what they can. No one speaks. He doesn’t know what to do; he cannot fight. Sting alone will not protect him from an angry hoard of elves. Perhaps once the fighting starts he will put on his ring and slip away. Perhaps Thorin is distracted enough that he could slip away now.

As if summoned, the King Under the Mountain stands before him. He throws a shiny, silver shirt of chainmail to him. “You’re going to need this. Put it on.”

Obediently, Bilbo removes his jacket and slips the silver shirt over his clothes. It hangs off of him, clearly too large. “I look absurd,” he sighs. “I’m not a warrior, Thorin.”

The king seems to ignore him. “This shirt is made of silver steel. Mithril. No blade can pierce it.”

“Then perhaps it should go to someone who will last longer in the fighting,” Bilbo says darkly.

“It is a gift,” Thorin says, his voice suddenly soft. Bilbo glances up in surprise; he had not heard such warmth in Thorin’s voice since they’d come to the mountain. “A token of our friendship. True friends are hard to come by,” he adds.

But just as abruptly, Thorin’s eyes harden.

“I have been blind, but now I am beginning to see,” he says sharply, eyes frantically roving from one dwarf to the next. “I have been betrayed!”

A lump forms in Bilbo’s throat when Thorin fixes his glare on him. “Betrayed?” he ekes out, fearful that Thorin somehow knows.

His glare shifts back to the company. “One of them has taken it. One of them is false.”

“What?” Bilbo says quickly, wits returning to him. He sees that Thorin’s glare is focused on Kíli, who is fletching as many arrows as he can, deft fingers making quick work.

“Betrayed by my own kin…” Thoin mumbles.

“No, of course not!” he interjects. “Thorin, you made a promise,” he says, shifting the conversation away. “You are one of the most noble and honorable people I’ve ever known,” he admits, and Thorin’s gaze is soft again when it returns to him. “Is this treasure worth more than your honor? Our honor? I was there, Thorin; I gave my word.”

“And it was nobly done; for that I am grateful,” Thorin admits, clapping a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “But this treasure does not belong to the people of Laketown,” he continues, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder tighter. “This gold is ours, and ours alone.” His tone shifts, becoming dark and foreboding, reminding him of Smaug. “With my life, I will not part with it. Not a single coin.”

Bilbo swallows thickly. He knows what he must do. Tonight. He will go tonight. It is the only thing he can think of that might end this war, that might return Thorin to himself.

And if it doesn’t work, he hopes the battle will take him swiftly.

-----

Atop the wall, Fíli stands close to his brother. They had tried to mend and tailor the armor, but it still looked too big on his little brother. His little brother who wasn’t even of age, who shouldn’t be here.

He bites his lip, remembering the conversation they’d had the night before. Promises that they would watch the other’s back, that they would protect each other. That they would go together, or not at all. Promises Fíli knew they had no control over whether they could keep or not. And this morning, they had embraced each other, both murmuring every term of endearment they had ever heard to the other.

He kicked himself. He had thought of going behind Thorin’s back to try and treat with Bard privately, but Dwalin had talked him out of it. He was too important, could be used as collateral - there was no guarantee that Thranduil wouldn’t return with Fíli’s head on a spit, just to incite Thorin’s ire.

Discreetly, he reaches down and squeezes Kíli’s hand. Thranduil and Bard are nearing the gate.

Thorin whirls around suddenly and snatches Kíli’s bow from his other hand, reaching over him to pull an arrow from the quiver. He fires it in Thranduil’s dorectopm, where it embeds itself in the dirt before his horse.

“The next one will be between your eyes,” he sneers, before shoving Kíli’s bow back against his brother’s chest, giving the unspoken command that he is to kill the elven king if he continues forward. Fíli fearfully watches as Kíli shakily takes a step forward, to stand beside Thorin, pulling an arrow free and raising his bow.

With a smirk, Thrnaduil gives a signal to his men, and Fíli’s heart drops when he sees their archers take aim in the distance.

Thorin growls in frustration, but reaches over to lower Kíli’s bow. Fíli lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Thranduil positively grins as he signals for his own men to stand down. “We’ve only come to tell you that the most gracious payment of your debt has been offered and accepted.”

“What payment?” Thorin snaps. “I gave you nothing. You have nothing.” Frantically, Fíli searches for Bilbo, heart sinking when the hobbit gives him a knowing look.

Bard pulls the Arkestone out from under his coat. The morning light gleams off it, sending prisms about, making the dwarves gasp at the sheer beauty of it. “We have this,” Bard says simply.

“Thieves! That is the heirloom of our house,” Dwalin shouts angrily. “That stone belongs to the King!”

“And the king may have it, with our good will,” Bard continues, before slipping the stone back inside his coat. “But first, he must honor his word.”

Thorin howls with rage before turning back to regard the company. “They are taking us for fools,�� he sneers. “This is a ruse; a lie. The stone is still within the mountain.”

Bilbo steps forward. “I...it’s not a trick. The stone is real,” he says, eyes flicking nervously between Thorin’s and the floor. “I gave it to them.”

Thorin jolts back like he has been struck. Fíli watches, helpless, as a myriad of emotions flash across his face - hurt, anger, betrayal, despair...he cannot stand it.

“You?” Thorin asks, disbelieving, looking more like a small child before his face hardens into absolute rage. “You would steal from me?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Bilbo says, raising his hands. “I may be a burglar, but I’d like to think of myself as an honest one. No, I...I took it as my fourteenth share.” He hesitates, but keeps his gaze even with Thorin’s. “I‘m willing to let it stand against my claim.”

“Against your claim?” Thorin barks, before dissolving into a dark, humorless laugh. “You have no claim over me, you miserable Shire-rat!” He takes a step toward Bilbo, hands shaking.

“I wanted to give it to you!” Bilbo shouts. “Many times! But…”

“But what?” Thorin snarls, and when he steps toward Bilbo again, Fíli grabs his arm, pulling him back for a second before Thorin wrenches himself free with a shout.

“You are changed, Thorin! The dwarf I met in Bag End would have never gone back on his word,” he explains, voice breaking, eyes shining with tears. “He would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin.”

“Do not speak to me of loyalty,” he hisses angrily, voice dangerously low. “Throw him from the rampart!”

No one moves. “Thorin,” someone says, tone soft and disbelieving.

“Do you not hear me?” Thorin shouts, eyeing the company, settling his gaze on Kíli, who barely shakes his head. “I will do it myself,” he snarls as he steps toward Bilbo once more.

Fíli grabs for his arm again, pulling him back once more, as Kíli rushes forward and pushes back against their uncle’s chest. Thorin’s arms flail wildly, eventually freeing himself from Fíli’s grasp and shoving Kíli roughly to the ground.

“I curse you!” Thorin shouts as he grasps Bilbo by his coat, and Fíli can hear the deep hurt in his voice.

“Thorin, no!” Kíli yells as he begins to drag Bilbo to the edge.

“Cursed be the wizard that brought you to my company!”

