#the hobbits and their quaint way of life are fine. but they live in a time where all the tales i cared about are in the distant past

[theerrorofmylife]

Witch Queen Ch.2

Thorin x Witch!Reader 

See Masterlist for complete chapter listing, send me... something, if you’d like to be tagged :) 

  Mwahahahaha, this is quite a lovely chapter and yes, I do get very sappy with Thorin and the MC. I love them both dearly, I can’t help it. I did add a little HTTYD quote in there hehe. I did end up drowning my pride and adding in (Name) instead of (Y/n). Please enjoy – Error

 Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, PTSD, Thorin being an instant simp for the reader, soul-crushing cuteness, Gandalf being a little shit, etc etc 

~

     60 years passed, and in my sorrow, I let the years go without care. I was still young, in my prime as a witch, and would continue to be young for a thousand years more if I so wanted. But, after 60 years, I can still be surprised. 

A knock at my door woke me. It was early, very early, and the dew on the grass had yet to settle. Climbing out of bed, I wrapped my dress around myself and secured my belt to keep everything in place. Waddling to the door, there was knocking again. 

“Alright, alright, my gods- Gandalf?” The old wizard stood at my doorstep, much taller than me, with gray robes and his staff. 

“Hello my dear. How have you been?” For the first time in so long I felt a little sense of peace. Gandalf seemed to carry that with him though. 

“As well as can be expected. It has been 20 years since you last came by. What have you been up to?” He smiled and his eyes crinkled in the corners. 

“Nothing too important. However, recent events have led me to be in need of a fellow magic user.” I invited him in, interested in this need for magic. 

“What have you done this time, friend.” He laughed gently and entered my home, sitting in the old chair near the window, his usual spot. 

“I have done nothing. However, a company of dwarves is massing, 13 in total, and they are to march on Erebor and kill Smaug.” I froze. I had been halfway to making tea and I couldn’t move. 

“They plan to reclaim the mountain.,” my voice shook and broke, my heart breaking just a little bit every moment. Thorin, my prince, they were going to reclaim the mountain. “Why have you come here, Mithrandir?” 

“I am here to ask you to join them, as the 15th member.” 

“15? You said there were 13.”  

“Well, yes, 13 dwarves, and 1 hobbit. They will be meeting in Hobbiton tonight, you will be escorting them across from Hobbiton to the lonely mountain.”

“Ah,” I know it would be foolish to go and risk my life with a bunch of strangers, but it would have made Thorin happy to have his homeland back, “I’ll go.” 

“Very good; If you will, I’m leaving immediately.” I narrowed my eyes at him. Of course he would come without giving me time to prepare. 

“Fine, let me pack.” I left him in the living room, puttering in his amusement. I put together a simple bag; two shirts, two pairs of pants, necessitates, and small wants. My apothecary book, ritual book, and small bag of spell needs were all tucked inside as well, and within 30 minutes I was packed and ready to go. My dress would be fine for the early parts of the journey, the wrap design hanging to my shins, boots laced tight, and cloak up to cover my head. 

“Well, come on then, let’s meet this company.” I raised my hands above my head and felt the wind grace my fingertips. A force I could not see pulled at my fingertips, tugging them straight up. When the pull became too much, I yanked my hands down and in a fuzzy flash of green, Gandalf and I were standing in the middle of a dirt road, cozy lamps hung along the edge, and doors were periodically placed in the cutouts of hills. Hobbiton was so quaint and cozy, and everything was my size! Flowers and gardens and fields and rolling hills were laid out before us, and it was beautiful. Gandalf put a hand on my shoulder and led me down the dirt road, all the way to a green circular door with a little rune carved into the bottom. At the door are two dwarves already. They are very friendly, and name themselves Oin and Gloin, brothers. From inside, a commotion is heard. 

“No! There's nobody home! Go away and bother somebody else! There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If this is some clotterd's idea of a joke, I can only say that it is in very poor taste. -” the door opens, and the dwarves let themselves in as the young hobbit stares. “Gandalf. And… friend.” 

“Hello, the elves call me Niethir, daughter of Yelmain, witch of the eastern Greenwood. But that’s just a formal name. You may call me (Name), friend.” I did a little curtsy and he smiled, bowing in return. 

“Bilbo Bagins. I apologize, I wasn’t expecting visitors.”a He gave a very pointed look at Gandalf. 

“He didn’t warn you, did he? He never does.” I sigh, and Bilbo welcomes me in. I place my things neatly in a corner and wander into the rest of the hobbit hole while Bilbo and Gandalf talk. Large wooden arches hold up plaster ceilings, little lanterns brighten the home with warm light. It’s sweet, the feeling of this hobbit home, and it’s wonderful. Anyone who steps in would immediately feel welcomed and at peace. As I enter the dining room, a voice I recognize stops me cold. 

