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frodothefair · 1 year ago

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꧁ The Flowers of Mordor ꧂

Chapter 5 - Book Learnin’

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SUMMARY : Sam knows he cannot tear himself in two, but Frodo's struggles after the quest are worsening. Marigold Gamgee gets a job at Bag End, and grows close to its enigmatic master. J. R. R. Tolkien meets Jane Austen meets Tess of the D'Urbervilles. CHAPTER SUMMARY : Marigold confronts Sam about a white lie. Rosie plays the diplomat. Gaffer has opinions about education. PAIRING : Frodo/Marigold Gamgee, Frodo/Sam secondary GENRES : hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn romance, slice of life, girl next door WARNINGS : PTSD, depression, panic attacks, eating disorder, eventual spicy scenes RATING : M

PREVIEW:

That day, Marigold was silent at supper. Not merely quiet, as was her custom in larger groups, but completely, deadly silent. She passed dishes and condiments without a word, and nodded and pretended to have too much in her mouth to answer questions. She all but looked through Sam who sat across from her – and so he knew a storm was brewing, and it was only a matter of time before the cloudburst.

And sure enough, after a few moments of being alone in the kitchen, him dunking the dishes and scrubbing off the remnants of food while she rinsed and wiped, she spoke up in a slow, deliberate tone.

“Samwise Gamgee, could you please tell me something?”

Silence AND his full name.

This was bound to be a tempest.

And sure enough, after a few moments of being alone in the kitchen, him dunking the dishes and scrubbing off the remnants of food while she rinsed and wiped, she up spoke in a slow, deliberate tone.

“Samwise Gamgee, could you please tell me something?”

Silence and his full name.

This was bound to be a tempest.

Sam swallowed, and lowered the dish he was scrubbing. It disappeared under the water with a clink.

“Of course,” he replied. “Leastwise I can try.”

Marigold nodded. She took up the towel and carefully wiped a plate, the cloth creak-creaking over the rim.

“Alright. Here’s what I’d like to know. And mind, you must tell me true. No fibbing.” She put aside the plate.

“Of-of course.”

“Is there a right and a wrong way of spelling things?”

Sam paused with his hand over the soapy water. That’s what she wanted to know? Then why in the Shire —

“Why, of course there is.”

The wet towel, spun into a ropelike shape, came down on his arm, hard.

“Samwise Gamgee, you bloody LIAR!!!”

Sam yelped in pain – the towel had nearly taken a off strip of skin. It had certainly taken off a strip of hair.

“What in the world—?! Mari, what’s gotten into you?!”

He sucked his teeth, backing away and rubbing his injured arm. He had nearly forgotten how dangerous his sisters could be with kitchen implements.

Marigold was twirling the towel at her side, an ominous look in her eyes.

“Nothin’s gotten into me,” she replied through clenched teeth. “ ‘Cept today I learned that I’ve got a rotten, no-good, filthy rat for a brother. You told me ‘it didn’t matter, so long as you got the point across.’ Those were your exact words.”

“What?! When?”

“When we were wee! When you taught me how to write! When Mr. Bilbo taught you!”

Sam clutched his smarting arm, trying feverishly to remember.

“I mean – maybe? I might have said that back then? But look, I –”

“But you what?”

He had started to back away, but Marigold began to advance toward him, so he beat an even hastier retreat and put the table between them.

“Well I – I didn’t want to hurt your feelin’s, is all” – he pleaded, a desperate tone rising in his voice. “You were tryin’ so hard, but you just kept gettin’ it all wrong, time after time, and I didn’t know what to do, so I thought –”

Marigold stopped and tapped her foot, folding her arms – the towel still in hand.

“And I thought, maybe – just maybe it would do to get it right enough, if you get my meanin’. We’re Gamgees, after all.”

He slowed his speech, his eyes darting warily from her face to the towel.

“Gamgees? What does that mean?” Her voice was as stony as her expression.

“Well, you know what I mean,” Sam rejoined, emboldened – if by nothing else then the table between them. “We don’t write letters to everyone we know all day – most folk we know wouldn’t even know how to read letters. And we don’t write books like Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo. That’s just not what we do –”

Marigold lunged to the side, meaning to bring down the wrath of the towel full upon him, but he was fast enough to elude her. He raised his arms with a “whoa” expression, and the towel came down on the rough-cut table, polished smooth by many years of sitters and plates.

“And just who do you think you are to decide that for me?!” she cried. There was a sudden despair, if not tears in her voice. (And Marigold hardly ever wept – she only sulked, or got angry). “I may have wanted to write letters! I did write some things for Mr. Frodo the other day, and – and –”

Ah. Mr. Frodo. Sam might have chuckled.

“And what?” He let a smile slip into his words.

She looked like a child who was about to pout and stamp her foot, but only balled her fists at her sides.

“And – and if I’da known just how important spellin’ was, I would have worked harder at it!” – she wailed. “I wrote some things for him, and I got half of it wrong! Can you imagine?! I can’t tell you now embarrassin’ it was!”

Since Marigold seemed, for a moment, more intent on feeling sorry for herself than angry at him, Sam made a cautious step toward her – though he still kept the table between them.

“Well, better late than never, eh, Mari?” – he tried to inject a cheerful lilt into his tone. “And Mr. Frodo… Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t hold it against you. I mean, to be fair I didn’t expect you to believe it, not for this long. What with all the readin’ you’ve done for Mrs. Bracegirdle, I woulda thought you woulda figured it out for yourself…”

But in expecting Marigold to give up her defenses, even as she spoke of her shame, he could not have been more wrong.

The towel came down on his hand, hard.

“Don’t you put this on me, Samwise Gamgee! Don’t put this on me!”

Sam yelped in dismay, and backed all the way to the wall.

He considered, quite seriously, the option of begging truce – or simply escaping out the door, but was loath to reveal their argument.

Marigold made as if to strike him again, but he was out of reach, so she stamped her foot and took it out on the poor, defenseless wash basin, hitting it hard with her fist.

“You know I was too busy sortin’ out the hip bones from the thigh bones and the ergot from the fenugreek to bother over spellin’! You used to read to me yourself when I got tired!”

Sam sighed.

That much was true. And he did recall that Marigold’s progress through her books had been painfully slow – she had pored over them many a night after the rest of the household had gone to sleep.

He rubbed the side of his head.

“Ugh!” Marigold threw the towel to the ground. “I can’t believe this.”

Sam pressed his lips.

“Well, look, Mari” – he made one last, desperate attempt at conciliation. “I’m sorry. I really am. I shouldna have said what I said – not back then, and not now. But look – I really think you oughtn’t trouble yourself so much with all this. I mean – readin’ and writin’s hard, and there’s no need for everyone to do it well. And Mr. Frodo, well – he’s the kindest soul alive –”

“Yes, that he is,” Marigold retorted, her upper lip curling. “And Mr. Frodo doesn’t think I’m a dunderhead, unlike some people!” She picked the towel off the floor. “He agreed to help me, you know! He thinks I can write proper if I’m taught.”

“Oh, well then –”

“Oy, what’s going on in here?” The Gaffer appeared in the doorway. “I won’t have a rowdy house, not if I’m not the one dolin’ out the discipline!”

But Marigold, having said her piece, spun around and stomped out, and the slamming of a door was all the answer he got.

The Gaffer turned to Sam, who sank down at the table, cradling his head in his hands.

“Forty years an’ three sisters, and I still can’t get on with lasses…”

He, too, made no specific reply to his father.

Rosie appeared in the doorway and tiptoed past the Gaffer, crossing the room on quiet feet and coming up behind her husband. She put her arms around him and pressed a kiss into his hair.

“You get on with me, love, and that’s enough.” She gently rubbed his back.

Sam sighed.

“Let’s hope you don’t have as long a memory as her.”

“Oh, that’s interesting.” Rosie began to rock him back and forth, and raised an eyebrow. “So you think Marigold has a long memory, do you? I wouldn’t have known.”

(The two of them had played dolls when they were little, so of course she knew, but that was quite besides the point).

“I’m curious now” – she added, winking over her shoulder at her father-in-law. “What did you fight about? Was it that time you tied her dress to the tail of a pig and made it run down the hill?”

Sam shook his head, nonplussed.

“No, not that. But apparently I didn’t teach her spellin’ well enough when we were younguns, and she’s gone an’ embarrassed herself with Mr. Frodo.”

His wife’s gentle rocking was rather soothing, and by that point, he cared much less who knew.

“Ohhh, dear.” Rosie clicked her tongue. “And we really shouldn’t go embarrassing ourselves with Mr. Frodo, should we? Because Mr. Frodo judges sooooo harshly…”

The Gaffer shook his head.

He had been chewing on the inside of his cheek, watching the proceedings, and let out a gruff sigh.

“I said it before and I’ll say it again. I knew no good would come of book-learning’.”

He turned on his heel and shuffled out for his evening pipe.

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ao3feed-samfro · 7 months ago

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be as you've always been (lover be good to me)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/DVjPg6v by tigerlilycorinne “You’re the best companion a hobbit could ask for,” Frodo told Sam, because it was true, and because he loved to watch the bashful way Sam would smile and look down whenever he complimented him. “Oh Mr. Frodo,” Sam muttered, looking away. His cheeks were stained pink. A few moments from their journey home, during which Frodo gets sappy and Sam gets flustered about it. Words: 2301, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 8 of AUgust 2024 Short Fic Fandoms: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Traveling, POV Frodo Baggins, just a whole lot of fluff, no beta we die like men, Flustered Sam, Post-Mordor, Post-Quest of the Ring, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, AU-gust | August Writing Challenge read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/DVjPg6v

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee #Samfro

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newberyandchai · 1 year ago

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The Girl Who Drank the Moon (2017)

I have quite a backlog of books to catch up on, so let's get the ones I didn't particularly care for out of the way. (I know; it's surprising me, too.)

The Girl Who Drank the Moon redeemed itself in the end, but as someone who doesn't consume much fantasy, this book suffered from some dialog problems I couldn't get past. Like the perfect hair day with one strand out of place, or the most beautiful painting with one barely noticeable smudge in the corner... as disappointed as I am to admit, what I brought to this reading experience hindered my own enjoyment of the story until the last third or quarter of the book.

A brief plot summary: A town at the edge of a forest "sacrifices" a baby every year to a witch. However, the witch in question has no idea why the townspeople leave a baby in the woods every year at the same time, so she takes the children and delivers them to other towns past the forest so they can be raised in loving families.

In the process of traveling with one particular baby, the witch accidentally feeds her pure moonlight, which gives her uncontrollable magical powers. The witch raises the girl herself and locks away her magic so she can't accidentally hurt anyone, but the girl's magic slowly reveals itself in confusing ways as she approaches her 13th birthday (hello, puberty metaphor!).

Eventually some of the townsfolk discover the reason behind the child sacrifices and learn they're being manipulated by the upper class. Without spoiling anything, a character called the Sorrow Eater is shown over time to be the true villain by maintaining and feeding off the townsfolk's constant despair. In the end, the girl is reunited with her real family, comes into her magical powers, and says goodbye to people (and creatures) she loves to begin a new life.

It's important to note that I read a book by this author a few years ago that I also felt lukewarm about. The best way to describe the author's writing style is fairytale-esque:

“Once upon a time, something terrifying lived in the woods. Or perhaps the woods were terrifying. Or perhaps the whole world is poisoned with wickedness and lies, and it's best to learn that now."

But the main literary sin is — in my unprofessional, unwarranted opinion — the unnatural dialog, namely (pardon the pun) the repetition of character names and terms of endearment.

"Yes, child."

"Hush, boy!"

"I didn’t mean to, darling."

"You will surely forget, Xan."

"Where are we running, uncle?"

"You don't despise anyone, Fyrian."