Suddenly there is a bright light, and a voice booms out. “If you do not like my burglar, then please return him to me.”

Thorin roughly shoves Bilbo to the ground, whirling around to regard their visitors once more. “You,” he snarls, recognizing Gandalf now joining Bard and Thranduil. “You orchestrated all of this, didn’t you? Never again will I have dealings with wizards!”

“You’re not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you?” Gandalf asks.

With Thorin distracted, Fíli sees Bofur help Bilbo back to his feet. “Go,” he hisses under his breath. “Get him out of here!” he says to Bofur, eyes pleading. It’s not a moment later that Bilbo is using a rope to climb down the rampart, fleeing from Erebor.

Fíli reaches down to help Kíli stand as well, pulling him back, away from Thorin, positioning himself between his uncle and his brother.

“Fee,” Kíli says softly, and he feels Kíli’s hand grip the arm of his sleeve.

“Are we resolved then?” Bard calls out. “The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised to our people.”

Thorin says nothing, but Fíli can see how his shoulders shake with rage.

“What say you, King Under the Mountain?” Bard tries again. “Give us your answer. Will you have peace or war?”

A large black crow flies in front of the rampart, landing before Thorin.

He laughs. “I will have war.”

“Fíli,” Kíli calls from behind him, and Fíli turns to regard his brother. Kíli is absolutely terrified, and he can see the sheen of tears in his eyes. Without hesitation, he presses their foreheads together, hand squeezing the nape of his neck.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, but he knows Kíli doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t believe himself.

Then, from behind him, there is an uproarious shout, and Thorin’s laughter grows even louder. Fíli turns to see another army ascending the hill, led by none other than Dain.

-----

Dwalin paces angrily, like a caged animal. And they were, weren’t they? Trapped within the mountain as the sounds of battle raged outside. He couldn’t believe Thorin’s cowardice. Dain’s army, their kin, who had come to their aid, now faces an onslaught of orcs and other foul creatures, and Thorin wanted them to sit here and wait.

“Let them fight amongst themselves,” he had said, before disappearing into the halls once more.

He’d had enough; with an angry huff, he treks through the halls to find Thorin, easily finding him sitting on the throne, Thrain’s crown atop his head, staring at nothing.

“Since when do we forsake our own people?” he shouts as he approaches the throne, not bothering to hide his anger. “Thorin, they are dying out there.”

“There are holes beneath holes beneath holes within this mountain,” Thorin mumbles, seemingly ignoring him. “Places we can fortify. Shore up; make safe. Yes; yes that is it,” he says. “We must move the gold further underground to safety.”

“Did you not hear me?” Dwalin calls again, standing directly in front of Thorin now. “Dain is surrounded. They are being slaughtered, Thorin.”

Finally, Thorin looks up at him, and Dwalin can see the madness in his eyes.

“Many die in war; life is cheap,” Thorin says, sounding weary. “But a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost. It is worth all the blood we can spend.”

Dwalin steps back, mouth agape. “Is it? Is it worth my blood? Fíli’s? Kíli’s? You sit here in these halls with a crown upon your head, and you are lesser to me now than you have ever been.”

Thorin’s eyes narrow. “Do not speak to me as if I were some...some lowly dwarf lord,” he says, getting to his feet, though he staggers a bit, as if drunk. “As if I were still just...Thorin Oakenshield. I am your king!”

“You were always my king!” Dwalin shouts, unashamed of the tears that are in his eyes. “You used to know that once.” His voice breaks. “You cannot see what you have become.”

Thorin’s brow furrows in confusion, and for a moment, he thinks that maybe, just maybe he has gotten through to him. “Go,” Thorin utters darkly. “Go now, before I kill you.”

He doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t trust that Thorin won’t make good on his threat. Dwalin scoffs softly, shakes his head sadly as a few tears slip loose, then he turns to take his leave of Thorin and rejoin the Company.

-----

He stares at Dwalin’s retreating back, his oldest friend’s words echoing through his mind.

You are lesser to me now than you have ever been.

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Dwalin was wrong. It was he who could not see; Thorin had been betrayed, it was him who had been wronged. Dain had only brought his own men so that he could stake his own claim to Erebor, he was certain of it. With the Arkenstone in the hands of men, Dain could easily take it, and all would be lost, lost, lost. It was better to let the orcs and elves take them out; it was better to let them all kill themselves so that Thorin would be the last standing, and he could reclaim the Arkenstone.

Is it worth my blood?

How could he even ask that? Dwalin knew what he had agreed to when he joined the Company. They had talked of nothing other than reclaiming their homeland since their youth, and now Dwalin doubted whether it was worth it? Of course it was. He must just be frightened; that is the only explanation. He staggers to his feet, walking aimlessly to try and recenter his thoughts. His head throbs. Maybe he was making a mistake. He feels sick.

Fíli’s? Kíli’s?

His wandering carries him to the Gallery of Kings, over the freshly-cooled floor of gold. He smiles, seeing his reflection in it, admiring how kingly he looks with the crown atop his head. No, no; he was right. Would it hurt to lose the boys? Of course, but if that were the price of this treasure...he could pay it.

But then he remembers...remembers the first time he’d held Kíli in his arms as a tiny, newborn dwarfling. How terrified he had been at the thought that he might not survive the winter. How he had almost lost him in battle before. How his heart had once shattered at the mere thought of a world without Kíli. And now...now it was an acceptable price? He could live in a world without Kíli’s warm smiles, without his touches and embraces that lasted just a touch too long? Was it worth that?

He stares down at his reflection on the golden floor. It feels like his boots are sinking in, like thick mud, trapping him.

And Fíli...Fíli who had followed him into this mess, who had trusted him implicitly his entire life. Was it worth his life? Smart, responsible, Fíli, who had never failed him, who had always pushed himself to the brink to please Thorin, who had taken every additional, impossible responsibility that Thorin had thrust upon him with grace and humility. Fíli, who made him stronger, who made him better. It...the gold...it was worth losing that. Wasn’t it?

The gold seems to pull him in deeper, no longer solid, but molten. Pulling him down, down, down...suffocating him, crushing him…

With a gasp, he rips the crown from his head and throws it aside, the room returning to normal as it clinks across the floor. He struggles to regain his breath, the realization of what he’s done, what he’s gambled washing over him.

It wasn’t worth it. None of it.

-----

“I don’t care what Thorin says,” Dwalin says, pacing the room once more. “I am not staying here and letting Dain’s army die for...for this.” He gestures around the hall, hands shaking. “I would rather die out there.”

Balin gives Fíli a knowing look. “Perhaps it is time to continue down the line of succession,” he says evenly, though there is a glimmer in his eyes. “Thorin’s mind is far afield. He is lost to us now. We can not give him more time to come to his senses; not without leaving our kinsmen to die.”

Fíli sucks in a deep breath, catches Kíli’s eye. He knows it’s the right thing to do. He knows, but his heart aches. He was never meant to be king without learning under Thorin’s rule first. Then Kíli looks away, focusing at something behind his shoulder as he gets to his feet.