“Mahal save me… it’s you.” Dwalin sits at the table with the others, staring wide eyed at me. I cannot breathe. The last time I saw him was the day…. In Dale. 

“Dwalin… you’re here.” He stood abruptly and stomped over to me. I might have been scared, but only for a moment, because he clapped my shoulders and pressed his forehead against mine. 

“He knew you were alive, lass. He spoke of you every day, drove us all mad!” He laughed and my eyes teared up. 

“Thorin… oh Dwalin I’m so sorry.” His eyes got sad for a second before another was pushing between us. 

“Move aside laddie, let us meet her. You’re name please, lass.”

“(Name), Niethir to some, Yelmaindottir.” They all took turns introducing themselves. Lastly was two young dwarves, one blond one brunette. 

“Fili and Kili, we’re Thorin’s nephews.” My heart dropped. 

“Of course, he told me all about you. Why are you not with your mother, Dis?” Their eyes grew bright with excitement. 

“You know of mother! -”

“He must have told you so much! -”

“Uncle is leading us to Erebor to kill the dragon!” My heart stopped. 

“But… hold on I- you are Thorin’s nephews, yes?” They nod with enthusiasm. “Then… your uncle… Thorin is alive...?” Dwalin pushed the two aside. 

“Of course… why would he not be?” I couldn’t focus on anything. 

“I heard…. In the battle of Moria… the prince had died. I thought… I thought Thorin…” My eyes watered. Thorin was alive. He was alive and he was coming here to lead the company to retake Erebor. Dwalin stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. 

“You thought Thorin was the one that died…” I nodded, just trying to keep myself at least semi-oriented. Suddenly, the silence that festered was cut by a deep knock at the door. 

“He is here.” Gandalf grumbled. My breath left me, and tears fell freely as the door was opened out of view and that lovely deep voice from 60 years ago echoed in the house. 

“Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice. I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door.” He was just the same, a tad older, and much tougher than when I’d last seen him. He carried with him a tiredness that only comes with carrying the weight of the world. I think he even got taller, if that were possible. He was. Just by a few inches, though. 

“Mark? There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!” 

“There is a mark; I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.” Oakenshield, that was quite an impressive name. It made him gruffer than he used to be.  

“So, this is the hobbit. Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?” He was glaring, obviously not believing Bilbo could do much. 

“Pardon me?”

“Thorin, there are greater matters at hand.” Balin, who seemed to be the wisest, intervened. 

“And what would those be-” His eyes met mine, those same gray-blue eyes. “My Lady.” 

“My Prince. Or should I call you My King?” I was trying to have humor for my own sake, my nerves were nearly suffocating me. He was still in shock, slowly walking towards me, the hobbit forgotten. As he got closer my nerves began to get the better of me. “Thorin, Thorin what’s wrong?” I could barely whisper. He was finally in front of me and there were tears in his eyes that refused to fall. 

“You’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.” He collected my hands in his and pressed kisses to them. Fresh tears ran down my face and I all but threw my arms around his neck. His arms instantly wrapped around my waist. 

“I thought you were dead.” I whispered into his shoulder. He laughed. 

“I thought you were dead. In Dale… no one got out, no one ever saw you again…” Tears were blurring everything. When he pulled away, I frantically wiped my face to seem at least mildly presentable. Suddenly my whole body was jostling as the entire company slapped mine and Thorin’s back. 

That night, we supped like old friends, but with Thorin’s hand constantly searching for mine it was hard to consider us friends. He sat at the head of the table and the others made room for me at his side. 

“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?” Balin spoke up from Thorin’s other side. 

“Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms.” I watched as he spoke, the way he engaged with his people. He speaks like a king; I don’t know how I didn’t see it when we first met. 

“What did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?” Thorin hesitates, seeming to weigh his options. Just before he speaks, he tilts his head to the side and catches my eyes with his.

“They will not come. They say this quest is ours and ours alone.” 

“You’re going on a quest?” Bilbo pipes up from the hallway.

“Really, did you not tell him anything?” I picked on Gandalf, and for the first time in 60 years I watched Thorin smile like he used to.

“Ah, well, lets have some illumination instead.” I didn’t even think about the consequences. Snapping my fingers, a tiny flame sparked in the space between my pointer finger, thumb, and middle knuckle. The dwarves around me started huffing in shock while Thorin just stared at it. I spread my fingers outwards and the little candles Bilbo brought lit up all at once. One of the dwarves started clapping while the others were huffing. Seemed very few of them liked magic tricks. Thorin continued to stare until Gandalf placed a map on the table.

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold. When the birds of the old return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.” Oin spoke up from the other end of the table.

“Uh…what beast?” Bilbo’s little voice spoke up from the pantry archway.

“Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals.” Bofur was messing with him, but with every word he spoke my memory conjured images to match. I could only sit back and remember.

“Yes, I know what a dragon is.”

“I’m not afraid, I’m up for it. I’ll give him a taste of the dwarfish iron right up his jacksy!” Ori was being arrogant, and I could suddenly separate those who had seen the dragon and those who had heard of the dragon.

“The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just fourteen, and not fourteen of the best, nor brightest; excusing the Witch, that is.” Well, at least Balin was being honest.

“Hey! Who are you calling dim?”

“Sorry, what did he say?”

“We may be few in number. But we’re fighters, all of us! To the last dwarf!” Fili gained everyone’s attention.

“And you forget we have a wizard in our company, Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.” Kili built off his brother’s energy. I pressed my lips into a line to stop myself from giggling. Gandalf had never killed a dragon. So much was clear when he began sputtering for an answer that wasn’t embarrassing.

“Oh, well. No, uh, I…I wouldn’t say…”

“How many then?”

“What?”

“Well, how many dragons have you killed? Go on, give us a number!” They were all yelling now, yelling at Gandalf, at each other, just yelling to yell. Thorin stood suddenly, his chair nearly falling back in the process.

“Enough! If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?” He was an inspiration, a true leader. Something about watching him speak made me terribly sad. I felt… robbed, of the chance to be near him as he grew into this leader.

“You forget, the Front Gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain.”

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.”

“How come you by this?”

“It was given to me by your father. By Thrain. For safekeeping. It is yours now.”

“There's another way in.”

“Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map...and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth...and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.” The rest of the evening passed smoothly, save for Bilbo fainting at the idea of a dragon. The dwarves were collecting near the hearth, talking loudly and catching up. I secluded myself to the bench by the front door. I couldn’t help but feel dread, thinking about facing Thorin. 

“My Lady.” The voice that had haunted me for years called out. Thorin was standing in front of me, concerned and weary. I hated seeing him so worried. 

“My King?” He came closer and knelt in front of me, taking my hands as he had always done.

“You have magic?” I should have known this topic would come up.  

“Yes.” My throat closed up and a nauseating feeling settled in my chest. I had planned to tell him, eventually, somewhere down the line back in Dale; Maybe the next day when I said I’d return. Or maybe when we became closer. But that didn’t happen, none of it did, and it was never possible. 

“What are you?” 

“I’m a Witch, probably the last of my kind now…” Admitting it out loud was harder than I thought. Being the last, the only one… 

“Your mother?” I sighed. 

“She passed…56 years ago, in the winter.” Something close to understanding filled his eyes and he nodded solemnly. 

“I’m so sorry, I wish I had known.” I laughed wryly. 

“I’m sure we both wish we knew a lot of things…” he smiled sadly before his face fell into hard lines. 

“I’m asking Gandalf to remove you from the quest.” My heart nearly stopped. 

“What…? No, you’re not, I’m going with you!” He grabbed my hands insistently. 

“You’re not, I can’t let you, not with where we’re going, Smaug-”

“I survived Smaug once, I would do it again.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping. He was trying to fight a losing battle with me. 

“My lady-”

“(Name), my king. And I came here for you,” he stopped, his mouth half open as his words died. “I thought you were dead, and then Gandalf comes along and says your kin are reclaiming your homeland. You’re not dead… but I’d still do this for you. Do you remember what you said when we first met?” He’s grinning again, but it’s sad, like remembering that day is both happy and terrible. It is for both of us. 

“I said a lot of things that day, My Lady.” He snarks. 

“‘Where would you like to go? Name it and I will lead you anywhere.’” I quote, and his face falls into a mock glare. He’s fallen into my trap, and I feel victorious. His head falls into his hand, his elbow propped up to support it. 

“(Name)-”

“Erebor. Take me to Erebor.” He sighs again in defeat, and I place my hands on his jaw to gently lift his head. His gray eyes meet mine. He’s not upset with me, nor is he angry, he’s simply tired and I know he has every reason to be. “You carry such a terrible weight My King, please, do not carry it alone.” 

~

@capricorn-anon @emmapotato88 @dontaskmehowdontaskmewhy @tschrist1 @eilin-brillewin​ @hpthalia126  <3 <3 <3 

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[bluebellhairpin]

For the Night

Fili X Fem!Reader

A/N: It’s 2k words long, you cannot escape me and my love for one (1) blond dwarf. I won’t let you. Happy Fili Friday! - Nemo

Summary: Fili starts acting like a love sick fool when he sees the keeper of an inn the Company is contemplating staying at for the night. His attention is only lessened when a small child started attaching itself to the keeper’s leg. But nevertheless, the Company stay the night - which is long enough for Fili to get answers out of the infatuating keeper. 