I've found that fantasy novels tend to do this frequently out of necessity just to remind the audience of everyone's complicated names. In this case, it just feels like shoving in exposition where it isn't needed. Hear me out: repeating a character's name can be an endearing quality that makes them memorable, like Sam Gamgee's "Mr. Frodo," but when done poorly, it's distracting and breaks the reader's immersion.

(Bad movies do a better job of showing how unnatural exposition in dialog can be, I think.)

With that complaint out of the way, I enjoyed how all of the characters' story arcs were brought together in the end and tied in with one another. Everyone's fate was connected, and I felt a strong sense of love at the end that made the path to getting there feel mostly worth it.

I think this is a book I would have loved maybe 20 years ago in 3rd or 4th grade (has it really been that long?), but for now, let's go with a 6/10 and a tentative Recommendable rating.

#the girl who drank the moon #newberymedal #newberyaward #newbery #currently reading #booklr #books #reading #books and reading

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welcome-to-my-bullshitery · 2 years ago

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Things that i've noticed that no one ever talks about in LoTR

This is a huge post by the way so im putting it under a cut

you have been warned

TFotR - Book 1

'A day or two later a rumor (probably started by the knowledgeable SAM) YES. SAMWISE GAMGEE. OUR LITTLE CINNAMON ROLL STARTED A RUMOR. idk it's so funny to me

The entire paragraph about hobbits and gift giving is too ADORABLE.

Bilbo put INSTRUMENTS in PARTY CRACKERS. AND LIKE NEW ONES.

Bilbo calling Gandalf 'an interfering old busybody'

Bilbo: "You'll keep an eye on Frodo, won't you?" Gandalf: "Two eyes as often as I can spare them."

All the gifts Bilbo gave out and they all had meaning AND ITS ADORABLE

Lobelia, to Frodo: "...you're no Baggins - you - you're a Brandybuck!" Frodo: "Did you hear that Merry? That was an insult if you like." Meriadoc (Merry) BRANDYBUCK: "It was a compliment, and so, of course, not true."

Gandalf, shoving his head through Frodo's WINDOW: "If you don't let me in, Frodo, I SHALL BLOW YOUR DOOR RIGHT DOWN YOUR HOLE AND OUT THROUGH THE HILL."

That one Hobbit who had seen Ents IN CHAPTER TWO. HAL. HAL SAW ENTS AND IT WAS MENTIONED IN CHAPTER TWO. TWO.

"Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?" GANDALF. WHAT THE FUCK.

Sam, freaking tf out about just being caught 'dropping eaves' by Gandalf: "DON'T LET HIM HURT ME MR. FRODO!" Frodo, hardly able to keep from laughing: "He won't hurt you."

Sam being all excited about being able to go on the adventure and then he just. bursts into tears. like.

Gildor (AN ELF) calling Frodo ELF FRIEND. ITS TOO CUTE.

Frodo, in elvish: Thanks for the food :). The Elves: HERE IS A JEWEL AMONG HOBBITS

Pippin just flat out saying he didn't want to leave Frodo any food but Sam insisted.

Frodo, about who's taking a bath first: "Eldest or Quickest first? You'll be last either way PIPPIN." GEE

Pippin, talking about Sam: He would jump down a dragons throat to save you, if he did not trip over his own feet." GEE

The ridiculous bath song. And it's Bilbos favorite. Of course it's ridiculous if it was Bilbos favorite.

Gandalf, writing in a letter to Frodo: If he forgets, I shall roast him. Frodo, four seconds later: He deserves roasting.

Sam getting mad at Ferny or someone and throwing an apple at him. AND AFTER IT KNOCKS THE IDIOT FERNY SQUARE IN THE FACE AND HE FALLS DOWN CURSING SAM JUST GOES "Waste of a good apple." AND KEEPS WALKING.

Sam, an intellectual: "What do they live on when they can't get hobbit?" AND REFUSED TO CALL THEM THEIR ACTUAL NAME AND JUST CALLS THEM 'NEEKERBREEKERS' BECAUSE ITS THE SOUND THEY MAKE

They found the trolls from The Hobbit. About the middle of Chapter 12, Flight to the Ford. The whole group thought they were real until they saw they were actually stone.

Frodo, after discovering more about Sam: "He'll end up by becoming a wizard - or a warrior!" Sam: "I don't want to be neither." OF COURSE YOU DON'T YOU JUST WANNA LIVE IN THE SHIRE AND GARDEN ALL YOUR LIFE. OH SAM.

TFotR - Book 2

At the very beginning of chapter 1 - PF COURSE SAM WAS ALWAYS THERE AND OF COURSE HE HAD TO BE TOLD TO GO AWAY AND REST. YOU ADORABLE LITTLE SHIT.

Frodo calling the Big People 'Big and rather stupid' Accurate though.

Sam holding Frodo's hand and then blushing and thEN JUST SAYS 'It's warm! Meaning your hand, Mr. Frodo. It has felt so cold through the long nights!" SAM YOU GAY LITTLE SHIT I LOVE YOU.

Aragorn: Gollum is safely kept by the Elves of Mirkwood. Legolas: *sweats*

Elrond, to Sam: "It is hardly possible to separate you from him (Frodo) even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not!" Sam, blushing (ITS SAYS IT IN THE BOOK THE LAST SENTENCES OF COUNCIL OF ELROND): "A nice pickle we have ourselves in, Mr. Frodo!" Me: Does Samwise is gay? Does SamwISE IS GAY??

Pippin, hasn't even done anything remotely wrong yet: "There must be someone with intelligence in this party!" Gandalf: "Then you most certainly won't be chosen, Peregrin Took!" Pippin: D:

Gimli: "His (Sauruman's) arm has grown long indeed if he can draw snow down from the north to trouble us here three hundred leagues away." Gandalf, channeling his inner sassy bitch(bilbo): "His arm has grown long."

>TBC im not even close to being done yet< ^^

#lord of the rings #lotr #tfotr #the fellowship of the ring #samwise gamgee #frodo baggins #bilbo baggins #gandalf #merry brandybuck #pippin took #aragorn #legolas #gimli #gimli son of gloin

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thegayfigureskatingagenda · 7 months ago

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Aww, thank you @cecebeanie 💜💙

10 characters, 10 fandoms

List your ten favorite characters from ten separate fandoms, then tag ten people.

10 fandoms is going to be hard because my fandoms tend to be long-lasting.

Viktor Nikiforov (Yuri!!! On Ice) - since I discovered YOI, he inspired me to start all over in two areas of my life, he's just precious to me

Hua Cheng (Heaven Official's Blessing) - I wish I was as chill as him and would give a shit about nothing.

Yimir (Attack On Titan) - she's a lesbian, what else is there to say?

Wei Ying (Mo Dao Zu Shi) - I have a soft spot for anti-heroes

Leia Organa (Star Wars) - had a crush on her but didn't realise it until 20 years later

Jut Lung (Banana Fish) - not sure if he's my fave, there just are too many, but he intrigued me

Mr. Spock (Star Trek TOS) - when I was 11/12, I wanted to be like him, he's my autistic role model

B'Elanna Torres (Star Trek Voyager) - always found her cute and I can relate to her Klingon temper

Vin Venture (Mistborn) - super badass misantropic heroine

Samwise Gamgee (Lord of the Rings) - imho the true hero of the books, don't convince me otherwise!

I tag @okamionice @angofwords @cosmiclion and @blonndiec but feel free to ignore this if you don't like ask games.

this post got very long so i'm starting a new one

10 characters, 10 fandoms

list your ten favorite characters from ten separate fandoms, then tag ten people

thanks for the tag @quillsandblades (VIOLET BAUDELAIRE BLORBO OMG I LOVE YOU SM FOR THAT) & @theysangastheyslew (teared up at ron swanson ngl) & @dont-f-with-moogles (can't believe you put yourself in there tssss)

alright, so, in the order i managed to remember them:

Hange Zoë - snk

Root - person of interest

Victor Nikiforov - yuri on ice

Emily Prentiss - criminal minds

Grace Hanson - grace and frankie

Chuuya Nakahara - bsd

Dana Scully - the x files

Brienne of Tarth - got

Regina Mills - ouat

Bernie Wolfe - holby

Mary Crawley - downton (im sorry except not bc she deserved a mention too and i wasn't about to erase any of the others ok!!!)

i'll tag @cecebeanie @nube55 @cosmiclion @bronze-quill

#tag game

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 2 years ago

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To Love a Ranger Chapter 1- Aragorn x OC

Aragorn x Issa

Description: While waiting for Aragorn to return from a scouting mission Issa is caught off guard when Arwen brings a Hobbit to the Valley, and that Hobbit had been stabbed by a Morgul Blade.

Word Count: 1.8k

Issa, though she wasn’t exactly trying to, couldn’t hide her shock when Arwen approached her with a frantic look on her face. Well, that wasn’t what shocked her, it was what she said to her: there was a Hobbit who bore something extremely important that had been gravely injured. While on the way to Rivendell with four other Hobbits and Aragorn in tow, Frodo was attacked by Nazgûls and stabbed with a Morgul Blade. Arwen had sensed the danger and rode her horse to meet and save Frodo, returning him for her father to heal. He had sent his daughter to fetch Issa as he needed her assistance, and the girl wasted no time in heading towards the healing wing of the Last Homely House.

The process lasted for what felt like hours, and it was exhausting. It was nearly dark by the time they managed to stabilize the poor Hobbit, and they left it up to the other healers to make sure he stayed that way. Elrond thanked her with a kind smile before making his way to deal with some other business, leaving Issa alone. With nothing else to do but worry and pray, she leaned against a nearby wall and slid down, finally taking a deep breath. She didn’t stay there for long however before she heard footsteps approaching her quickly. Her head snapped up when she heard her name.

“Issa,” Arwen called, almost breathlessly as she rounded the corner by Issa. The girl was quick to stand and brush her dress to look more presentable as the elf reached her.

“Arwen, what troubles you mellon nin (my friend)?” She questioned concernedly.

“Not troubles me, brings me peace,” she responded, an excited smile appearing on her face. “Aragorn has returned with the Ring Bearer’s friends. They’re walking up the steps as we speak.” Issa immediately jumped to action, her heart soaring as she picked up the skirt of her dress and began running towards the entrance of the house with her friend following closely behind her.

True to Arwen’s words, Aragorn had just reached the top of the stairs of the Last Homely House with three Hobbits in tow. The latter were looking around the entrance in wonder, but looked at Issa when she and Arwen reached them. In an instant Aragorn’s arms were open and Issa stepped into them, hugging him tightly. Once they pulled away, they noticed three pairs of eyes on them, and Aragorn cleared his throat before looking at the Hobbits.

“Gentleman, this is my wife, Issa Goodwin.”

“Future wife,” the woman reminded him playfully, which made him roll his eyes playfully before continuing.

“Issa, these are Masters Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took-”

“You can just call me Merry though,” the boy, Merry, piped up.

“And me Pippin,” said boy added. The girl had to hold back a giggle at the slight exhaustion in Aragorn’s expression at the interruption.

“And that there is Master Samwise Gamgee” he concluded, gesturing to the last unnamed Hobbit.

“You may just call me Sam,” Samwise added softly. “Almost everyone does.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” she responded kindly. “Is everyone okay? Are there any other injuries?” Though she had been talking to all of them, her eyes lingered on Aragorn just a bit longer.

“No, we’re fine,” Samwise spoke nervously. “Is Mr. Frodo okay?” A small, patient smile graced her face as she nodded.

“Yes, Master Baggins is resting in the hospital wing resting at the moment,” she answered, receiving relieved sighs from everyone. “It was lucky that Lady Arwen was there to bring him here immediately. Would you like to go sit with him?” Immediately the Hobbits perked up and nodded eagerly.

“Please,” Samwise answered politely, which made Issa’s smile widen.