He turns, and spies Thorin returning to the entry hall, sword drawn. It would not surprise him if Thorin had overheard, if he were coming to accuse the Company of treason. He prepares himself for a fight, gathering every bit of confidence he has as he approaches Thorin.

“Thorin,” he starts, fighting to keep his voice strong. He can feel Kíli’s comforting presence behind him. “I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us. It is not who I am - who we are,” he says, gesturing to the Company behind him. Closer now, he can clearly see Thorin’s face; he looks almost...normal? Like himself. Hope renews itself in his chest; he thinks he might burst into tears at the sight. “It is not in my blood,” he finishes, voice breaking, relief flooding him when Thorin smiles. Not the crazed, manic smiles of days past but a real, genuine smile. His uncle’s smile.

“No, it is not,” Thorin agrees. “We are sons of Durin, and Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight.” He reaches out and grabs Fíli’s nape, touches their foreheads together tenderly. “I am sorry that I forgot myself,” he whispers.

Fíli’s withheld sob breaks through. “Uncle,” he murmurs, returning his embrace.

“I am so sorry,” Thorin murmurs again as he pulls his head away, before reaching for Kíli and dragging his tearful brother into their embrace. “I love you; the both of you,” he whispers fiercely. “More than any treasure within this mountain. I swear it.”

Fíli doesn’t want to let go. While he knows the battle may very well take them, it sits so well within his soul that Thorin has returned to them. That he had found peace, that he had remembered himself. That he had remembered them.

Eventually, Thorin takes a deep breath to steady himself, then separates himself from the lads to regard the Company. “I have no right to ask this of any of you,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “But, will you follow me? One last time.”

He’s met with roars of celebration from the Company, before being embraced by each of them in turn.

All too soon, they are focusing on the task at hand. They must bring aid to Dain’s men, even if there are only 13 of them. It’s quick work for them to get armored up, to get their weapons in order.

“Fee,” his brother calls from behind him. When he turns to regard him, he’s struck once more by how young Kíli looks. He prays to Aule that they will make it out of this alive. He hasn’t forgotten Kíli’s oath. He hasn’t forgotten his purpose as the spare. He knows Kíli hasn’t, either. He knows that if he or Thorin are in danger that Kíli would protect them with his last breath, with every ounce of strength that he could muster. With them being so outnumbered, he can’t imagine how Kíli survives this. He honestly isn’t sure that any of them will survive this. Together or not at all, they had promised.

There are tears in his brother’s eyes, and without a second thought he gathers him into his arms, breathes in his scent, commits him to memory. Just in case.

“Look at me,” he says, and Kíli does. Fíli cups his cheeks in his hands, studies his face.

“Fíli, whatever happens out there,” he starts, but Fíli shakes his head. He’s saying goodbye. “No, listen to me!” Kíli continues. “I...I need you to know. Just...whatever happens, it’s not your fault, okay?”

Together or not at all.

“Stop,” Fíli whispers, feeling fresh tears coming; he hopes that if Kíli departs for the undying lands that he won’t be far behind him. He presses a kiss to his brother’s forehead. “I love you,” he says quietly.

“I love you too, nadad,” he replies, reaching up to cup Fíli’s cheek as well. His lips quirk up into a small smile. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Fíli chuckles lightly, feels the icy vise that’s wrapped around his heart ease just a bit. “Isn’t that usually your department?” he asks, smile growing wider when Kíli laughs. He pats his brother’s cheek, then touches their foreheads together once more. “Watch my back, won’t you?”

Kíli’s answering smile is genuine. “Always.”

-----

The pale orc laughs as he mows down several of Dain’s soldiers, turning to point his mace at him. Thorin rights himself, staggers to his feet. The fighting has lasted for hours, and he is wholly exhausted. With the help of the men and elves, they had managed to beat back the orcs and goblins, but there was still Azog to deal with. Dain had spotted him atop Ravenhill, leading a second wave of goblins and orcs to the battlefield, and they had diverted a few dwarves to handle the onslaught.

He had lost sight of Kíli and Fíli in the fighting. He trusted that Dwalin had stayed with them, that he would help protect them.

Because now, Thorin’s eyes were singularly focused on the orc filth. The others could handle the rest of them; Azog was his. He would avenge his grandfather, avenge his brother, who had died at the hands of that murderous beast. Then he could be at peace.

The orc spits something in Black Speech at him, bearing its teeth in a feral smile. “This one is mine!” he shouts in common, again pointing his mace at Thorin.

He readies his sword, braces himself for Azog’s onslaught. As expected, the pale orc rushes at him, throws his full weight behind his sword as he leaps at Thorin, who is able to use Orcrist to block his blow and force him to the side, sending the orc tumbling across the ground. Azog growls.

“I will end you, Oakenshield,” he hisses. “I will end the whole of your filthy line!” He curses in Black Speech again.

Thorin sets his jaw, rebalancing himself so he can advance on the orc. If Azog knew of Fíli and Kíli...no; it did not matter. Thorin would strike him down, here and now atop Ravenhill. With a shout, he raises his sword and swings it mightily at the org, only narrowly missing as Azog rolls to the side. Thorin doesn’t relent and swings again, successfully knocking Azog’s mace from his hand and sending it skittering across the battlefield.

He is met with a well-placed kick from the orc that slams right into his side, forcing the air from his lungs as he careens to the ground. He is quick to get back on his feet, frowning when he sees that Azog has grabbed a scimitar from a fallen goblin and is ready to fight; the score evened once more.

He steps back, resetting his footing as Azog advances; successfully parries the scimitar and puts the beast on the defense again. “Men shmek menu!” he shouts as he swings his sword down, cursing once more when Azog is able to block the blow. He doesn’t relent, slashing his sword down again, but Azog is able to evade him every time, and on his final swing he misses, and Orcrist slams down into the dirt. He turns with a huff and raises his sword once more, but is met with the blade of the scimitar piercing his abdomen, just below where his armor protects him.

He staggers back in surprise, dimly reaches down to touch the wound, and is dismayed to see his hand come back stained with blood.

Azog laughs, throwing his head back in celebration. “Death to dwarves!” He raises the scimitar victoriously.

Mustering as much strength as he can, Thorin lunges forward again, swinging Orcrist in a graceful arc that succeeds at separating the foul creature’s head from his neck. His head thumps lowly on the dirt of the battlefield, a grin still fixed on it’s wretched face.

Thorin sinks to his knees, relief flooding him. He’s done it. He’s killed Azog. He’s done it!

He presses his hand over the wound in his stomach, frowning. It’s a lot of blood. Too much. He is too far from the mountain, too far from aid.

A few orcs are advancing on him, weapons drawn, howling in Black Speech over the death of their leader. He uses Orcrist as a crutch in an attempt to get to his feet.

Then a fearsome roar sounds from behind him, and the Bear-Man bursts forth.