Masterlist  

[Gif isn’t mine, found on google. Credit to owner.]

The Company was tired. Tired as hell.

They hadn’t had a safe place to rest for a couple weeks now, and after their stop at Bag-end to get Bilbo, the bar for ‘comfort’ and ‘safe’ just about doubled. Fili could tell everyone wanted to sleep in a bed just once rather than on the ground again. In fact everyone knew that. 

The town ahead was promising, seeing as Fili could tell there were people around, and that it still wasn’t too busy. 

The reason they hadn’t stopped before was how reluctant other places were to housing so many Dwarves. The Company had yet to find a place that was impartial to Dwarves - for Hobbit’s and Wizards, apparently it was fine - and therefore they’d been sleeping on the road, or on the outskirts of towns. 

“Alright, some of us will go into town to try and see if there’s a place to stay, the rest of you will stay here.” Thorin started, turning to the Company as they settled on the side of the road. “Dwalin is with me, Balin can go on his own. Fili, take Kili and go search too - just do not cause trouble.”

“Aye Uncle, we want a warm bed for once as much as everyone else.” Kili started, flinging an arm over Fili’s shoulder. “We’ll be like little angels!” 

“Sure you will.” With that Thorin set off, Dwalin in tow while Balin had already started off into town before Thorin had even asked him to. Fili and Kili followed after, babbling to themselves about anything and everything. 

----------

“Beat it, shorties!” 

That was the second prospective accommodation that they'd been thrown out of. 

“People aren’t nice.” Kili said, adjusting his jacket as he glared back at the closed door. “Mahal, all we wanted was a place to stay.” 

“We just have to keep trying Kee, don’t worry.”

“You Dwarves lookin’ for a place to stay?” an elderly man said, looking at the brothers from across the street. Fili shared a look with Kili before nodding. “Try up on the north hill. There’s an Inn there run by a Dwarrow. Might have better luck there.” 

“Sir, thank you.” Fili said, nodding at the man before heading off to find the Inn.

----------

The place was quaint. Simple. Still homey. Fili loved it. 

“It’s so quiet.” Kili said, quietly mumbling to his brother. “Maybe no one lives here and the townsfolk just keep the door unlocked.” 

It was true, the Inn was very quiet. There wasn’t even another person there, and there was no noise. The only reason it looked lived in was because of the fire going on their left and the fact that everything was so clean.

“Doubt that.” Fili stepped forward, “Hello?” He called, and almost instantly they got an answer.

“Yes?” A voice said behind them. There in the doorway was the Dwarrowdam, an armful of chopped wood in her arms. “I’m sorry, I hope you haven't been waiting long.” 

Fili couldn’t answer. He was in awe. She was beautiful. Sure, he hadn’t seen many Dwarrowdams in his life, he’d mostly just heard descriptions of them. But she surpassed any story description. Just by looking at her he could tell she was his One. 

“Fee.” Kili said, elbowing Fili in the ribs, a smirk lathered over his face. Kili knew what happened to Fili, but like hell he’d let an opportunity pass. “The lass asked you a question.”

“Uhm, no. We weren’t waiting long at all!” Fili said, managing to gather his voice back, even if it was a bit high-pitched. She giggled at him, moving away from the doorway and further into the Inn. 

“I’m afraid, Sir, that wasn’t my question.” 

“Oh, sorry then. Um, what was the question?” Fili asked, following her as she started piling the wood near the fire.

“‘How can I help you?’” She repeated, smiling up at Fili. 

His heart stopped. 

She’d kill him at this rate. 

“We need a place to stay.” he said, surprised at how easily he spoke, but he was sure it didn’t sound as nice as he thought it did. “No other place would take us because we are Dwarves and an older man said to come here because you run this Inn and we’d have a better chance asking for help here.”

“You and, I’m guessing, your brother needs to stay?” 

“Yes.” Kili said, finally deciding to save Fili from any further ramblings. “But it’s not just us. There are eleven other Dwarves, and a Hobbit, and a Human.” She nodded, finishing stacking the wood, and stood up while wiping her hands on her apron.

“You’re asking for rooms for fifteen?” They nodded, and she hummed. “Well, I could use the business, but I’m afraid some of you might have to share a little more than a room.” 

“That’s okay!” Fili started, “We have our own sleeping packs, so all we’d need is the room to set them up.” 

“Then you’re welcome to stay.” she said, “My name’s (y/n).” 

“I’m Kili, this is Fili -” Kili started then Fili joined, “-at your service.” 

“Do you greet everyone new like that?” she said, letting out a sort of laugh.

“Amad,” a small voice then said, along with it came a small head from what could be a kitchen, “When is dinner?” 