“Very well, Lady Arwen here will escort you to his room. Arwen, if you please,” she gestured down the hallways they had just come from. The Elf offered her a smile then a simple nod before rounding the Hobbits up and walking off. Issa watched them until they disappeared around the corner, then faced her fiance.

She wasn’t surprised to see him already looking at her, but she was when he suddenly stepped forward and hugged her again, this time much longer since they no longer had an audience. It wasn’t that Aragorn wasn’t a touchy person, in fact it was quite the opposite. But it was usually her that initiated it. She knew it was one of two things: he knew that she would want to hold him but he beat her to the punch, or he was just genuinely scared about something (which was most likely what happened). It only took her a split second to hug him back, resting her head on his chest.

“I was so worried about you,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear, humming contentedly when his grip tightened around her. “When Arwen told me what happened, I was so scared that you wouldn’t be okay.”

“Doubting my skills now, melethdel (darling)?” He questioned jokingly, effectively lightening the mood and making her breathe out a laugh.

“Aragorn, I know that you’re a skilled Ranger, but it was just you and those Hobbits. I didn’t know what to think.” A small, sympathetic smile appeared on Aragorn’s face as he pulled back to look at her. Issa’s eyes stayed on him as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I would not allow anything to happen to me or the Hobbits, not when I have a beautiful woman patiently awaiting my return home as always.” A blush dusted the girl’s cheeks and she shook her head amusedly.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, mell tulwie veru nîn (My dear future husband),” she retorted amusedly, pulling away from him.

“And yet you’re blushing, melda tulwie indis nîn (My beloved future wife),” he shot back with a cheeky grin, ignoring her protests as he pulled her into his arms yet again. Issa scrunched up her nose playfully before looking up at him.

“You stink, you need a bath,” she quickly diverted.

“Maybe you could help me,” he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Hunc (Pig),” she scoffed playfully, beginning to walk away.

“Issa, you know I was just kidding,” he said quickly, watching her helplessly (obviously not realizing she was jokingly). Rather than face him again, she simply spoke.

“Are you coming or not?” She didn’t say anything nor turn around as she headed to their shared room, knowing that he would follow. And, as usual, he did.

Just ten minutes later Issa had a hot bubble bath prepared for Aragorn, who let out a long, almost relieved sigh upon just looking at it. She had also taken the liberty of making a quick stop at the kitchen for food, not knowing when the last time he ate was. When she returned Aragorn was already undressed and in the soapy tub, his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the lip of it. For a moment she thought he had fallen asleep in the few minutes she was gone, but his eyes opened when he heard her close the bathroom door. A small smile graced his face as she took a seat beside the tub with the food in her lap.

“You are Valinor sent,” he muttered gratefully as he reached out to grab a piece of bread from the plate. She watched as he ate the food she brought, savoring every bite, and she grinned affectionately. After he finished eating he began to bathe himself, and Issa felt the atmosphere change. Not in a bad way per se, but she could immediately tell what he was thinking just by the look on his face. After knowing each other for so long she was able to understand what he was feeling by the subtle expressions on his face and in his mannerisms. She could already tell what made his attitude change: he was thinking about what happened to Frodo on the way to Rivendell.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” She inquired after a minute. The man in front of her shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to meet her eye and instead tried to busy himself by focusing on scrubbing the grime off his arms.

“There’s not much to say,” he answered. “We were too slow in our journey and Frodo was forced to pay the price for it.”

“Aragorn,” Issa called softly, resting her hand over the one that held his rag, which made him pause and finally look at her. “You did the best that you could, my love.”

“I left them alone,” he muttered, sounding guilt-ridden about it. “Without protection at that. They had no idea how to use a sword, it wasn’t fair to do that to them.”

“You weren’t expecting an attack, people make mistakes like that all the time,” she shot back. “There’s nothing wrong with that. And guess what? Because you were quick in thinking and you got back to them in time, you stalled long enough for Arwen to get to you and the Hobbits. If it weren’t for you, Frodo would be a Ring Wraith or worse, dead.” Her words comforted him a bit, and he finally conceded with a nod.

“If you say so, melethdel (darling).” Issa smiled triumphantly, which brought another smile to Aragorn’s face as she stood.

“Now, you finish washing up while I take this back to the kitchen,” she gestured to the plate now in her hands once again. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

“Yes ma’am,” Aragorn chuckled, which made her roll her eyes playfully as she walked out of the bathroom. It didn’t take her long to run to the kitchen and wash the dishes (because she always liked doing her part around the house), yet when she returned to their room again Aragorn was already out of the tub and in more comfortable clothes. He was already in bed, laying on top of the covers. For a moment Issa thought yet again that he had fallen asleep, but then, without opening his eyes, he reached his arms out for her.

“Lay with me?” It sounded more like a question, and Issa was happy to answer it by doing as he asked. She settled into his embrace and allowed him to hold her, something that helped him ground himself after a difficult mission.

“Lord Elrond is hosting a council once Frodo wakes up,” he mentioned softly after a moment. “He’s already sent out letters to Mirkwood, Gondor and the Lonely Mountains and they’ll be joining. He wants both of us there.”

“We can worry about that when Frodo wakes up,” she brushed off as her eyes began to fall closed. “Right now I just want to spend time with you and focus on you.” Aragorn’s chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle and his grip around her tightened just a bit.

“As my love wishes,” he responded simply, pulling her closer to him as they melted in each other’s embrace for the night.

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr imagine #aragorn #aragorn imagine #aragorn x oc

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offtorivendell · 3 years ago

Text

A Long-Expected Party: Part I, The Fellowship of the Fling

Otherwise known as Elain's Eleventy-First Birthday Bash

This was written for @nikethestatue, and inspired by our joint love of anything The Lord of the Rings and Elriel, with a side of my own experience in throwing a surprise 21st for a loved one.

Read it on AO3, if you'd prefer.

Credit:

My endless gratitude goes out to the amazing @gopeachllama for being my beta.

Thank you to the lovely @wingedblooms for naming Elain's dagger.

The orphanage that Elain volunteers at was inspired by @nikethestatue 's own wonderful, ongoing multi-chapter fic, Of Fawns and Shadows.

The first part of the prologue was heavily inspired by the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring, and other easter eggs are included throughout the rest of the fic (all chapters).

'Andwise' was the name of Samwise Gamgee's uncle.

Parts II and III to come.

Disclaimer: based on the characters and world owned by SJM, with a splash of Tolkien.

Trigger warnings: language, discussion of non-canon death of a character.

PROLOGUE

When Mr. Azriel Archeron, Shadowsinger and Spymaster to the Night Court (as well as Prince of the Court of Nightmares) quietly announced that he and his wife would shortly be celebrating her eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement around the land. None of it within earshot of the birthday-fae herself, though, as everyone understood that Azriel and his family intended to surprise Elain with a night she would never forget.

Elain was very kind and very friendly, if a little peculiar in her choice of husband, and had become beloved by the people of Velaris, the Court of Nightmares, and Rosehall’s local village alike over the last eighty odd years, ever since the remarkable events that surrounded her being turned from a human into a High Fae, and the two resulting wars, became known. Not the whole story (never that), but enough that she, along with Feyre and Nesta, had become a local legend, and it was popularly believed that the three Archeron sisters, all now faeries, were blessed. And if that was not enough for fame, there was also her unnervingly accurate visions--touched by the Mother, was the whispered conclusion--not to mention her incredible healing magic and skill with potions; those whom she treated often marvelled that it was as if they had ‘been reborn.’

There were some who shook their heads and thought that this was too much of a good thing; it seemed unfair that any one faerie should possess (apparently) perpetual goodness and a (reputedly) inexhaustible healing power. Others, though, believed that Elain, who was generous with both her time and magic, helping with community gardens and baking for local charities in addition to her duties as a member of the High Family, along with her sisters, to be one of the best things to happen to the Night Court in many a century.

***

Long before Nesta had decided to celebrate her own one hundred and eleventh birthday, over a year earlier, all three Archeron sisters had learnt that the milestone was akin to a human's twenty-first birthday, which both Nesta and Elain had neglected to mark, as their means at the time had not extended to a Sunday roast, let alone something so grand and frivolous as a birthday party. Elain hadn't even had real flowers when she turned twenty-one, as the harsh January weather had made any attempts to grow or procure them either impossible, or outlandishly expensive. The closest she had ever come to flowers for her birthday were the seeds that Feyre would gift her when she could, often bought the year before and hidden away, or wooden figurines that her father had carved for her when he'd had the inclination.

Suffice it to say that Azriel, on learning his wife--for that is what Elain insisted on being called, no matter that they were also carranam--had missed her true twenty-first birthday out of necessity rather than desire, went straight to her sisters the next chance he got, followed by her two closest friends, and began planning a party for their nearest and dearest, that ended up expanding in scope to include their local town, and friends far and wide. He knew he couldn’t change the past, but he could make up for the lost experience, if nothing else.

After all, Azriel thought, Elain, who baked and cooked and prepared gardens for everyone else's major life events, surely deserved such an experience for herself.

PART I - The Fellowship of the Fling

Being the year of Nesta Archeron’s 111th birthday; approximately 85 years after the defeat of the Death Lord Koschei, which heralded the Third Age of Prythian, otherwise known as the Age of Harmony (between faeries and humans).

Nesta's good friend and fellow Valkyrie, Emerie, had once asked, decades earlier, whether Elain and Nesta would each have a seventy-fifth birthday celebration (the age at which the High Fae, at least, were considered 'mature') but the Archeron sisters had been adamant that it would be strange to celebrate a milestone that they had technically passed long before being turned. So, in order to ascertain whether or not Elain would view the High Fae version of a human’s twenty-first birthday in the same light, Azriel first sought out the opinions of her sisters.

It had been nigh on impossible to see Feyre or Nesta absent Elain for the month before Nesta’s celebration so, fortuitously spying his wife’s sisters getting in some light sparring at the training pit on top of the House of Wind the morning after Nesta’s own party, Azriel gently banked, letting his wings stretch wide; the coastal currents caught the powerful membranes, making them sing, as he coasted in to land cleanly at the edge of the ring, shadows trailing in his wake.

Feyre and Nesta had both come a long, long way from their initial lessons in the art of swordplay and, after waving at them to continue to the end of the bout, Az spent the next quarter of an hour listening to the metallic sting of clashing swords as they broke through the up-beat orchestral music that flowed from Nesta’s symphonia, enjoying the lightly briny air, and appreciating the fluidity of the sisters' movements, their skills with the Illyrian long swords that they wielded with ease, using a weathered warrior's keen eye.

When the two steely blue-eyed Archerons finally parted, panting only a little after running through drills, and then a mock battle, to clear the cobwebs of Nesta’s party the night before, Azriel stepped forward into the early morning light, shadows brightening around his shoulders.

"Nice moves you've got there," he quipped with a small smile. "Your teachers must be very proud."

Feyre grinned back, eyes bright with mirth, while Nesta simply snorted--his shadows skittering at the sound--and tapped her symphonia to silence it.

Az had slowly realised that, ever since Elain had chosen him, and he'd allowed her into his world, he was actually comfortable showing more of himself around his family than he had ever been before. He was still a male of few words, as was his nature, but Azriel much preferred this current, relative ease to his closed-off self of almost a century ago.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Nesta responded, monitoring him as closely as she did everyone. The corner of her mouth curling upward was his only warning before she continued, "I would have thought that you and Elain would not be making an appearance until much later today, the way you two were carrying on, out on the balcony last night."

Azriel stilled, shadows writhing against his control as he reigned them in; his cheeks reddened as he found, to his dismay, that he could not blame the harsh wind that usually raged around the training pit at this time of year, for it was unusually absent this morning.

Nesta chuckled, and Feyre outright guffawed.