-----

They both have a moment to catch their breaths; there are no enemies advancing on them at the moment. Fíli knows that he should be scanning the field, but he looks his brother over instead. Kíli doesn’t look too worse for wear, aside from the smattering of blood caking the dark hair at his temple and dripping into his eyes. He reaches up subconsciously, wiping some of the blood and dirt from Kíli’s face, ignoring the soft hiss of pain as he does so.

“Come on, lads,” Dwalin says, reappearing behind him, readying his axe. “It’s time for the big one.”

Fíli turns back to the battle, sees that the next wave of orcs and goblins are led by the other pale orc - Bolg, Fíli thinks Gandalf had called it. It rides atop a white warg, with a handful of other mounted orcs. Most of the troops appear to be goblins, quick work for the dwarves. If they can kill Bolg, if they can cut the head off the snake, they may well win this. It is no small task; the wargs add an additional challenge, for those creatures knew only bloodlust.

He readies his twin blades, nodding to the other dwarves who are holding the line with him, before running to meet their enemy head on. “Du bekar!” he shouts.

It’s chaos on the battlefield. The only constant is Kíli at his back; he can feel his brother’s presence throughout the fighting. Dain’s men fight valiantly beside him, but still, some goblins manage to take them down.

After much fighting, they have managed to decimate most of the evil forces. Only two of the previously mounted orcs, a smattering of goblins, and Bolg with its white warg remain. The pale orc shouts commands in the Black Speech, before dismounting his warg and pointing his sword at Fíli. “Are you ready to die, princeling?” it growls, twisting its face into something akin to a smile.

Thinking quickly, Fíli drops a sword and grabs one of the throwing knives from his vambrace, hurling it with deadly aim at Bolg, who manages to deflect it with his mace before advancing on Fíli. He draws his sword again and runs to meet the charge, striking at Bolg with each of his blades. The beast manages to parry him, though Fíli has him off balance now, so he does not relent. He swings again, this time managing to slash the beast across its torso.

His victory is short-lived as Bolg howls with rage, swings his mace and slams it directly into Fíli’s left shoulder. He can hear the bones break, and his sword falls from now-useless fingers. Regaining the upper hand, the orc punches him, and Fíli careens into the blood-soaked earth. He scrambles to right himself with only one arm, fingers scrabbling at the dirt to find his sword, but it is just out of reach and he catches nothing. The orc continues to advance on him, and Fíli frantically tries to think of his options. He doesn’t want to die here.

Then, a yellow-fletched arrow lodges itself into Bolg’s chest, followed quickly by a second, then a third. The orc sinks to his knees, shouting something Fíli does not understand as he yanks an arrow free. The ambush districts Bolg long enough that Fíli remembers the knife stowed in his boot - one Kíli had made him ages ago. With a fearsome cry, he grabs the knife and lunges forward, stabbing it into the orc’s neck and dragging it along, ignoring the spray of blood. Bolg sputters for a moment, eyes wide with surprise, before he falls over backward; dead.

Then a sound breaks through the rushing in his ears - a scream. Kíli’s scream.

He whirls around, blood turning to ice when he sees Kíli trapped in the white warg’s jaws. He stammers back to his feet, grabbing his sword as he runs as fast as he can to his brother’s aid. Dwalin gets there first and smashes his axe over the warg’s head. Kíli tumbles limply to the ground, dropped by the warg as it turns its focus to Dwalin. His weapons master slashes at the beast with his axe again, then, with a pitiful wail, it falls to the ground.

“Kíli!” he shouts, rushing to his brother’s side, heart leaping in his chest when he sees how pale he is. His armor is bent and dented, punctured by the warg’s fangs. Then Kíli coughs, and it’s a sputter of blood. “No,” he murmurs, using his good hand to brush Kíli’s hair from his face. “No, no, no, no, no. Hang on, okay?”

“Fee,”Kíli whispers, somehow sounding calm and terrified at the same time. He draws in a ragged breath, then coughs more blood.

Fíli bends down and touches their foreheads together, a few tears falling onto his brother’s dirty face. Distantly, he hears the dwarves cheering of victory. “We won, nadadith,” he murmurs. “Because of you.”

Heavy footsteps come from behind him, before a warm, familiar hand rests on his shoulder.

“Dwalin,” he murmurs, reluctantly pulling away from his brother to regard his weapons master. “Dwalin, I can’t carry him. You have to get him out of here. Please.”

“I’ve got ‘im,” Dwalin promises, voice thick with unshed tears. He squeezes Fíli’s shoulder. “Can you manage?”

Fíli nods. “It’s only broken,” he explains, but when he looks at his arm he sees that his sleeve is stained bright with blood. More blood than he had thought.

“Look,” Kíli whispers, his glassy eyes on the sky. “The eagles…”

But he cannot bear to look away from his brother, away from Kíli’s bloody face, away from the soft, half smile that plays on his lips.

“Come on, my boy,” Dwalin murmurs, gingerly gathering Kíli into his arms. His brother hisses in pain, coughs more blood, and the smile drops away.

“Dwalin,” Kíli murmurs, sounding delirious. Fíli fears he’s lost too much blood already. His only hope is that Dwalin can get him to the mountain, can get him to Oin and the healers quickly enough to spare his life.

“I’ll send someone for you,” Dwalin promises as he adjusts his grip on Kíli, but Fíli shakes his head.

“Just get him help,” he says, and Dwalin hesitantly nods, clearly reluctant to leave Fíli alone, before rushing back to the mountain.

He’ll be okay, he tells himself, his head starting to swim from the blood loss. Dwalin will get him to the healers. They’ll take care of him. His body feels strangely heavy, so he lets himself sink down to rest on his back. Overhead, the eagles are circling, occasionally swooping down to pick off the last of the orcs and goblins. The dwarves are already singing drinking songs. He can hear similar shouts of victory from the elves.

They won. Thorin had returned to himself. Kíli would be okay; Dwalin would be sure of it.

Little bits of black start to creep into his vision.

They won. The mountain was theirs. He had helped bring his family home. He had restored his mother’s legacy.

He smiles. His vision darkens further, and it is almost as if he can feel his mother’s worn hands carding through his hair.

They won.

Someone calls his name just as everything fades to black.

-----

Stay aliiiiiiiiiiive…

Only one more chapter to go, friends. I am nearly sobbing now thinking we are at the end. I am almost certain of which ending I will use. Almost.

I still struggle with goldsick!Thorin and writing battle sequences, so hopefully this one was okay. I also had to pull a lot of dialog from the movies, which I also have a hard time with.

#greater than gold #durin family feelings #look at me being all productive #formatting is better on ao3 or ff.net #hope you enjoy it my loves #not sure who is still interested but i'm gonna finish this baby of mine

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fuzzballsheltiepants · 7 years ago

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The Forging of the Wolf, Chapter 3

I finally finished the next in the Aedion prequel. Read Chapter 1. Chapter 2.