----------

“‘Amad’, that’s what the child said to her. She is a mother!” Fili said, and all Kili could do was roll his eyes.  

“Fili, you’ve mentioned this at least five times. I’m now asking you to cease and desist.” Thorin said, managing to make his grumbling heard from all the way at the front of the group. 

After the brothers had gathered Thorin, Dwalin and Balin, and shared the exciting news of a place to stay, Fili then proceeded to tell the story of the Innkeeper - and her apparent child.

“It’s a disaster Uncle.” Fili said, making his way up to Thorin. “I felt it the moment I saw her, she is my One, but she is obviously with another since she has a child! How could this happen?” 

“Have you thought to ask her about it, or are you fixated on the dream of love at first sight and the need to wed her even though you’ve spoken only once?” 

“Uncle,” Fili whined, “Don’t be so pessimistic!”

----------

“Amad, why are you cooking so much?”

“Because there are people staying over.”

“Like a sleepover?”

“A bit like that, yes. But they’re paying us to stay here, so we’ll look after them.” (y/n) looked down at the dwarfling at her feet. He was happily helping her and busying himself by dragging out a giant pot from the cupboard, and she was grateful he was so willing to give her a hand. 

“You don’t usually make people pay you if you have a sleepover, do you?” 

“No, Amrum, you do not.” She laughed, finishing chopping up the last potato. She then took the pot Amram was dragging, and placed it on the stove. She looked back at the boy. “You think you can do one more job for me before dinner?”

“Of course Amad! Anything for dinner.”

“Go fetch a couple more pieces of wood from outside, only two or three.” He nodded, already marching his way out the kitchen. “And don’t overload yourself again!”

“I won’t Amad!” 

----------

“Look! There’s the Dwarfling!” Fili said, hitting Thorin’s shoulder and pointing at the boy running back inside the Inn, his arms full of wood. 

“We get it, Fili. There is a child.” Thorin said, trudging his way up to the Inn. 

The entire Company practically groaned at the warmth that the Inn emitted. They hadn’t even gone inside yet and they were practically melting where they stood.

After mumbling to themselves about how much they liked this already, they made their way inside. 

“You made it back.” (y/n) said, coming from the doorway to the kitchen to greet them all. She took a look at everyone, nodding. “All the rooms are upstairs. They’re ready for you. You can take your pick of whichever you’d like.” 

They all made their thanks, then teatered off to the rooms. Fili stayed behind, eyeing (y/n) as if he wanted to say something, but she took off after the others, obviously forgetting something.

“Dinner is in half an hour! If you’re late you miss out!” she called up the stairs, and unceremonial cheers came back down at her. She turned back, facing Fili. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” 

A beat of silence came, a smile creeped on (y/n)’s face, and soon they both let out a laugh. 

“Sorry - I just… The child?” Fili said, gesturing around the room. She nodded, walking into the kitchen. Fili took that as a note to follow. 

“Amrum, please get off the countertop.” She said, and Fili locked eyes with the child - of which was eating off a plate while sitting on the countertop.

“It’s the Dwarf.” Amram said, starting to climb off the counter, “You came before. You’re here for the sleepover.” 

Fili kept looking at the boy, nodding, before looking over at (y/n) - she’d gone to cut some meat. Fili didn’t notice how hungry he was until just now. 

“You want some of my bread? I’ve eaten some of it, but I haven’t licked the butter off.” Amrum offered, and it almost pained Fili to decline - his eyes were so wide, and he was very cute and Fili was hungry. 

----------

“I can’t believe he likes you that much.” (y/n) said, her voice low and very quiet. 

Amrun had fallen asleep on Fili a little over fifteen minutes ago - around the time the others of the Company dispersed to their warm rooms and beds with real pillows - and had yet to wake up. Fili felt his chest both swell and tighten. 

Swell because this was a child, one he felt he needed to protect, and tighten because it wasn’t his, and he had a father already. At least Fili thought he did.

“I haven’t seen him like that with anyone besides me since his parents died.”

“What?” Fili said, frowning at (y/n) while slightly tightening his hold around the Dwarfling. “He calls you Amad, aren’t you his mother?” She shook her head.

“No, I’m his Aunt, but he’s only really known me as a mother. He was really young when my brother and sister-in-law died.” 

She had started fiddling with the hem of her apron. 

“You miss them, don’t you?” Fili said, even though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” she breathed, “This place was theirs too. Since they’re been gone it’s just been me and Amrum. It’s not easy.” 

“I can imagine. But this lad seems like he behaves.”

“Most of the time.” She laughed, “You should see him when there’s no one around, it’s like he has a twin with how much mischief he gets up to.” 

----------

“Will you come back Fee?” Amrum asked, looking up at the blond whose arms he was still being carried in.