"Thought no one could see you, hmm? Well, we did. Didn't your friends there let you know?" She gestured at the traitors currently peeking out from behind his shoulders.

His mask now firmly in place, Azriel still cringed internally. They had tried to tell him something, but after he'd ordered them to only interrupt him if something was drastically the matter, they had quietened down, then disappeared once more. He had quickly forgotten them once he resumed his enthusiastic ministrations of Elain’s velvet-soft neck.

Coughing lightly, he decided that simply changing the subject was his best bet. He was used to his brothers' good-natured teasing, but it was still a little odd coming from his two sisters-in-law. Nesta in particular, he found, didn't hold back.

"I was actually here with a question, if I can have a minute or so of your time?"

"Of course," Feyre said, shading her eyes with a lightly callused hand. "I could do with a drink of water. What do you need?"

"Well, it's about Elain--nothing is wrong!" He changed tactics quickly, when both sisters snapped their eyes to his. "I simply needed your opinions on something, both as her sisters, as well as the only other two people to have begun life as humans, before becoming High Fae as adults. Your notion of time, and the significance of its passing, will be closer to hers than mine ever will be."

Nesta’s blue eyes softened, while Feyre’s gaze became curious.

"Spit it out, Az. It can't be that bad."

"It's not, at all." Azriel sighed. "I've just been thinking, recently, about Elain's one hundred and eleventh birthday. I want to surprise her and throw her the party she never had for her twenty-first as a human, the one she deserves, but I don't even know if she'd want it." His eyes slid to Nesta as he continued, "I know that neither of you were interested in throwing the traditional seventy-fifth birthday celebration that the High Fae use, given you had been considered 'of age' for years when you were Made, but you chose to celebrate your one hundred and eleventh birthday last night, even though you were nearing twenty-four when you became High Fae." He paused, not wanting to stir up any bad memories. "Why was that? And do you think Elain would want to celebrate her birthday, when it comes?

Nesta hummed softly, tapping her fingers against the sheathed blade at her hip. "I can't say with complete certainty but, to most humans, a twenty-first birthday is not the same as an eighteenth."

Az arched an eyebrow, and she continued. "At eighteen we are--were--considered adults, but according to an ancient human civilisation, from the Continent, I think, twenty-one was a sacred number, because it signified the point at which a person had completed three of their ten stages of life. Really, though, it's become more of a celebration of the person themself, where friends and family share anecdotes, eat good food and dance the night away. As we did last night." She paused. "Come to think of it, why is one hundred and eleven years significant to the High Fae?"

Azriel blinked. It wasn't often that someone caught him off guard, but Nesta, with a thirst for knowledge only rivalled by Elain and Rhys, was one of those who ranked more likely to accomplish the task. "You know what? I'm not sure if it's based upon a similar principle, or something completely different." He caught himself frowning just in time to clear his expression. "Illyrians don't share the custom, so I'd have to report back to you on that."

Feyre finished her second cup of water, then looked to the sun. Az knew her talents, honed during the years she had hunted to provide for her family, extended to being able to tell the time to within ten minutes of accuracy without a clock, as long as she had a decent view of the sky. It was an impressive skill, even for a member of the High Fae.

"I think she'd love a celebration with her friends and family." She nodded to her eldest sister, "As Nesta said, we would simply be celebrating her, not an irrelevant milestone."

Azriel nodded, the shadows at his shoulders and elbows brightening at his relief. He'd assumed as much himself, but hadn't wanted to risk proving the truth of the famous old adage in the worst possible way. Hurting Elain was always the last thing he ever wanted to do.

"Thank you both. I'll let you get back to it."

Feyre grimaced. "I'm done for the morning, actually. Rhys and I will be spending the day planning Nyx’s increased role in the running of the Night Court."

Az grinned knowingly, as she continued, "He's got a good head on his shoulders, but he'd much rather be running drills and missions in the middle of nowhere with his squad. Which is fine, of course, and Lord Devlon and Cass agree that he's showing great promise--Devlon only grudgingly, obviously--but he needs to know more. Astrid is now studying education, she has grand plans of opening publicly funded schools across the Night Court, and she's only eighty-two. Nyx is coming up to eighty-five; he needs to learn how our Court runs, beyond his beloved Illyrian Mountains."

They were all proud of Nyx, their entire family. Azriel, though he might still have lingering reservations about the people from which he came, had to acknowledge the strides that Cassian, Emerie and Nyx had made in providing equitable access to opportunities for all Illyrians, high-born, females and bastards alike, especially since the Valkyries had permanently relocated their training facilities to a camp just outside Windhaven, much to Devlon's dismay. It had allowed Emerie to reclaim her place in her society, and work from there. It also didn't hurt that Azriel would never forget the moment Devlon had realised that ‘the witch’ would be living in the next valley over, his reaction to the news so comical that Rhys had even commented that the wind would change, and leave him permanently stuck ‘looking like he'd fallen face first into a pile of pegasus shit’ if he wasn’t careful.

Adjusting his wings in preparation for flight, letting them get a feel for the still-gentle air currents wending their way around the ring, Az reminded Elain’s sisters that the party was meant to be a surprise, bid farewell to Nesta, who would be heading back to Illyria with Cassian later that evening, and gave Feyre a quick wave before he strode over to the precipice and threw himself into the morning sky.

Free-falling, shadows streaming behind him like a comet's tail, he snapped his wings open at last and began to regain altitude. Elain hated it when he did that, claiming that the thought of his wings cramping up made her sick with worry during the initial plummet--not that he'd ever done it with her in his arms…well, not more than once, and not from a very tall height at that--but it felt good, to test himself against the self-preservation instincts that he had never quite completely shaken, learning to fly as late as he had. Elain knew this, but still she tightened her lips and went white as death if she saw the display, and embraced him for a little longer than usual the next time she could.

Around fifty years ago, when they had all been holidaying at the cabin one summer, having left Azriel's mother in charge of all their littles--her own grandchildren and 'bonus grandkids' alike--a series of bets between Rhys, Cass and himself had escalated to the point where they had been playing a game they called ‘wings-out chicken’ from the nearest overhang of considerable height. Feyre had realised what was happening, and winnowed herself and Nesta in to watch from the opposite peak, while Elain had used their shadows to join them in witnessing the spectacle. That evening had been… extra enjoyable, to say the least. The complaints from Rhys and Cassian the next morning had left him smug for the rest of the week; the fact that Elain's pretty flush would spread as far down as her chest whenever someone whispered ‘wings-out’ within her earshot ever since was an added bonus.

Like her sisters, Elain had also come a long way from her rigid, stifled upbringing, casting aside her certainty that she had to prove to her mother that she was the perfect lady, even to the grave, but as he could attest himself, old habits die hard; he understood lingering hang-ups. While Elain might not actually care as she used to, she couldn’t help the ingrained reaction. In any case, Az didn’t mind that his wife was a blusher; it had never affected her work on assignments, she looked gorgeous while doing so, and he did love to tease her.

Banking to aim for the River House, where his scheduled weekly meeting with Nuala and Cerridwen took place, Azriel inhaled the fresh coastal air and flew.

***

The aroma of freshly baked bread drifted out of the open windows to greet Az, dancing with the herbal scents from the kitchen garden that Elain still tended for her sister’s household, to create a veritable melody for his senses as he landed silently in the courtyard behind the River House. He could hear a trio of familiar voices inside, Elain and the half wraith twins, as he hurried through the door on cat-soft feet.

Cerridwen was facing the entrance as he appeared, shadows gracing her sides but, accomplished spy that she was, she showed no sign of acknowledging his presence on her face.

No knives, his shadows whispered to him. Only bread. Nuala is in adjoining room. It was safe to proceed, so he stepped forth, silently. Elain, with her back to him, turned a little the second before he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You're off your game, Husband." She chuckled. "Time was, you wouldn't have let me smell you until it was too late."

He grinned into her hair, "Morning, you two."

Cerridwen simply rolled her eyes at him and joined Nuala in the butler's pantry. He’d seek them out later; he was running early, anyway.

He looked down at Elain over her shoulder, as she finished sorting the last of the still-warm bap rolls onto the trays she used to transport them to the local orphanage for Sunday lunches, then pressed herself back into his chest. He felt her relax into him, her upright posture softening to complement his form.

"You've already seen me this morning. Or had you forgotten, in your dotage?" Feigning concern, she hummed. "Maybe it's time to speak to Madja about a nursing home? Our children have barely flown the nest, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to care for another so soon."

Az laughed at that, deep and joyful, and Elain joined in after a beat, turning into him for what she called a ‘proper hug.’ He squeezed her right back, inhaling her scent of jasmine and honey, letting it settle over him like a comforting blanket. He didn't care that they weren't mates, their carranam bond ran deeper than he could ever have imagined, and he could not conceive of loving or needing anyone more than he did Elain. For the two of them, at least, a mating bond would simply be superfluous.

"Feyre dobbed you in."

"Hmm? Oh," he chuckled into the top of her head, catching up. "That was quick. How will you ‘punish’ me this time?"

Right on cue, a deep pink dusted Elain’s cheeks. “Stop it, you.”

Azriel grinned wickedly, “Make me.” A tea towel playfully slapped his thigh in response, so he tightened his grip around her arms. “Not good enough, Archeron. You call that a slap?”

“Let go of me, Mister Archeron. Give me back the use of my arms, and I’ll make you regret those words. You know I will.” Her voice was firm, challenge issued.

It was true. Elain could defend herself with fists and dagger if she must--she carried her own around, a pair to his Truth-Teller, named Sooth-Sayer--but her true skill lay in utilising anything she could find in a kitchen; she could wield a tea towel with unnatural speed and accuracy. It was almost uncanny.

Azriel thought it the most appropriate thing in the world.

“Maybe later,” Azriel whispered, voice low as his hands slid from her arms to the curves of her hips and gripped, just a little harder than was strictly polite; he wasn’t above using his wiles to get what he wanted. He chuckled softly as Elain shuddered in response.

“Speaking of children,” he wondered, “Have our own headed back to their respective holes yet this morning? Or do I actually get to say ‘goodbye’ to them this time?”

Their eldest two, Androsace and Andwise, dark-haired, brown-eyed twins who had graced them with their unanticipated presence less than a year after the war with Hybern finally ended, were off completing courses to further their studies in modern healing techniques; primarily in the Dawn Court, but also wherever they were needed. Androsace, known to her family as Rosa, while possessed of strong healing magic, had chosen to specialise in pharmaceuticals, at least for the moment, and was studying under Nuan, the brilliantly-minded fae he had met shortly after Elain and Nesta were turned. Andwise, or Andy, with a magical strength to match his sister, found he had a natural hand for surgery, and had even taken classes from Dawn’s High Lord Thesan himself. Given the number of toys and gadgets that he had taken apart as a child, this particular skill did not surprise either of his once-exhausted parents. Neither twin had wings, though both had developed their own shadows at around ten years of age--curiously, though, the twins’ shadows were much lighter than Azriel’s ever were. Having grown up with more opportunity than Azriel, they had opted to stay out of their father’s profession, to which news he had been both secretly and massively relieved. He knew they would likely see battlefields as healers, and had ensured that, like their mother, they could defend themselves as required--Rosa in particular had a mean right hook, and Andy was incredibly creative with his shadows--but to not have to worry about them every day was a blessing.

Approximately eight years after they had had their twins, Elain had come across a pair of Illyrian siblings, newly arrived in Velaris’ orphanage, where she had been volunteering since the war against Hybern. Their father had been lost in the final battle against Koschei, and their mother had struggled to provide for them by herself, eventually passing on from a nasty, consumption-like illness--or so Elain had been told. The ten year old boy, Archer, had opted to stay with his eight year old sister, Aerides, or Aeri, out of loyalty, rather than stay in training. He had been heartbroken over the loss of his training, in addition to the death of his remaining parent, but his conscience hadn’t let him abandon her; he was very much like Cassian, in that regard. Knowing their chances of being adopted in Velaris were reduced, due to both age and, sadly, the still prevalent prejudice that existed against Illyrians at the time, and having started to bond with sweet little Aerides almost immediately, Elain had told Azriel that they were coming home with them as soon as possible, and that was that.