Aedion shifted the pack on his back and squinted up at the fort that towered up the hill above him as he sucked down some water from his skin. The sun had dropped just low enough in the sky to glare over the spiked tops of the protective walls, and they probably still had an hour’s climb before they reached it. Breiner had been distant the whole trip down, over the border into Adarlan, the grudging bond they had been forming at the war camp thinning until it had all but disappeared. Indeed, Aedion had been nearly silent for the ten day trudge, talking mainly to Deaghall and Iain, ignoring the glares and occasional small stone missiles sent his way by Burr and the other boy he thought of only as Burr’s shadow. The few younger boys didn’t harass him but followed him at a discreet distance with wide eyes that made him self conscious.

All but four of the prisoners of war had been released before leaving the camp. Aedion had watched them file out, and Deaghall had tactfully ignored the wetness on his cheeks as person after person had touched their brows in honor as they passed him. The four who were retained had been kept in the prison wagon and fed and watered exclusively by Breiner’s most trusted guards. He didn’t know who they were or what they’d done to result in being dragged along on this miserable journey, but he wished he could help them somehow. Unfortunately he had no leverage. Yet. A situation he planned to change, however long it took.

Hoofbeats sounded behind him just as he was starting up the hill, and he paused as Breiner trotted up, then reined back to a walk without looking at him. They walked next to each other in silence for a while, the lord standing in his stirrups as his big chestnut dug in to climb. Soon they had far outstripped the other soldiers, and Breiner said out of the corner of his mouth, “I want you to take care at this camp.”

“Oh?” Aedion replied after a brief hesitation. He waited, his huffing breaths matching the horse’s as they climbed, but the older man did not continue. “Why?” he finally asked, stealing a glance up from the corner of his eye.

Breiner’s lips were pressed, tension in every line of his face. “I don’t know why they insisted you boys come to this camp.” There was a long pause where Aedion almost gave up on getting more information, but then he continued. “We’ve passed within a few miles of two other training facilities, including General Paget’s, both more suited for training younger soldiers than this one. I would have expected to leave you at one of those, and I know Paget wanted you. This general has…a reputation, though.” Breiner glanced down, making sure Aedion was paying attention. “He’s got a bit of a loose interpretation of ethics when handling prisoners.”

Despite himself, the boy huffed a laugh. “I wasn’t aware Adarlan had any ethical regulations when it came to their enemies.”

“We do,” Breiner assured him. “But Perrington seems to operate outside the law.” Aedion’s heart sank like a stone. He had heard that name. Met him, in fact, almost a year ago, right before everything went to hell. “He’s the younger cousin to Duke Perrington,” the lord went on, “the King’s Hand.” Ah, so not the same man who had stared at Aedion and Aelin across the dinner table with fathomless black eyes, but a relative. “And he’s part of the reason Adarlan’s forces have the reputation they do. Be on your guard.” They reached a more level spot and Breiner clucked to his horse, sending him into a brisk trot. Aedion watched after him, mulling over the cryptic warning. He ran his thumb over the subtle ridge of the scar his teeth had left in his palm all those weeks ago. Aelin. Rhoe. Evalin. Quinn. Orlon. Cal. Marion. Elide. Ren. A pass of his thumb for each name, over and over, with each step he took towards the gate that now loomed close.

*****

As Erik trotted Farus towards the gate, two of his personal guards flanked him on their chargers, Adarlanian colors flying on the standard held by Alfi. The rest of the soldiers and camp workers were behind them in a loose formation, Aedion at the head with two of the younger boys behind him, the prison wagons and their guards in the center. All these boys would be better off in Paget’s camp, he thought irritably as the remainder appeared over the crest of the hill.

He halted Farus to one side of the gate as was protocol, Alfi and Iain continuing over the draw bridge and through the paired gates into the fort proper, setting themselves at the head of the lines his soldiers would form. Erik watched his men approach, Aedion’s golden head bobbing along at the front. Shit, he thought, he should have told Aedion the required procedure, and he couldn’t break his position now. But the boy paused and made a bit of a show of pulling out his water skin and taking a drink, acting more winded than he no doubt was, allowing himself to be overtaken by the soldiers. Clever boy. When the three younger boys behind him, red-faced and sagging, followed suit with expressions of relief, Erik was struck again with just how canny the prince really was. How well-schooled already in the leading of men.

Deaghall approached the boys, leading Burr and Dain, and ushered them into the lines now forming as the men entered the gates. The two older boys made to step on Aedion’s heels as they walked too close behind him, but a well-timed kick up from a booted heel caught Dain on the shin and they backed off a pace. Erik fought to keep his face straight as Manas’ son furtively tried to rub his shin on the back of his other calf as he walked. Then they disappeared through the opening and he turned his attention to the prison wagon that was now approaching. The half-dozen guards that surrounded it looked grave rather than relieved as they passed him. They all knew what was likely to befall those men.

Finally the last stragglers, wounded men who were well-enough recovered to make the journey, limped past and joined the lines, and he sent Farus through at a slow trot. The horse’s fancy gaits were the reason he’d chosen him, despite the fact that his red coat was considered unsuitable for an officer, blacks and grays being more desirable. But he heard the murmuring from the fort soldiers and residents as the huge stallion pranced between the lines, shining copper in the setting sun, while he sat tall in the saddle. The prison wagon was rattling off towards the holding cells as he rode to where Perrington was waiting. He swung off of Farus and handed his reins to Iain, who had fallen in behind him as he passed before facing the general.

“Walk with me,” was all Perrington said as he turned on his heel and strode towards the largest of the houses. Erik had never been to this particular fort, but all the permanent forts were set up in roughly the same alignment. A gravel center square faced up to the general’s luxurious home. A large dining hall stood opposite, and the barracks were in neat lines to one side. The armory was adjacent to the large stone keep behind the main house, the stables beyond that. Stone towers stood in each corner of the camp, with archers manning the upper floors. Perrington’s living quarters were a bit more spacious than most, and more luxuriously appointed, Breiner noted wryly as he passed into a salon that could have satisfied the King himself. Perrington seated himself in a large chair, and gestured Erik towards a low couch.

“So,” Perrington drawled, “I understand you have brought me five Terrasen prisoners.”

“Four, sir,” Erik corrected. “I was ordered to release the rest.”

The general cocked his head, fingers lightly resting on his lips as he studied Erik for a moment. “Didn’t I understand that you were to bring me a prince of Terrasen? Did I not in fact see him myself, lined up with the other youngsters? Or did you hope to sneak him past me?”

The heat rose in Erik’s face, and not for the first time he hated his betraying coloration, the flush that showed even through the deepest tan. “I apologize, sir, I was not under the impression he was considered a prisoner.”

Perrington’s knuckles were white on the arms of his chair as he leaned towards Erik. “Have you gone mad, or is it simply that you have the heart of a nursemaid beating under your armor? Are you running a sanctuary for wild beasts at that godsforsaken camp of yours?” When Erik remained silent, the general rose slowly and stalked over towards a table that contained several bottles of amber liquid and a stack of glasses. Erik had snapped to attention the second the general had stood, and so he remained as Perrington poured two glasses and handed one to him. “Speak, man,” Perrington ordered, waving him on.