(y/n) and Fili shared a look. Last night they had a talk. It wasn’t little, but it wasn’t all-bearing either. It was informative, and it did enlighten (y/n) to why all these Dwarves, a Hobbit and a Human were traveling together. 

“How about we wait and see Amrum?” She said, holding out her hand for Amrum to take as Fili set him to the ground. “They all could be away for months yet, we’ll have to be patient.” Amrum looked down, kicking the dirt. He obviously wasn’t looking forward to his new friends leaving.

“Here,” Fili said, pulling out a dagger from his coat, “As a promise. When I get back, you’ll be throwing that with the precision of an eagle hunting it’s meal.” Fili held out the dagger to Amrum. 

Amrum looked up at (y/n), she shook her head, but her eyes and the light smile on her lips told them it was okay. The Dwarfling took the dagger, holding it both hands with wide eyes. 

“Wow. You’re really letting me keep it?” 

“Sure thing kid. Just don’t cut yourself, and look after your Amad.”

[noplanwithavan]

A VERY LONG WAY HOME

In the last month we have covered a gruelling 3,000km, reaching the northern extreme of our yearʼs adventure, before turning tail towards home. By August we have made our way through 25 countries, finally coming full circle. Itʼs a journey that has spanned glaciers, mountains, fjords, and volcanoes. From the desert heat of Morrocco to the midnight sun of the Artic Circle.

One thing I always wondered about this trip was what it would be like when our return date became imminent. Should we come back at all? And If we did, would we revert immediately into the same patterns? Or will the experiences prove to have changed us in some fundamental way?

Weʼve still got TWO WEEKS left (gulp!), so I canʼt be sure yet. But I think the signs indicate we are not the same as a family. For one thing Iʼve realised there is not just one way to live your life. There are many and varied possibilities. And living an itinerant existence in a camper van happens to be one of them - a perfectly sustainable one at that. Financially, thereʼs no pressing need to come home. We could afford to keep going. By renting out our house and holiday cottage in Tenby, it more than covers our expenditure. We actually spend LESS by not working. That may sound bizarre, but itʼs true. We spend less because we consume less. Marcus has become the watch guard for anti-consumerist, keeping a steely eye for any signs of weakness on our part.

Even in a country like Norway, which EVERYONE will tell you is “super expensive”, itʼs not impossible to live cheaply, if you have time and a bit of creativity. Supermarket prices are probably three times that of the UK, but in this vast wilderness there is plenty to be had for free. You donʼt need a license to fish in the fjords, and in the north especially, the fish are easy prey.

Shortly after crossing the imaginary line of the Artic Circle, we entered Norway from Northern Sweden. Immediately the landscape ramped up. Gone were the flat forests of fir scored with lakes. In their place were towering mountains with spidery waterfalls spilling straight from the heavens. Trying to outrun the rain, we pushed on to Bodø, to catch a ferry to the legendary Lofoten Islands. Weʼd heard tales of their majestic beauty, and a friendly Norwegian family we met on board the 4 hour crossing helped set the scene. At over 2m tall with long flowing flaxen locks, their eldest son looked exactly like a Viking, and regaled the girls with tales of trolls, notably, “Espen and the Ashes”. His appearance set the stage perfectly, for nowhere on earth could I imagine more Viking-worthy than that first sighting of the Lofoten Islands as they hove into view. A long string of razor sharp peaks spanning across the horizon like the scale-spiked spines of a gigantic sea monster. I have navigated the girls through Roman, Greek and now Norse mythology. And Lofoten struck me as uniquely mythical - the physical embodiment of the Midguard Serpeant, coiling itself around the Earth.

In three weeks of travelling we have seen no part of Norway which is not indescribably beautiful. Every road is a scenic smorgasbord. Every angle, every viewpoint, just breathtaking in its scale and raw, naked beauty. But even against all this, the Lofoten Islands loom large in a league of their own. They make you feel invincible somehow. A heady combination of 24 hour summer sunlight mingled with prehistoric mountains rising vertically from the sea. When the sun is shining you can hike day or night. Itʼs not unusual to spot midnight walkers, scrambling up the snaggle-toothed peaks for a view of the world spread-eagled before them. One morning I wake restless at 5.30 am, and slip out of the van to climb Reinebringen. A tough, vertical scramble, but one which rewards you with a picture-postcard view from the summit, and the sight of a sea eagle circling below.