After a year at home with the Archerons, Archer--who still wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at his newly granted surname seventy odd years later, though he hadn’t had one before--had quietly asked to resume his warrior training, wishing to honour his birth father, and finally feeling comfortable enough to leave Aeri in her new home. Archer now had three siphons, and flew in Nyx’s squad as a bowman, the two firm friends, and Aeri had developed a love and talent for baking so strong that she had been accepted into the Winter Court’s prestigious Academy of the Baking Arts, to train as a pâtissier.

Ice-cold fear had torn at Azriel, to let one of his children go so far, especially one of the two who couldn't winnow in any capacity, or wanted anything to do with a warrior’s training past basic self-defence, but the Winter Court had always been stable, excepting the years of Amarantha's reign; Elain, while sad to see Aeri go, had given Azriel a very pointed look and told him he was stifling her. Knowing Elain’s personal history as intimately as he did, this was the last thing he wanted to do to one of his own daughters, so he had simply asked her if she'd consider taking a shadow for emergencies. In true Aeri fashion, however, she had soon discovered that the shadow liked to be worn as a necklace, instead of being left at home or in her satchel, the curious being even going so far as to change decorative charms on its own whim...and so ‘Jewel’ had earnt its name.

Finally, when Archer was twenty-two years old--having just been granted the first of his three siphons--and the twins and Aeri twenty, Elain had discovered, to their joy, that she was pregnant again. Azriel never knew how much of their lives Elain had foreseen, but he didn't ask her to share details, knowing that not only would she always warn them of any emergencies she Saw, but that she also wanted as 'normal' a life as possible. The next spring they had welcomed another daughter, Asphodel, or Della. Unlike the twins, who had primarily inherited their mother’s gift for healing, Della’s magic was pure shadow. She wasn’t as powerful as Azriel, though he suspected it was only a matter of time, as her strength still grew with each passing decade; like Rosa and Andy, her shadows were also brighter than his, though at that time he still could not have told anybody precisely why this was, had they asked (after decades of thought, he had come to the tentative conclusion that Elain’s light had combined with his shadows to create whatever magic it was that had blessed their children). Della had also been born with wings, though, luckily, Elain hadn’t needed any assistance during her birth. They had joked, after her easy pregnancy with Androsace and Andwise, who had turned out to both be...generously-proportioned babes, that Elain was blessed by the Mother herself, but after Asphodel and her wings had been born without any issue at all, their jokes became more like reverent praise. True to her adventurous nature, Della had flitted around between dreams, sampling as much of life as she could. When she was in her fifties, after achieving a well-rounded education, even if none of it was specifically vocational, she had finally spoken to Nesta about becoming a Valkyrie. Now in her early sixties, she was a fully fledged Valkyrie, who also worked as a junior agent in the Night Court’s intelligence program.

After his earlier relief at the twins staying out of his chosen-for-him field, Azriel had felt like it was some sort of peculiarly nasty cosmic joke at his expense. That being said, once Della decided on a course of action with her whole heart, there was never any changing her mind. So, with a father’s innate desire to protect balanced by the knowledge he couldn’t do so forever, he had taken her under his wing (pun absolutely intended, thank you very much, his children groaned every time he used it) and given her the best grounding that he could in training her shadows in communication, self-defence and winnowing at a second’s notice, as well as a battery of highly intricate flying maneuvers that her smaller wingspan allowed her to complete with more ease than he and his brothers had ever managed.

Elain chuckled, bringing him back to the present as she shook her head. “All five of them are at Rosehall with Mama; they’ll scatter to the four winds tomorrow morning, according to Aeri. Della will winnow her back to Winter, before she collects Archer and goes with him to Windhaven and the Valkyrie camp.”

“Excellent. Family dinner tonight, then?”

“That’s the plan, Mama already knows to expect us at six o'clock, barring any emergencies.” Azriel loved that Elain was close enough with his mother to use his pet name for her. He knew her own hadn’t been kind to her--to any of the sisters, for different reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom--but she had come to love Azriel’s own mother almost immediately, just as his Mama had with her.

“Now, I’ll give you my report on the firm tomorrow morning, as we planned. I have to get this bread over to the orphanage for lunch before I check on my next batch of potions, and it’s already almost nine. If I’m not careful, it’ll be ten o’clock before I know it and I still won’t have moved an inch.”

After the war against Koschei, and learning that she and Nesta both had the unique ability to unMake mating bonds, Elain had started up a new branch of the Night Court’s intelligence operations that aimed to help any fae who didn't want to accept, or remain in, their own bond, to escape to the Night Court where she and Nesta would unMake the bonds if they wished, or they would be offered sanctuary in a facility similar to the library that had helped Nesta so much. It had taken two decades to see any regular work, and even then, not many faeries felt comfortable contacting them, given the ingrained nature of the mating bond in their culture, but Elain and Lucien, who had both felt trapped in their own bond, but were now good friends, kept an eye out for fae in need wherever they went. Lucien travelled far and wide in his role as part-time emissary and heir apparent of the Day Court, as well as consort to Vassa, to whom he'd tied his life in order to save her from Koschei and his curse. After Tamlin’s death, Vassa, together with Lucien, ruled over the now-combined Spring Court and human lands, which had since become a home for all exiles, not to mention a mecca to those from the Continent, who wanted to see what Vassa and Lucien had done to make their veritable melting pot bubble along happily, rather than boil over.

Luckily, Lucien’s true father, Helion, was still in high health, with a powerful grip on his land, though neither Elain nor Azriel envied Lucien his loyalty to so many Courts, or the decision that he'd likely face when the time eventually came; they were both impressed with his ability to keep on top of everything as it was.

Elain herself went on biannual visits to the Continent, both in her capacity as Princess of the Hewn City and one of the Night Court’s own emissaries. Her unassuming nature and innate charm made her the perfect agent to gather intel in plain sight, as no one, especially in such strongly patriarchal societies, suspected the pretty, beguiling female to possess such a keen eye or sharp mind, let alone the gumption to put those skills to use; she was also a frequent visitor to local temples, letting it be known that she had become quite devout in her worship of the Mother, so her meetings with any fleeing faeries, and the priestesses who helped them out, didn't draw much attention to their underground operation. Keeping it a secret was safest for everyone involved.

It went without saying, though, that he was so, so proud of his incredible wife…which was another card they kept hidden up their shared sleeve. Their carranam bond was known only by their family and most trusted friends, with Azriel and Elain simply calling each other 'husband' and 'wife,' so her ability to use his shadows in her work gave her an upper hand that no one on the Continent yet suspected. The thought always made him smile; he had never contemplated sharing his magic, or expected doing so to feel quite so personal, so much so that he would not have wanted this bond with any other.

Unable to resist, Azriel caressed her curves once more, one hand going to the dip of her waist, the other finding her bottom and giving it a good squeeze while he ran his nose down her neck, inhaling deeply. “Oh, my dear wife, I think I could get you to move by more than an inch.”

Elain shuddered lightly, but in the end she only sighed, placing her hands on his chest as she tipped her head back to look up at him. “It’s a wonder I can get anything done, living with you.”

He bent down to let her kiss him, while she rose up to the tips of her toes to meet him halfway, before taking a step back.

“I really do have to get these rolls to the orphanage well before lunch. Children are more demanding customers than High Lords--you should know this.”

Azriel smiled softly. “Do you need any help?”

She gestured to the shadow who had taken to following her around during the war against Koschei, when he had discovered she was pregnant, but had then absolutely refused to stand by while her family fought for their lives. “I have my assistant, this friendly little creature will get me there in no time.”

“Over eighty years have passed and you still insist on anthropomorphising my shadows,” Azriel cried in mock outrage, hands in the air. "I blame you for giving Aeri the idea to name hers, for Cauldron’s sake."

Elain simply gave him her sweetest smile and, knowing his penchant for baked goods, a fresh bap roll off the top of her tray, before she walked through the door. Heading outside, beyond the wards Rhys had set to prevent anyone but him and Feyre from winnowing directly to or from the River House, she turned at the last minute and called through the still-open window, "See you tonight at Rosehall, my love!" She laughed, “Oh, and don’t forget to bring a tea towel. I’ll have my own at the ready.”

Before long, her shadow grew to envelope her entirely, and she disappeared from view.

***

Nuala and Cerridwen, compassionate friends and employees that they were, gave Azriel ten minutes to enjoy his freshly baked bread with some freshly churned spring butter and leftover bramble jam, before they came back into the kitchen to report as the clock chimed the ninth hour of the morning.

In this time of relative peace, with all seven High Lords working together for the good of Prythian, their workload was much reduced. He could only be glad of it, but they still liked to stay up to date. It had helped them to waylay more than a couple of minor issues over the years, that would have undoubtedly snowballed into catastrophes, if they’d missed them, or let them continue unchecked.

As Azriel wiped the crumbs from the stubble he hadn’t yet shaved this morning, the twins waved him towards their office, hidden behind a false, built-in baker’s rack at the rear of the kitchen. Feyre and Rhys, both well aware that magic couldn’t always save them--that it could, in fact, be used against them--had designed the River House to have more than one secret room or corridor, in case of an emergency. It had only made sense that Nuala and Cerridwen, who, to the outside world, were simply members of their household staff, but in reality were so much more, had claimed this room for their own.

“Spymaster,” they said at once, their midnight eyes twinkling, smiles carefully serene, with voices like the soft light of dusk. “We don’t have much news this morning.”

It had taken their friendship with Elain, and her subsequent relationship with Azriel, for Nuala and Cerridwen to finally stop calling him ‘Lord.’ It had always irked him, because he was no such thing and had never felt worthy of the title, but he had eventually given up hope that his attempts to get them to use his name would be fruitful. However, after Mor had become involved with the Valkyries, vacating her role at the Court of Nightmares in favour of a job that allowed her the freedom to stretch her figurative wings and travel, and Azriel and Elain had been appointed as overseers in her place, they had taken to, when they felt the occasion called, dubbing him ‘Prince Azriel’ with great alacrity.

He knew that they loved to play up their bond as identical twins, often dressing such that their appearances were as indistinguishable as their scents, and speaking in perfect concert with each other. This not only made them more successful as spies, as strangers often didn’t realise that there were more than one of them, but was one of their favourite ways to have fun with people; they both had wicked senses of humour and, to be fair, it was good to keep those skills polished, even in times of peace.

“Nothing out of Vallahan yet?”

“No, Azriel, nothing,” responded Nuala, while Cerridwen’s face remained still. Shadows blurred their edges, their forms halfway to fully noncorporeal, as they often did when the shadow wraiths let their frustration show--mingling between the two of them, comforting each other, almost as if they were becoming the one entity. It was fitting, really, given their innate ability to function as such, and one of the many reasons that he and Rhys valued them so highly as spies and agents. Nu and Cerr were supremely smart, observant, and skilled in all they did.

Az hummed his annoyance at the kingdom of Vallahan. It had sided with Koschei’s forces during the most recent war, and none of the Prythian Courts had made much headway with forming treaties or alliances in the years since. Elain and Mor managed to calm them down when their monarchs started one of their decennial tantrums for more land, for which they were about due again, but nothing firm. Nothing concrete, to bind their nations in a much-needed peace.

Unlike Montesere, their neighbour to the southwest, Vallahan’s ruling class was as inhospitable as their ragged, mostly mountainous country. Montesere had tried to avoid war at all cost, essentially playing each side off the other, which had ended with a dead queen, her king consort in exile and a princess stepping up to the top job with the goal of building bridges with her neighbours. This forward-thinking attitude, combined with Montesere’s more arable lands and warmer climate, meant that they were no longer considered an imminent threat--though they would keep a close eye on them for at least another century.