“Sir, I’ve had two months now to observe the boy. He’s a natural leader and a natural warrior. He’s respectful. The other boys follow his lead and the prisoners adore him. We can use him, sir, to subdue the people of Terrasen with less loss of our own forces.” Erik took a sip of his drink, more to be polite than because he wanted it. If he was being honest with himself, all he really wanted was a good meal and to find one of the camp women willing to share her bed.

The general sat back in his chair and surveyed him, amusement seeming to play on his features. “A natural leader. Everyone follows his lead.” He shook his head slowly. “Don’t you see, Erik, that this is precisely why he’s so dangerous? You’re looking to shelter a snake and then you’ll be surprised when it bites you.” He drained his drink in one gulp, and there was a long pause, broken by the small clink of the glass hitting the table.

“Did you ever wonder why I was made general and you were not?” Perrington laughed drily at the surprise no doubt written across his face. “You bested me in every fight in training; you were a gifted speaker, and you’re an excellent strategist. Don’t think all that went unrecognized.” He shook his head pityingly. “But you bought too much into Brullo’s teaching. You subscribe to the idea that there’s some sort of moral code when it comes to our enemies. And that’s an idea that some day is going to get you killed. Probably by this creature whose throat you should have slit when you had the chance.”

Erik mulled this over for a moment. He had his own theories why, though he had surpassed Perrington through their years of training, the other man had advanced farther than he had, and it had more to do with their last names than with some sort of excessive moral squeamishness on his part. True, Perrington had excelled in the “Enhanced Interrogation Techniques” while he had performed abysmally. After all, he had always believed that torture was, in the end, unreliable. Strong men would withstand it, and weaker ones would say whatever they thought you wanted to hear to get it to stop. Brullo, his mentor and one of the main trainers of officers, had lectured that compassion towards those we conquered built loyal subjects, while suppression bred rebellion.

Unfortunately, the latter seemed to be the way Adarlan was leaning in recent years.

He thought back to his relationship to Aedion, those first moments of calculated violence, his stubborn willingness to die… When it came down to it, he was certain that he had won the boy over more by vomiting after his threatened rape of that girl than by the threat itself. He raised his eyes to meet Perrington’s cold black stare. “With all due respect, sir, I maintain the belief that we can expanded our kingdom far more successfully by assimilation than by wanton destruction. Talented young men who can be cultivated to our side can sway the minds of the people.”

The condescending smirk that had settled on Perrington’s thin lips did not falter as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a letter, then slowly unfolded it. Erik could see the seal of the King at the bottom. “Well,” said the general sardonically, “I see that you have retained your habit of pretty speeches. And it appears that you are an equally gifted letter-writer, given that you have persuaded His Majesty.” He indicated the letter. “But I am not blinded by weak compassion or visions of grandeur. I will be watching that boy, and when he shows his true nature - as he will - I will be waiting. And he will be praying for the noose before I’m done. Now,” he tucked the letter back into his pocket and rose with a startling shift in his tone, “I’m sure it’s been a while since you’ve enjoyed the comforts of a solid roof over your head and sharing your bed with a woman. Have a good evening.”

*****

Aedion strode out of the mess hall, needing fresh air, needing…a break. When first he and the other boys had been shown into the trainee barracks, he had been relieved to be accepted by the few dozen Adarlanian boys with no more interest than the others, just a line of casual glances up as he tossed his pack down on the assigned bunk. But Burr and Burr’s shadow had known a few of the other boys, and by the time they were sitting down to dinner there were murmurs all up and down the table, stares and glares and subtle posturing. Thankfully the boys didn’t know his true title. Clearly being a “recruit” from Terrasen made him an object of curiosity at best, more likely one of derision. He couldn’t imagine what creative torture these other boys would come up with if they had known he was a prince and a member of the Terrasen and Wendlyn royal families. Not that it mattered. His thumb ran automatically over the scar on his palm, and he headed across the gravel square, looking for the stables. Surely Breiner wouldn’t object if he checked in on Farus after their journey.

The scent of horse and hay hit his nostrils and he followed it to a stone structure with a few small paddocks outside. Ducking through the door, he blinked in the lamp light. There were several wisened men and young boys setting out hay for the evening, but nobody paid him any notice as he walked down the aisle, looking into the rows of stalls. Farus was in a large loose box down at the end, and he stuck his head over the door and whickered at Aedion. Rubbing the glossy neck, he fed him an apple he’d snagged from the dinner table. The two had made friends in the weeks at the war camp, Aedion having long been comfortable with horses from his frequent assignments to stable duty for various infractions. Plus Farus didn’t give a shit where Aedion came from as long as he brought apples. When he had spent long enough with the stallion to earn suspicious looks from the stablehands, he found his way out the back door. Creeping along the grass through the dark, he nearly tripped over a person who was crouched peering around the corner of the barn, just barely catching the scent of lavender and mint in time. He side-stepped at the last second, his boots crunching suddenly on the gravel path and earning a startled feminine yelp, then a hissed, “Shhhh” from the other.

“I didn’t say anything,” he whispered.

“Well don’t start now,” she spat under her breath, standing and spinning to face him. He couldn’t see much of her in the dark, just that she had lighter hair that gleamed silver in the moonlight and that her head barely rose to his chest. He ignored her and crept forward and peered around the corner of the barn himself, expecting something dramatic like an execution or a fight, though he heard nothing more than the usual sounds of movement and conversation. Instead he found a collection of men and women mingling in the square. Several of the men he recognized from his own camp.

“What are you hiding from?” he asked, still keeping his voice low. When there was no answer, he looked back at the girl to find her leaning away from him, face still hidden in the gloom. She responded with an imperious wave, a silent order to keep his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure why he obeyed but he turned his attention back to the milling forms out in the lit courtyard. Some of the voices reached him, and he realized abruptly what was going on - a negotiation for the sharing of beds. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks and was grateful for the dark, determinedly avoiding any glance at the girl. Breiner seemed to settle on a voluptuous woman in a laundress’ outfit and they strolled out of view. Deaghall soon disappeared as well, and in just a few moments the square was clear.

A rustle behind him drew his attention back to the strange girl. Without a word to him, she had turned to make her escape, but he slipped around her and cut her off. She pulled up abruptly with a curse. The moonlight hit her face now and that was real terror he could see in her eyes. Taking a step back, he raised both his hands and murmured, “Easy, easy.”

“I’m not a horse, you prick. Now leave me alone.” She pulled her cloak closer around her as she started to push past him.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted to ask if you were okay.”

She stopped and looked up at him. “What, do they breed saviors where you come from? Just go back to your friends and get rested up so you can learn how to kill people tomorrow.” With that, she shouldered him out of her way and disappeared into the gloom.