There are harbours sheltering beneath the bulk of these impressive cliffs, flecked with grass-roofed red rorbeurs (fishermanʼs cabins standing on stilts) and giant wooden A-frames. Closer inspection revealed the purpose of these industrial-sized drying racks. For the waters around here are known for both their treachery and their abundance of cod, who come in droves to lay their eggs during the winter. The writer Jules Verne spawned the idea for his book, “Journey to the Centre of the Earth” after witnessing the maelstrom (whirlpool) off the coast of the Lofoten Isles. And long before the discovery of North Sea Oil, Norwayʼs liquid gold came from the cod liver oil harvested from these shores. We visited a quaint little fishing town called Å, where all the buildings have been turned into a museum. Peering at traditional boats, nets and glass buoys, and reeling back in horror at the stink from barrels of fermenting cod liver. One hundred years ago, black and white picture frames record a horizon packed tight with fishing boats. The flotilla then would land 70,000 cod. Now the catch is much smaller, but still large enough for every town to dry hundreds of fish on giant racks in the traditional way. At this time of year only the staring eyes and papery heads remain. Someone told us the stockfish gets shipped to Spain and Portugal as salted cod, or bacalao. The lower-value end is destined for Nigeria, as a delicacy for soups.

There are no roads crossing the sprawling islands. Instead cars skirt the edges, looping and lacing from one land mass to the next. At times this network is so narrow it becomes a series of stepping stones, made possible only by tunnels which take you below sea level. We hammered home those Norse stories by visiting a Viking museum in Vestagoy, and reach our most northerly point at Unstad, where Marcus layers up with whatever he can find to surf the Artic. He has neither wetsuit hood nor gloves, but stays in much longer than we expect, emerging only somewhat pinked to declare the water is no colder than winter back home in Pembrokeshire.