It wasn’t ideal, but--“Fine. Mor will be heading back there for a fortnight next week, so we’ll brief her before she goes. Until then, our local agents will let us know if anything urgent requires attention.”

Mor would likely be having coffee and cake with Cassian this morning, at their favourite Velaris café, before she winnowed back to the home she shared part time with their ally Viviane’s sister, Tria, in the Winter Court, and Cassian left for Windhaven. He’d have to make sure he saw her when he and Elain went to visit Aerides later in the week, to enjoy the drinking chocolate that had become popular in the last couple of decades. Mor often joined them for such outings, anyway. She and Elain both delighted in the curiously clever creatures that dwelt in the Winter Court, as well as the fashions, and the generally cosy atmosphere of their buildings and people, so at odds with their surroundings.

Rubbing his face with both hands, he sighed. He hadn’t had his coffee this morning, and last night, however enjoyable, was catching up with him. Ever since he’d started sleeping properly, he’d become more attentive to his fatigue; while he could still function on insufficient sleep if he must, he would never enjoy it. Not that he had thought it ideal back then, to be fair, but the difference now was like night and day.

“Anything else pressing, or is it all in your reports?”

“The paperwork covers everything you need to know.” Cerridwen raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, “It looks like you need a nap. Did you not get much sleep last night?” Cultivated innocence dripped from every syllable.

Nuala snorted, knowing full well what her sister meant. The twins had been guests at Nesta’s party, bringing their own partners with them to make merry at the gorgeously appointed ball, their services as agents not required last night, though of course they would always be watching.

Az scowled, the shadows wreathing his shoulders darkening, spreading to his neck and down his arms. They must have already teased Elain this morning, if he was only getting the mild version. “I slept like any male would when he’s next to someone as beautiful as Elain.”

The twins groaned as one, with much enthusiasm; if he had heard correctly, there may even have been some booing. Nuala threw a pen at him, and exclaimed “Out! Now. We don’t get paid nearly enough to put up with that nonsense, and you know we get paid a lot.”

That was fair, maybe he had overdone the ‘husband in love’ routine, just a little bit. He let a soft smirk grace his features just as he remembered he had so far neglected to ask about Elain’s future birthday.

Mother above, he needed some coffee.

Azriel sketched a bow. “Duly noted. I’ll make sure to have Rhysand adjust your winter bonuses accordingly, to allow for such an egregious oversight on my behalf.” Scratching his chin, he then continued, “I do have a question for you both, though; and not work related.”

Eyes bright with curiosity, Nu hummed in acknowledgement, while Cerr motioned with one hand for Azriel to continue with her usual grace.

"As you know, Nesta just celebrated her eleventy-first birthday and, after speaking with her and Feyre earlier this morning, I’ve decided I would very much like to hold such a party for Elain, when she turns one hundred and eleven." He paused, considering. "This would be a surprise for her, but I think a gathering of friends and family, celebrating her, showing her how much we all love her, would be something she would enjoy. Will you help us?"

Cerridwen’s resulting grin was almost maniacal, as Nuala rubbed her hands together with glee. "Yes," they breathed. “We would love to.”

***

Azriel had hardly sat down to his coffee in a quiet, cosy corner of the kitchen--the scent of the rich brew alone beginning to rouse his senses from their insistent slumber--after having availed himself of the River House’s well-stocked larder and cooktop, when Feyre and Rhys softly knocked at the door to the main hall. Entering the room as he looked up, they joined him at his table, Feyre giving him a guilty look as they did so.

A small smile bloomed on Az’s face; that hadn’t taken long at all. “So, you’ve told him, then?”

“You planned to keep the secret safe from me for the next year, at least?” Rhys looked like the cat who had got the cream. “You know that I have experience planning lavish parties; I organised Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony, after all.”

He had, too. Though Azriel generally didn’t like to remember that time, and the bad memories that came along with it, he had to admit that Rhys had thrown one extravagant party for their brother and his mate.

“As you wish. Though this sounds much more like you wanting to have a good stickybeak, than anything else.”

Rhys smirked. “I’m a High Lord, ‘stickybeaking’ comes with the territory. And that’s rich coming from you; you’re the reason we have to keep solstice gifts hidden away every year.”

Azriel smirked right back. “Spymaster,” he deadpanned. “‘It comes with the territory.’”

Feyre laughed merrily, eyes shining. “For whatever reason, Rhys is now in on this. And you can be certain that Cassian will know before he and Nesta are even a third of the way back to Illyria this evening. Your hands are tied, Az. We all want to help.”

“Well,” said Azriel. “Such Council will either make everything easier, or much, much harder.”

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider reblogging. 💜

Part II - coming soon

Part III - coming soon

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years ago

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Today in Tolkien - September 23

This is the day after the Long-expected Party and, years later, the day that Frodo sets out from Bag End on what he doesn't yet know will become the Quest of the Ring.

The day after the Long-expected Party is a long and tiring one for Frodo. There's all the cleaning-up to do, some last remaining presents to distribute (some with entertaining and pointed messages from Bilbo; there's a large, inquisitive crowd wanting to know where Bilbo has gone, and bunches of people trying to walk off with things that aren't gifts on the basis of "a rumour that the whole household was being distributed free," and the Sackville-Bagginses being unpleasant. And then, in the evening, Gandalf dropping by with a warning not to use the Ring, before leaving the Shire.

Merry Brandybuck helps with a lot of this hassle, which suggests that Merry - unlike Pippin - is of age by the time of the Quest of the Ring, since 16 in hobbit-years would be very young to be managing a lot of this. (I don't see Merry's age mentioned in Appendix B, but Sam's about 34-35 during the Quest of the Ring, and Pippin states in ROTK that he is 29.) Merry also gets one of the better hobbit-lines at this time:

Lobelia, frustrated at finding that Bilbo's will leaving Bag End to Frodo is legitimate and indisputable: "Why didn't you go too? You don't belong here; you're no Baggins - you - you're a Brandybuck!"

"Did you hear that, Merry? That was an insult, if you like," said Frodo, as he shut the door on her.

"It was a compliment," said Merry Brandybuck, "and so, of course, not true."

Shortly after this - before the end of the year - Gandalf becomes aware that "spies of many sorts, even beasts and birds, were gathered round the Shire." It isn't stated whether these are the spies of Sauron or of Saruman, but I think the latter is more likely given a passage from "The Hunt from the Ring" in Unfinished Tales (albeit in relation to events many years earlier) stating that:

Even when it seemed to [Saruman] no longer wise nor profitable to go [to the Shire], he still had spies and servants that went in or kept an eye upon its borders.

It would not be particularly surprising for Saruman to have stepped up this activity, given that it was only the previous year that he first looked into the palantir and was subverted by Sauron.

Seventeen years after the Long-expected Party, this is the day - or evening - that Frodo sets out from Bag End.

The next morning they were busy packing another cart with the remainder of the luggage. Merry took charge of this, and drove off with Fatty (that is, Fredegar Bolger). "Someone must get there and warm the house before you arrive," said Merry. "Well, see you later - the day after tomorrow, if you don't go to sleep on the way!"

Folco [Boffin] went home after lunch, but Pippin remained behind. Frodo was restless and anxious, listening in vain for a sound of Gandalf. He decided to wait until nightfall.

Following afternoon tea, they leave the dishes for Lobelia (an endearing bit of pettiness; she's spent the afternoon being very aggravating) and wait for the evening. After sundown, Frodo hears (but does not see) the Black Rider talking to Gaffer Gamgee (bold mine):

One voice was certainly the old Gaffer's; the other was strange, and somehow unpleasant. He could not make out what it said, but he heard the Gaffer's answers, which were rather shrill. The old man seemed put out.

"No, Mr. Baggins has gone away. Went this morning, and my Sam went with him: anyway all his stuff went. Yes, sold out and gone, I tell'ee. Why? Why's none of my business, or yours. Where to? That ain't no secret. He's moved to Bucklebury or some such place, away down yonder. Yes it is - a tidy way. I've never been so far myself; they're queer folks in Buckland. No, I can't give no message. Goodnight to you!"

It's always entertaining to hear hobbits treat the Nazgul like nuisances (plus, how uninformative a hobbit's idea of "far" is to them!). "The Hunt for the Ring" in Unfinished Tales gives more insight on the Ringwraiths' methods in the Shire:

[The Witch-king] did not know whether the Ring was still in the Shire; and that he had to find out. The Shire was too large for a violent onslaught; he must use as much stealth and as little terror as he could, and yet guard the eastern borders.

Therefore he sent some of the Riders into the Shire, with orders to disperse while traversing it; and of these Khamul (the second-in-command of the Nazgul) was the one to find Hobbiton, where 'Baggins' lived, according to Saruman's papers. [The Nazgul had captured one of Saruman's spies on their way to the Shire.]

...Of Khamul it is said that he was the most ready of all the Nazgul, after the Witch-king, to perceive the presence of the Ring, but also the one whose power was most confused and diminished by daylight.

This clarifies things - if the Nazgul don't know whether the Ring is in the Shire, and they do know that Saruman is looking for it and most likely has agents in and around the Shire as well as near its eastern borders, in Bree, then attacking the Shire openly would be an absolute confirmation to Saruman and to other enemies than the Ring is there, and would therefore be a risk. So they're being subtle until they can verify.

The hobbits, meanwhile, set off from Bag End across the fields, walk for about three hours, have supper, and walk a ways further on before camping. They are now somewhere in the Eastfarthing.

#tolkien #the lord of the rings #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #gaffer gamgee #nazgul #merry brandybuck #saruman #today in tolkien

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mathom-box · 3 years ago

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A Happy Valentine’s

Have some un-edited Samfro Crack!

Requested: Sort of. By the anon who wanted me to write something that made me happy. :)

Sam Gamgee stood the door of Bag End, a bouquet of daisies, irises, snapdragons, and tulips tucked behind his back, shuffling his feet anxiously. He knew he had no reason to be nervous - Mr Frodo was his closest friend - but this was Lover’s Day, and he was here to confess his feelings.

He’d waited far too long to tell Frodo how he felt about him. He’d first felt this way on Weathertop, when he realized that the Master he’d served for so long had nearly been lost from the world, and his love had grown as endured hardships that no hobbit - no one at all - should ever have to endure. And here he was now, standing outside the place he felt most at home in the world, and yet too scared to knock. Well, there was nothing for it. Raising his hand, he brought it down on the door, and knocked. Then he waited.

When no sound of footsteps came echoing through the halls, when nobody answered the door, Sam became confused. Had Frodo gone out? He rarely went anywhere since returning to the Shire, and he hadn’t mentioned anything the day before. Perhaps he was out in the back garden? But when Sam checked, nobody was there.

Well, the only thing to do was wait for Frodo to get back.

Sam wiped his feet on the mat and opened the door to the smial. As soon as he entered he heard a quiet squeaking noise coming from down the hall. Was Frodo alright? Forgetting entirely about the flowers and the open front door, Sam sprinted down the hall, pausing a minute at Frodo’s bedroom door…. That certainly didn’t sound like Frodo - it sounded like… a kitten.

When nobody answered Sam’s quiet call of “Frodo?”, he gently pushed the door open.

A tiny cat was sitting on the floor in front of him. It had thick dark fur, and seemed rather thin, and while it was no longer crying, but the poor creature seemed terrified. Sam bent down slowly, reaching his hand out, letting the cat sniff him, but to his surprise, it butted right up against his hand, affection rumbling in it’s bony chest. A thin, pale scar stretched across its left shoulder.