*****

Delaney scurried through the shadows, still keeping an ear open for the sound of male approach. Thankfully this new group was small, only a few officers, and the grunts wouldn’t dare try for that privilege. When she reached the row of huts reserved for the camp workers, she slipped through the back door of the fourth one and up the ladder into the loft. Judging by the noises emanating through the single interior door, her mother was entertaining that tall brown-haired lord. Her brother had moved to the barracks last spring, so she only had her sisters to be careful of as she shucked her shoes and crawled under the blankets that covered their pallet. Another night safe.

As she cuddled in against Avis, her mind went to the tall boy behind the stable. His accent was odd, and his voice still had the inconsistency of transition despite his lanky height. He must have come with the soldiers, though he certainly seemed surprisingly unaware of the rhythms of training camps. At least for now. Give him a few weeks and that careful consideration he’d given her would be trained right out of him. Avis wrapped a thin arm around her and drew her in closer. The sound of the child’s breathing was as good as a lullaby, and her last conscious thought was to wonder how the boy had moved so quickly to cut her off.

*****

The next few days quickly settled into a rhythm that was not dissimilar to that of the war camp. Each of the boys was assigned to help in an area of the camp in the morning, and afternoons were reserved for training. The main difference was the size, this place encompassing many hundreds of soldiers and trainees and the necessary staff to support them. Aedion’s first week he was to work in the kitchens; evidently they rotated through there, the armory, the stables, and the gardens, one week at each place.

He quickly won favor in the kitchens by tackling the giant stacks of dirty dishes without complaint. The weeks at Breiner’s camp had taught him how to be both efficient and thorough, and with him washing and an unfamiliar Adarlanian boy drying they worked their way through the dishware with alacrity. As they reached the end, the wizened old creature who ran the kitchens approached and eyed him carefully, calling out, “I don’t know about this new girl. She seems too pretty to be a kitchen maid. Or a soldier.” There were sniggers around the room and Aedion grinned down at her. “I think we should make sure she gets sent to Rifthold. No doubt she could entertain Prince Dorian quite well, even if she’s a few years older.”

A twinge shot through Aedion’s heart as he remembered the black-haired prince and his “fine lady” manners, but he laughed as he held his hands out to the crone. “I don’t know,” he replied, “I don’t think they’d let these anywhere near the prince. He might be contaminated.” She inspected his large hands, callused and flecked with scars, nails chipped, and patted him on the arm with a cackle.

“Well, then, we must find a way to make you useful here. Even if we can barely understand a word you say!” A chorus of comments on his accent and his pretty face and the length of his hair followed as the other boy showed him where to stack the clean dishes.

Training was similar to at Breiner’s camp, with somewhat stricter discipline. Aedion quickly fought his way out of his age group and was put in with the most experienced boys. Though he was superior to them as well in most regards, he was pleased to see they would learn some new weaponry that he had not yet handled. He was also to learn to fight more on horseback, something he had up to now received minimal training in.

Every night after dinner he visited the stables, giving attention to not just Farus, but all the horses. They didn’t mind his accent, or his size, or his skill, but were content with apples and neck scratches. The girl he had encountered remained a mystery, and another reason he visited the horses each night. He had not seen her again. Not that he was not at all certain he would have recognized her if he saw her, but he thought he’d recall that sweet lavender scent. He still wondered sometimes what she had been hiding from.

The shift came on the sixth day. He had noticed the black-eyed man who had greeted Breiner on their arrival came to watch training every day, had felt that cold stare on him as he parried and blocked and aimed. Perrington. He looked little like his cousin, the man Aedion remembered from the days before the world went to hell, other than those eyes.

This time, Perrington called training short and requested all attend the sentencing of the prisoners in the square. Judging by the lack of surprise, this was a normal occasion, and the soldiers and trainees all bustled onto the large gravel expanse. Aedion hovered near the back. He didn’t need to see this, his countrymen sentenced to the mines or to death. He watched anyway, feet braced apart as men were led onto a platform, their heads covered. Five men, not the four they had brought with them. He wondered who the fifth was. As Perrington’s despicably nasal voice rose over the crowd, his thumb brushed the ridge on his palm. One by one, the hoods were removed and the men stepped forward to hear their fate. “For crimes against the crown, you will be sentenced to six months in Endovier…three years in Endovier…one year in Endovier…eighteen months in Endovier.” These were all truly death sentences, nobody survived more than a few months in the salt mines; they just gave the illusion of hope for ultimate freedom. Judging by the resigned expressions on each face, the men all knew this. All for the crime of being soldiers of Terrasen, trying to protect their home from invasion.

Finally the last man had his hood removed, and Aedion gasped loudly enough to earn curious glances from the boys around him. It was Kenway, one of Cal Lochan’s favorite guards. Aedion had assumed he had gone to the butcher’s block along with Cal. His feet moved of their own accord, and he wove through the close-packed bodies until he was but a few rows from the front just as Perrington finished reading the charges against the man. Kenway was looking out over the crowd, face impassive, giving no indication he was even listening to the summary of his crimes. Just as Perrington intoned, “And for these crimes against the crown, you shall hang from the neck until you are dead,” Kenway’s eyes met Aedion’s and his eyes widened in shock before he schooled his face back into a neutral expression.

Aedion closed his eyes and began shaking, memories of riding out hunting with Kenway and Cal, Quinn and Rhoe, of sparring with sticks when he barely reached the older man’s waist, of jokes and meals shared all flickering behind his lids. This was a good man, he thought. Better than any of the Adarlanians, better than himself. Kenway had helped Aelin onto her first pony, had given Elide a bouquet of tiny daisies when she had fallen and skinned her knee, had told no one when Aedion had cried after shooting his first deer.

Without realizing it, Aedion moved right to the very front of the crowd, his eyes fixed on his friend. Kenway’s face was bruised, his lip split, and though he stood straight and proud it was obvious that he was guarding his ribs. Perrington had put his paper down and turned his attention to Aedion where his golden head shone above the surrounding men, and it was with a thin smile that he added, “Unless someone shall volunteer to take his punishment.” It took a few seconds for Aedion to realize what had been said, and he slowly turned to the general as boos echoed out around him. He didn’t know if this was regular; in Terrasen, volunteers could take on certain punishments, such as whipping or time in the stocks, for nonviolent crimes. He had never heard of this in the case of capital punishment. Though he did recall hearing that Adarlan had allowed one member of a convicted family to volunteer to take the sentence for the rest.

He could feel other eyes on him, and turned to see Breiner slowly shaking his head, Deaghall next to him looking grim. On the other side of the square, standing in the shadow of one of the buildings, was a slip of a girl in a laundress outfit, reddish gold hair curling past her shoulders, biting her lip as she studied him. Turning back to Kenway, he saw the older man looking at him with grief and love in his face, giving a barely perceptible shake of his head once he knew Aedion was looking. Perrington was still staring at him, waiting, as the moment stretched into an eternity.