One day we hike over a mountain to the remote Kvalvika beach. Another walker tells us two friends made a documentary here, “North of the Sun”, about their experiences living for an entire winter on their own. As we straddle the pass the drop below reveals a beach encircled with cliffs shrouded in mist. The clouds act like a curtain call, hanging low, setting the scene, nature at its most dramatic. We spot a little hobbit house and long drop loo on the beach, remnants from the film; a story of human survival. For the first time we wish we could ditch the van, and go off for longer on foot. Norway and Sweden both have a policy of the individual having a “right to camp”. For this reason, itʼs normal to see a tent pitched pretty much anywhere - by a fjord, on a beach, even atop a mountain. Iʼm suddenly aware weʼre just not properly kitted out for this environment. We have “the worldʼs worst shoes” for one thing. A paltry hotchpotch of non-waterproof specimens. And no wet weather gear, aside from one pair of kids fishermanʼs trousers we picked up in a charity shop which are 2 inches too short. At €34 for a round of coffee and cakes, Norway isnʼt the country for a spending spree to get “kitted out”. Instead we brave the rainy days and scale back our ambitions. Crossing back to the mainland, and winding our way South, we stop at Svartisen glacier, bathing in the ice cold milky waters beneath. Itʼs a boat crossing plus a 2 hour walk to reach the glacier, and itʼs hard to get a sense of scale until youʼre up close. But the sight of those spearmint blue crevices get the girls declaring it was well worth it. “Like Elsaʼs Palace up close,” Elsie muses. Norway has notched up our ferry total to 19. The whole coastline is like a gigantic lung, fed by a fine weave of arteries - the fjords stretching impossibly far inland. The only way to navigate them at points is to take a ferry hop across. The main road, the E6, is said to be the longest in Europe and though the drives here are long they are never boring. It takes you past thundering rivers and sweeping fjords, over steep mountain passes where islands of snow meet lakes. Their white lips curled up distastefully by the waterʼs edge, in defiance of fate. Itʼs so utterly uncompromising in all it offers, our only difficultly proves finding somewhere off the main road to camp - suitably “off the beaten track” so to speak. There are the scenic highlights - the world-famous Geiranger Fjord, where giant cruise ships sit dwarfed alongside the multi-storey cliffs above. The fairytale wooden stave church in Lom, itʼs Viking iconograpghy from the very dawn of Northern Christianity. The “Troll Road” - a series of 11 hairpin bends taking you past architectural buildings every bit as breathtaking as the scenery. In between all this, our days are spent fishing, canoeing and cooking. Elsie and Lulu have become hooked on old episodes of Ray Mears given to us by the friend we stayed with in Bulgaria, Cen Rees. The slow-paced TV series about Bushcraft inspires us all to hone our outdoor skills. Marcus becomes a dab hand with line fishing, striking out and catching us mackerel, cod and pollock each night. Itʼs been several months since weʼve been able to cook off our stove in the van. North of Greece, the gas canisters we needed became first sparse, then disappeared altogether. Our outdoor COBB BBQ has become our salvation. One day I channel my inner Ray and idly speculate whether itʼs high time I became accustomed with this bit of kit, rather than sitting back and waiting for Marcus to sort it out. Drawing Lulu aside, I announce that “Mummy is doing supper tonight,” followed by a plaintive, “Do you want to help?” She readily agrees, and to my delight, coaches me through the entire process. “Not like that, donʼt put the charcoal on yet....errm, actually birch bark makes better tinder than paper..etc” I decide we need shelter and begin grappling with our awning for the first time in 11 months. It wonʼt unfold properly, what the hell? “I think it pulls out like this,” Lulu gaily exclaims, manipulating it effortlessly beneath me. “How do you know all this stuff?” I ask her. With no hint of guile, she replies, “I just watch Daddy.” My culinary efforts are not great. The result is a strange burnt tasting tomatoey egg soup, which is unanimously rejected and immediately earns a place in the family folklore of terrible meals. Still, itʼs a start, and, as Ray will tell you, the secret of good bushcraft is not giving up. After weʼve poached, fried, curried and smoked as much fish as we can, we put the BBQ to further use, experimenting with making waffles and donuts, supplemented with wild raspberries and strawberries. Marcus tries out advanced fire-lighting skills with mixed success. He fails to master the wood- friction bow method demonstrated with ease by Mr Mears. But his home-made WOOD GAS STOVE, using two tin cans and a fan is a roaring success. Powered purely by pine cones which the girls scramble to collect, we have the quickest cup of tea for months. In Jotunheim National Park despite having no crampons, outdoor trousers or proper walking boots, Marcus leaves us behind and attempts an ascent on the 2,500 metre high Galdhøpiggen, Norwayʼs highest mountain. He manages just, but it proves somewhat of a challenge. Five hundred metres from the summit he is walking knee-deep in snow wearing shorts and water-logged boots. People openly stop to laugh and point. One shouts, “Ah, true Viking style!” By night we befriend a lovely Belgian family with two teenage sons. Weʼre pretty smooth operators on making auspicious acquaintances now. After spying them struggling to keep their fire going with wet wood, we send Elsie out to offer them a fan and some assistance. A few hours later, the kids are eating marshmallows and weʼre sipping on Belgian beer (which tastes a lot better than the stash of Polish beer we stockpiled before coming into Scandinavia). For the next few days we become travelling companions, stopping off to fish and camp together, navigating down from Kaupanger to Gudvangen on the most intimate, up-close of Norwayʼs fjords, the UNESCO-listed Naeroyfjord. Saying goodbye to the Belgians, we make our way through the eerie boulder strewn mountain pass between Aurland and Laerdal, headed for Gol. Weʼve graduated from dropping in on long lost friends, to targeting friends of friends. Via Facebook Chris Urack puts us in touch with his Norwegian pal Thomas, who very kindly offers us the chance to stay in his mountain cabin. It turns out to be one of those romantic looking tar-stained log cabins, complete with itʼs own sauna. The type weʼd spent weeks gazing upon longingly. They sit squat in the valleys, blending in curtesy of their living, growing, grass rooves. Iʼm amazed and humbled by Thomas and his wife Monaʼs hospitality. Marcus and I joke that itʼs like WWOOFING but without having to do any work. “Weʼve morphed into CHOOFING,” I say. “Chatting on organic farms.” We left Norway behind a week ago and have spent the best part of that on the road, plummeting down through Sweden and across the bridge to Denmark, sighting the flat island of Salthomen and scores of wind farms far out to sea. Copenhagen is a welcome distraction, and for two days we stroll the canals, snack on Danish pastries and visit museums. The girls enjoy exploring “Christiannia” best - a kind of freetown autonomous commune pressed right up against prime real estate. Itʼs a bizarre enclave, of colourful DIY houses where cars are banned and we can zip about on bikes. But the sight of the notorious “Pusher Street”, where cannabis is sold openly in every strain, variety and conceivable form, casts a seedier shadow which we steer them away from. Throughout Denmark and Germany the girls endure long days driving, devising their own playlists on iTunes for us to listen to. Elsieʼs favourite trick is to try and sneak in a rogue track by U2 to really piss Marcus off. We meet a friendly German family in the Rhine Valley where we stop to cycle, sample Bratwurst, sauerkraut and schnitzel. The girls are so desperate for playmates they tend to hurl themselves at other kids, bombarding and climbing all over them. But as we enter back into the familiar territory of France I canʼt help thinking things are different to how they were a year ago. Travel has lit the touch paper on our sense of adventure. Itʼs inspired us to get properly prepared for all weather when we make it back to Wales, and strike out more often into the wilderness. Iʼve learned it is where we are happiest as a family. Iʼve also learned to listen and understand my children better. Just as an experiment, we showed Elsie and Lulu both a Bear Grylls programme on YouTube, letting them see his different approach to survival - all fast-paced fury and revolting edible experiences. Their reactions were polar opposites. We have one die-hard Ray Mears fan, and one would-be Bear Grylls. And thatʼs ok, more than anything since last September Iʼve learned to see these differences and embrace them.