“Now, where’d you come from? Mr Frodo didn’t say nothing about a kitten,” Sam rubbed his fingers over the silky ears, “Did he want you to stay in here? It seems an awful lonely place to be. It’s no wonder you was crying so loud.”

The cat meowed mournfully in agreement, eyes shining tearfully, and Sam swore it had understood him.

“Do you know where Mr Frodo’s got to? I haven’t seen him about anywhere, an’ I can’t imagine where he’s got to. Has he gone to get something for you? I reckon he has.”

The big golden eyes stared up at him in dejection, and another squeak came from the pink mouth; Sam laid Frodo’s bouquet on the ground to have better access to his new friend, but a paw reached out to touch them, and the furry head cocked to one side, as though in a question. Sam moved them out of the way, fearing they would be damaged, and stroked one blossom wistfully. Sam sighed, and his companion looked up at him and meowed.

“I know. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

As Sam sat there on the floor, he studied the cat. It seemed uncomfortable, or simply nervous, and its demeanor and looks reminded him strangely of Frodo. For a bit he wondered if that could be the reason his master had wanted to bring it home.

As Sam looked on, he suddenly got a horrifying thought. It couldn’t possibly be true, but still, he had to ask.

“I know it’s silly, but you’re not Mr Frodo, are you?”

The cat meowed.

“Touch my hand with your paw if you’re Frodo,” Sam didn’t know why he was worried. It was a silly though. The cat was just uncannily like his master. That was all.

But then a paw came to rest on his hand, and on instinct, Sam scooped the whole body into his arms, burying his face in the soft fur.

“Master Frodo??? How! Oh, who could’ve done such a thing!” Sam nearly burst out crying, but he remembered himself and set Frodo on the ground again, and sprang to his feet. “Mister Gandalf will know what to do! We need to find him. Oh, but where to go, where to go?” Sam spun in panicked circles, and Frodo made a quiet noise, bringing Sam’s attention to the ground.

“It’s okay, me dear. Your Sam’ll get you out of this. Don’t you worry one bit.”

Frodo purred and rubbed against Sam’s leg, and Sam dropped himself to the ground again, running his fingers through Frodo’s fur. Frodo’s fur! His poor master had fur now, and what were they going to do about it? Sam burst into tears, and Frodo gave a concerned meow. Sam mindlessly fumbled with the petals of the forgotten flowers.

“I was going to give these to you, me dear. Oh, I know it’s a bad time, but I wanted… I wanted so badly to tell you…. Oh!” Sam covered his face, and Frodo rubbed against his hip encouragingly. “Oh, me dear, I love you so much. I’ll get you out of this. It’s awful.”

And Frodo climbed carefully onto Sam’s lap, pressing his face into Sam’s neck, and, against all reason, Sam blurted out, “I so wish I could kiss you.”

Frodo gave a startled squeak, and then looked up at Sam, trust in his golden eyes, and, resting his paws on Sam’s chest, tipped his head up for Sam to kiss him. Sam gladly did so, pressing his lips into Frodo’s mouth, but, instead of the fur he was rather dreading, soft, plump lips molded into his. Slender fingers tangled in his hair, and long legs sprawled across his lap. Sam pulled back in amazement, and the Hobbit that sat on Sam’s lap looked equally startled.

“Oh, Mr. Frodo!” Sam threw his arms around Frodo’s neck, burying his head in his friend’s shoulder, and soaking it with tears. Frodo gently held Sam close, nuzzling his hair, and sobbing equally hard.

A very Gandalf-ish voice said from the doorway, “I see everything worked out perfectly.”

Based loosely on The Princess and the Frog, and that silly book Elijah Wood read.

#lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfic #samfro #sam gamgee #frodo baggins #frodo x sam #valentines #fluff #one-shot #gandalf #kiss #valentine fic #fanfiction #my writing #writing #my post

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omgkatsudonplease · 4 years ago

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[ficlet, bagginshield] call me thorin (bridgerton au)

The next morning, Bilbo wakes to the sound of an insistent knocking at his front door. Rushing through the halls, he makes it into the foyer just as his valet Holman answers the door for him.

“Delivery for Mr Baggins,” chirps Hamson Gamgee of Gaffer’s Flowers from the other side. Still only half awake, Bilbo toddles over to his valet’s side and peers out, and then promptly does a double-take at the veritable parade of flowers on his front step.

“What,” says Bilbo intelligently.

“It’s from the Dwarf-king,” says Hamson cheerily. “He bought out Papa’s entire stock.”

Shocked, both Bilbo and Holman stand aside to let the flower parade through. Hamson and his siblings array the flowers all over the foyer and the parlours, and when they’re done, Bilbo can hardly move without running into flowers.

It rather feels like he’s trapped in a hothouse, or the botanical gardens at Rivendell. His stomach is swooping with all sorts of strange and contradictory feelings.

“That Dwarf-king must really be serious,” remarks Holman when the Gamgees finally leave. Bilbo doesn’t have the heart to tell him that all of these flowers are a lie.

Bilbo has only ever run into one or two Dwarves before in his past, and he’s certainly never courted (or fake-courted) one before, so he has no idea if this incredible fastidiousness to the terms of the agreement is a Dwarvish thing or a Thorin thing. Either way, it works like a charm. News of the Dwarf-king buying out the entire stock of Gaffer’s Flowers for Mr Baggins quickly gets out, and all of his usual dissembling callers seem to vanish in an instant.

Well, almost all.

“Mr Gladden is here to see you,” says Holman halfway through second breakfast. Bilbo puts down the seed-cake he had been eating in the kitchen with a sigh, shrugs off his dressing-gown for his morning coat instead, and heads into the parlour. An array of cakes and finger sandwiches have been laid out for potential visitors this morning, as well as a pitcher of lemonade, but no one has shown up until now. Bilbo swipes one of the cakes as he sits down in his favourite armchair, and waves for Holman to escort his caller in.

Mr Gladden slinks in with a hunched-over little bow. Bilbo knows he ought to be charitable, but he can’t help but think that there’s something rather unsettling in Mr Gladden’s leer, not to mention his phlegmy coughing.

“Precious has so many flowers today,” remarks Mr Gladden as he takes a seat on the settee opposite Bilbo.

Bilbo bites down the frankly quite rude urge to tell the fellow that he’s not his precious. “How are you doing this morning, Mr Gladden?”

“Very well, very well.” Mr Gladden barely manages to say those words before he starts coughing again. “I came for our riddles, as always. Precious has such nice riddles.”

Bilbo doesn’t feel the smile on his face. It’s been five seasons of riddles, and he still hasn’t summoned the courage to be rude to Mr Gladden’s face. As far as the rest of the Shire is concerned, he’s practically Nienna herself for indulging this fellow in his love for riddles.

He’s about to start on one when Holman shows up at the parlour threshold again. “His Majesty King Thorin of Erebor for Mr Baggins,” he announces.

Mr Gladden’s brows furrow. “I thought I was the only one with Precious,” he says.

“I’ve been in high demand for seven seasons, Mr Gladden,” replies Bilbo neutrally.

“But Precious always has time for me.” Mr Gladden pouts. “Besides, it’s my birthday. I ought to have a riddle for my birthday.”

Bilbo sends a despairing look at Holman, who quickly leaves and returns with Thorin. Bilbo’s breath hitches at the sight of the Dwarf-king in his navy morning coat, whose long dark hair is, as ever, pulled back in a neat low ponytail and braids.

“Good morning, Thorin,” Bilbo manages, a little more breathless than he’d like. Or perhaps the right amount, given the company they’re in.

“I see that my flowers have not sent a strong enough message,” remarks Thorin with a withering glare at Mr Gladden.

“Mr Gladden visits me out of force of habit,” demurs Bilbo, sending Thorin a ‘save me’ look. The Dwarf-king nods, brisk but understanding, and walks over to loom over Mr Gladden. The other Hobbit seems to wilt at that, before slinking out from under Thorin’s glare and heading for the door.

“Nasty Dwarveses,” he mutters, before breaking down in a bout of coughing as Holman escorts him out of Bag End.

Bilbo exhales as soon as the door to Bag End closes. “He’s been like that for five seasons,” he explains as Thorin now takes Mr Gladden’s vacated seat, helping himself to a little cup of flummery. “When we met I was still fairly inexperienced with the season’s social expectations, so I thought I had to give him the time of day. Now he’s like a limpet.”

“I find it astounding that you have not put your foot down and chased him out yourself,” replies Thorin, stabbing idly at the flummery.

“I pity the fellow,” replies Bilbo. “His country manners have not made him many friends. But, over the years, he has grown more and more possessive.”

“Country manners?” echoes Thorin.

“His family is not from the Shire,” replies Bilbo. “They are staying in Buckland for the season, but they originally hail from the edge of Greenwood. But... since most of Shire society does not hold Mr Gladden in high regard, I do rather pity him.”

“Ah.” Thorin nods, leaning back. “So he’s not your true love.”

“Mandos, no.” Bilbo shakes his head vehemently.

“But if he unsettles you, you should let him know of it,” replies Thorin.

“And run the risk of being strangled?” wonders Bilbo. At Thorin’s raised eyebrow, he explains, “there is a rumour in Buckland that one of his ancestors in Greenwood murdered his cousin in a jealous rage because his cousin was leaving to get married. I suspect the very same spirit lurks in Mr Gladden’s eyes. I don’t have the lack of self-preservation to test that theory, though.”

Thorin hums. “Any other persistent callers I should be aware of?”

“Besides Mr Gladden? Miss Bracegirdle, probably,” replies Bilbo. “Neither of them will take no for an answer, it seems, but at least Miss Bracegirdle knows the concept of respectability.” Perhaps a bit too much, but that’s neither here nor there.

For a moment, they sit together, Bilbo idly pouring them both tea while Thorin spoons bite-sized scoops of flummery into his mouth. Bilbo very determinedly does not stare at the way the Dwarf-king’s tongue licks his mother’s delicate silverware.

“We should discuss the exact number of events to attend together, and what to do at them,” he says. Thorin hums in agreement, so Bilbo continues. “Tomorrow is the Brandywine River Promenade, which I hope you’ll attend.”

“I may bring my valet and advisor,” warns Thorin.

“That’s fine,” says Bilbo. “I also recommend packing a picnic basket.”

Thorin nods. “Are there other balls to attend?” he asks.

“Several,” replies Bilbo. “Eight, perhaps.”

“Eight!” The word comes out of Thorin like a winded surprise. “Surely that is overdoing things.”

“And this isn’t?” wonders Bilbo, with a pointed nod towards the flower avalanche surrounding them. Thorin’s cheeks flush pink.

“I did not know which flowers you liked,” he protests.

“Violets,” says Bilbo quickly. “Or daisies. But I wouldn’t say no to roses.”

“See, that sort of indecision leads to results like this.” Thorin’s eyes twinkle in amusement, damn him. Bilbo laughs off his nerves in reply.

“If you can buy out a flower shop, you can attend eight balls,” he declares.

“Three,” insists Thorin. “After all, I am to call on you or promenade with you at other times. But do you not think all of this will be taken too seriously? It rather closes off your schedule to other potential suitors.”

Bilbo chuckles. “In this war we wage against the rest of Shire society, our best weapon is our appearance,” he replies. “Thus, it must be made apparent to everyone what your intentions for me are.”

“The very precipice of marriage,” muses Thorin. Bilbo nods. If the next Stormcrow does not remark on the sudden whirlwind romance they’ve been concocting, he’ll eat his hat.

Thorin sighs. “Six balls,” he offers as a compromise. “After all, I am still king and have duties, even on tour.”

Bilbo concedes. “Six balls, and you bring the drinks to our luncheon tomorrow at the Brandywine,” he replies.

“Deal,” says Thorin. “Would you like it in writing?”

Bilbo chuckles. “That would find its way to Stormcrow eventually,” he points out. “Let’s just make it a promise. Six balls, and drinks to tomorrow’s promenade.”