Could he do it? Could he offer his life for this man, who had done so much for his country? He thought of the vow he had taken to help Terrasen, and how much better equipped Kenway was to fulfill it. He could barter his life and be reunited with his family again. Aelin. Rhoe. Evalin. His mother…

Just as he was about to take the step forward, open his mouth to call out, Kenway screamed, a vicious, primal sound, then spun and viciously head-butted the guard next to him, before throwing himself at another. Despite his bound hands, he fought efficiently, taking down two more guards with his feet so quickly nobody even reacted. The crack of one’s skull on the wood seemed to spur everyone into action, and soon he was swarmed, even Breiner, Iain, and Deaghall leaping onto the platform to subdue him.

The boy watched in silence, unable to breathe, as Kenway was dragged nearly unconscious to the edge of the platform where the gallows stood, as his hood was pulled down and a noose settled over his neck, as smelling salts were applied until he was able to rise to his feet, as the floor dropped out of the platform and the crack of his neck echoed through the square even over the jeering, as his feet kicked out briefly and went still. And still the boy stood as the crowd slowly quieted down, as the wagons rumbled over the cobbles for the other prisoners, as four men approached the brave Terrasen guard with knives to cut his body down. He remained rooted there as the sky darkened, as familiar faces approached, as gentle hands squeezed his shoulder and gentle words were spoken. It was not until there was a sharp tug on his sleeve, then a pinch to his arm, and a feminine voice whispered, “You must leave now. Come on, you must leave,” with a frantic urgency that the ground released his feet and he stumbled after the light hand on his arm, guiding him into the darkness.

*****

Erik watched as a young woman approached Aedion and plucked at his sleeve, finally convincing him to follow her. He was leaving in the morning, taking his men back to their base camp far to the south and leaving the prince behind. It was clear now why their departure had been delayed; Perrington had wanted to see his reaction to this spectacle. He must have somehow known that the prisoner was familiar to the boy and hoped to provoke a response. It had been a close thing, that much was clear. It was hard not to respect the man for recognizing that and taking the necessary steps to keep the boy alive. But now Erik must leave the boy to his fate, unable to even say farewell. He wondered if he would ever see him again.

He wondered if Aedion would have tried to save him, had he been about to hang. And knew he would have made the same decision as that prisoner had in response.

*****

Delaney dragged the boy behind her, desperate to get him off the square before the general noticed his odd behavior. She didn’t know who that prisoner was to this boy, but it was obvious to all who could see his face that he was ready to give himself over. As if that would’ve saved the man. She could have laughed at the boy’s naivety if it wasn’t so desperately…sad.

Reaching the granary, she tugged the door open just far enough to slide through, the boy following mutely. When it was nearly empty like his, it was an excellent spot to hide from prying eyes. They headed up the stairs that hugged the wall, the grain dust settling on her hair, sticking to her skin. She sat down on the small ledge that ran under the upper window and pulled him down next to her. In the moonlight pouring through the window his face was ghostly, shadows pooling in the hollows under his sharp cheekbones and obscuring much of his mouth.

The silence stretched on as the sounds outside slowly died. Everyone would be at the evening meal, she thought. She wondered if the boy would be missed. Oh well. As long as he was back in his bed by morning she doubted anyone would care. “What’s your name?” she asked, her voice echoing in the nearly empty building. He just looked at her uncomprehendingly. Some instinct told her she needed to get him talking but he might as well have been deaf and mute for all he responded. Perhaps she’d asked the wrong question, though it seemed simple enough; she tried again. “Who was that man?”

“Kenway Cranuc,” he said after another long pause, his voiced cracking. “His name was Kenway Cranuc.”

She knew that, as the general had named all the prisoners, but she nodded encouragingly. “How did you know him?”

The boy pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “He was…he was a guard, for my uncle’s friend. I thought he was taken when the rest of them were taken. I thought he was gone, I thought…” At that he broke down completely, pressing his face to his legs, lean body wracked with sobs. Hesitantly, she scooted closer to him and wrapped her arms around him, holding tight. This pose was familiar to her as for all his size, he reminded her somehow of her brother. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and waited until he began to quiet, and was still holding on when he whispered, almost too quiet to hear, “He was my friend.”

They pulled apart then, both a little awkward, and she searched for something to say. “You’re from Terrasen, then?” He nodded, not looking at her. The tracks down his face gleamed in the moonlight. “Well, that explains the accent,” she added lightly. No response. “How’d you end up here?”

“I was captured,” he said thickly, then cleared his throat. “By Lord Breiner’s men, in the last battle before Terrasen surrendered. Lord Breiner and General Paget decided to let me live.” He snorted, but there was no amusement in the sound. He cocked his head then, suddenly alert, evidently hearing something that escaped her ears. “They’re finished with the meal,” he said, with a jerk of his chin to the window. “You should go back to wherever you belong.”

Delaney shook her head. “Not yet. After an execution it’s not safe for a bit.” He flinched at the word, and she cringed internally. “He still would have been executed,” she said, and he looked at her quizzically. “If you had given yourself up. They would have hanged you, and then hanged him anyway.” She wanted to laugh at his dumbstruck expression but couldn’t bring herself to wound him any further. “It’s how they call out traitors. Not usually here, there aren’t too many of those at the fort, but it’s common in public hangings.”

“You must think me a fool,” he said, shaking his head, then shrugging. “Perhaps I am.”

“No, but I think you come from a place where honor still has meaning.”

“It doesn’t here?”

Now she did laugh, a wry, bitter sound. He accepted that answer with silence. By this time she could hear the low murmur from the nearby square, and her mouth twisted in disgust.

“Why do you hide?” the boy asked abruptly.

“Because I’ve no desire to take a man to my bed.”

He looked shocked at that answer. “Surely you’re a bit young?”

“I’m sixteen, and more than two years past my first cycle, so hardly.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness from her tone.

“But if you didn’t want to, would they truly force you?” The sympathy in his voice made her skin crawl. She didn’t want the pity of this strange, awkward boy; didn’t know what to do with it.

“What are you, a child?” she snapped. “I’m a laundress, and that’s as good as a whore. Sure they’d toss a piece of silver on my table and call us square.” He growled then, a startlingly fierce sound from his skinny frame, all the more eerie for the echoes through the mostly empty building. “Shush, shush, you’ll give us away,” she hissed, unnerved. It struck her that she was very alone with a strange boy twice her size, and she felt her mouth grow dry.

“You’ve nothing to fear from me,” he said, holding his hands up as he had the other night, and she wondered how he knew what she was feeling. He stood up then, stooping to keep from hitting his head on the strut above them. “Are you safe to get home?”

She nodded mutely, and he dusted the loose grain from his clothes and slipped silently down the curved stairs. At the bottom he stopped and gave her a little wave. “I’m Aedion,” he said, answering her first question at last.

“Delaney.”

And with that, he cracked open the door and disappeared.

#aedion #aedion ashryver #prequel #tog #throne of glass #long time coming

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