“Agreed.” Thorin sighs, before looking around him at the state of Bag End’s front rooms. He grins. “Do you need any more flowers?”

Bilbo resists the urge to throw a rose at him.

#the hobbit #bagginshield #lily's dabbles #tolkien #bridgerton au

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ao3feed-samfro · 7 months ago

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#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee #Samfro

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sansa-of-oldstones · 4 years ago

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5 Male Characters I love (in no particular order)

Tagged by @josephine-of-vengerberg thanks love!

1. Jon Snow - The King In The North! My baby boy. King Jon of House Snark. The Pouty Prince That Was Promised. Prettiest Lad In All The Realms. The Curls ™ *does the twirly sword thingy* Co-Holder of The World Record For Longest Forehead Kiss. Enjoys Nuzzling Sansa. Talk shit, get hit. Sassier than you. I adore him.

2. Derek Shepherd - My beloved King Of Neurosurgery. Mr. Perfectly Fine. As practiced at denial as I am (see me ignoring the part where they killed him). Could easily be a member of House Snark with his sass, romantic nature, and his beard. Loves his wife, kids, fishing, and boats. Tolerates everything else. My fellow band kid. Walks around the hospital with earbuds in, listening to music. THEN, they have his son dress up as Star Lord. Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence. Could instinctively tell when his wifey needed a hug/comfort and I’m not gonna cry anymore about it. Believes is true love, and magic, and soulmates. BUT THATS CLASSIFIED INFORMATION. Literally jumped into freezing water to save the love of his life, then did CPR/ACLS for over an hour. The personification of the heart eyes emoji whenever he looks at Meredith. Thanks to Taylor, and them bringing him back in Mer’s wildest dreams, I have been reminded how much I love him. I’m okay...

3. Obi-Wan (Oh-babe Wan) Kenobi - “Too old for this shit” when he was only a Padawan. Somehow kept Anakin alive for as long as he did. That’s commendable. Also an honorary member of House Snark. The beard is strong with this one. *does the twirly lightsaber thingy* SOMETHING has got to be done about Padme’s taste. Tired Grandpa aesthetic when he was barely middle aged. Stressed ™. It’s probably Anakin’s fault. YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE!

4. Samwise Gamgee - MY SPIRIT HOBBIT. Sick of everyone but Frodo. Would kill for potatoes. Afternoon tea and tending the garden is his happy place. “DONT YOU LOSE HIM, SAMWISE GAMGEE! and I don’t mean to.” “DONT GO WHERE I CANT FOLLOW.” The light in dark places when all other lights have gone out. I may be the mum friend, but Sam is the dad friend. Just ask Merry and Pippin.

and last, but certainly not least:

5. Ronald B. Weasley - I named my ginger cat after him. Weasley Is Our King! Also a bringer of light. Harry’s ride or die from day one. Was willing to sacrifice himself in order for Harry to save the world WHEN HE WAS 11. Stood between Harry and a supposed mass murderer WITH A BROKEN LEG. Smarter and a better wizard than anyone gives him credit for. Don’t disrespect Ronald in front of me. Love you, Ronnie. 🧡

Honorable mention: Geralt and Rivia, Thor, Aragorn, Pacey Witter, Steve Rogers, James Barnes. It was hard to choose.

Tagging: @winterrose527 @chocolateghost @scullylikesscience. and I know you guys were already tagged but I want you to see: @jobean12-blog @viking-hel

#mallory has a lot of feelings #tag games #there are too many tags for these lads for me to put them all lol #especially jon lmao #my kings

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headlesssamurai · 5 years ago

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TOP FAVORITE CHARACTERS

Rules: List your favorite character from 10 different Fandoms and tag 10 people

Tagged by @hazel-san

I had to think really hard about this one. And I don’t know about “fandoms”, but just, like, here’s some characters I super duper adore and enjoy for various reasons. I remain highly undecided, and flustered and conflicted, and I doubt I can think of every one even over the several sittings it took me to compile this. But here goes (in no particular order):

Sanjuro Kuwabatake - Yojimbo

Special Agent Fox Mulder - The X-Files

Commander Beverly Crusher, PhD - Star Trek: The Next Generation

Elizabeth Bennet - Pride and Prejudice (novel)

Mattie Ross - True Grit (2010)

Marty McFly - Back to the Future (film trilogy)

Princess Leia Organa - Star Wars

Harry Dresden - The Dresden Files (novel series)

Jayne Cobb - Firefly

Bill Munny - Unforgiven

Samus Aran - Metroid (video game series)

Roland of Gilead, the Last Gunslinger - The Dark Tower (novel series)

Han Solo - Star Wars

Gul Dukat - Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

Faye Valentine - Cowboy Bebop

Samwise Gamgee - The Lord of the Rings (novel series)

Clementine - Telltale’s The Walking Dead (video game series)

Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter - The Deed of Paksenarrion (novel series)

The Predator - Predator (film series)

Hamish Goames - Barkskins

Batman - Detective Comic Books (in general)

Henry Chinaski - Post Office (specifically) and other Bukowski fiction (generally)

Garrus Vakarian - Mass Effect (video games series)

Natasha Romanoff the Black Widow - Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warrant Officer Ellen Ripley - Alien (film series)

Indiana Jones, PhD - Indiana Jones (film series)

Matrim Cauthon - The Wheel of Time (novel series)

Hundred Eyes - Marco Polo (Netflix)

Amos - The Expanse (TV series)

Jane Eyre - Jane Eyre (novel)

Darth Vader - Star Wars

Major Samantha Carter (PhD) - Stargate SG-1

Finn the Human - Adventure Time

Whirrun of Bligh - The Heroes (novel)

Luv - Blade Runner 2049

Kanbei Shimada - Seven Samurai

Al Swearengen - Deadwood

Croaker - The Black Company (novel series)

Jill Valentine - Resident Evil (video game series)

Karen Paige - Daredevil & The Punisher (Netflix)

Joanna Wellick - Mr. Robot

Conan of Cimmeria - as originally written of by Robert E. Howard

Vax’ildan - Critical Role (web series)

Oh. Was that more than ten? Meh. There’s probably like fifteen-hundred more I’ve failed to mention here. Good gods, I can’t think of them all, and shall need to revisit this again some day. Anyhow, thanks for the tag, hazel-san.

I personally dislike the word favorite in this context. For me, these are characters that have impressed me by their story arc over time, touched me in such a way as to be unforgettable, influenced my nature from childhood up to my current years, or just seriously cause me to become enriched within the story of which they’re a part. To say one is more “favored” than another is a bit oversimple, I reckon. But I’ll shut up, you get it I’m sure.

Uh. I’m supposed to tag people now for their top ten characters from things. Not sure who tag though. Uh-um.

@ificiy @chicklet87 @godzillaapproved @tallninjarebel @ksana-salamandra @roguetelemetry @alphagravy @architectplayground @azeria-san @worshipthewired @hug-your-face @dash-digital @ravenswolf @boucoupdinkydau @le-noir-rabbit

Stay nerdy, my friends. 侍

#''i was richer for having known you''#fanatical adoration #tags #fictional characters #influential people #literature #comic books #video games #film #television #nerd stuff

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hermywolf · 4 years ago

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ranking my favorite characters about random shit part 5

ranking my favorite characters (clarke griffin, dean winchester, fox mulder, rose tyler, newt, kaz brekker, samwise gamgee, charles xavier, bill denbrough, lord asriel, steve rogers, scott mccall, anna milton and barry berkman) about random shit. this is entirely self-indulgent

Part 5: How they’d react to a breakup (i’m imagining a completely random oc as the one breaking up with them because if i start thinking of the people i ship them with breaking up with them i WILL cry)

1- NEWT

he’s the sweetest man on earth he’d want to talk about it and understand his partner’s reasons and he’d be so kind and understanding even though he’d be sad lemme tell you this man is a SAINT

2- STEVE ROGERS

sweet understanding KING. absolute TREASURE. he’d be so confused and sad at first but he’d be SO understanding UGH i am in love with this man

3- SCOTT MCCALL

remember when allison sorta kinda broke up with him and he was all sweet and kind about it and said that he believed they would find their way to each other again eventually. yeah. iconic behavior. king shit

4- SAMWISE GAMGEE

he’s the PRESIDENT of ‘let’s stay friends!’ squad he’ll definitely stay in touch with all his exes they’re all his absolute besties

5- CHARLES XAVIER

mr telepath mindreader therapist teacher man absolutely sees it coming from a thousand miles away and he might even be the one to bring it up so that his partner doesn’t worry about it. he will be sad but he gets over it in a healthy way because he’s (MOSTLY) in touch with his feelings

6- ANNA MILTON

for a fallen angel with a bit of a god complex she’s surprisingly well adjusted. i think she’s the kind to definitely stay friends with her exes except like two of them which she’s got five different plans to murder each. all in all if it’s a healthy breakup they stay friends if it involves cheating she’s out to get you motherfucker and you know what you deserve it i mean who the FUCK would cheat on ANNA MILTON of all people istg

7- DEAN WINCHESTER

whoever thinks dean is emotionally constipated enough to be the ‘i didnt like u anyway’ kind has NOT seen spn 1x13 road 666 like GUYS. he pretends to be this no-chick-flick-moments and no-attachment kinda dude but we all know he actually cares SO much and if you look at his relationship with cassie or lisa he’s actually pretty open and communicative and sincere and he geniunely tries to talk about shit with them?? so he does have a constructive and heartfelt conversation and says he understands but he also WILL cope by either going on more hunts to distract himself or by locking himself in his room with pizza and movies in his hotdog pants and send noods socks, s14 style. TONS of ice cream. he’ll ghost his ex for a while when he’s coping with it but then later on they do end up being besties (yes i AM on the team dean-becomes-bff-with-all-his-exes don’t mind me just spreading my dean being besties with anna, cassie, lisa,amara, benny and crowley agenda)

8- BILL DENBROUGH

he’s pissed and sad and offended and grumpy and confused he just feels a LOT of shit at the same time like he’s having a full breakdown inside but from the outside his reaction is pretty much ‘what. oh. ok’

9- LORD ASRIEL

he does not, and mark my words on this one, give a single fuck. he IS what kaz pretends to be and what ketterdam thinks he is. asriel does not give a FLYING FUCK he’s like ‘well ok then see you around i guess’ and then just moves on. he was probably cheating on his partner anyway if we’re being honest here, he’s just that terrible. god why is he my favorite character again- oh right he’s insanely hot and wants to murder god right right that tracks

10- FOX MULDER

he’s extremely sweet and compassionate and understanding but then he disappears for like five months to chase down an alien in guatemala or some shit and then comes back pretending as if nothing happened at all

11- CLARKE GRIFFIN

she’s NOT happy about it and gets all grumpy and pouty and will angrily rant about it to her friends for ages but then once she’s over it she’s like. OVER over it. she completely moves on, like full on flip the switch and the feelings are GONE

12- ROSE TYLER

full breakdown in her room with tubs and tubs of ice cream wondering what she did wrong and then probably gets offered by a friend to go throw eggs at their house or some dumb shit. rose says no but she ALMOST did it. she keeps asking if there’s someone else even when it’s very clear that there’s NOT.

13- KAZ BREKKER

allow me to introduce you to the pettiest bitch on EARTH. he will definitely not hurt his ex in any way but he’ll do his absolute best to show them how much they’re missing. like he’s PETTY about it he’ll hold a gruge months, no year, no DECADES after it happened. he shows absolutely no emotions whatsoever you’d barely notice there’s been any change in his behavior, he’s not, like, sad or angry or anything, he’s just suddenly VERY devoted to the fact that everyone must know how AMAZING he’s doing and how rich and powerful and feared he is and how much a hypothetical ex-partner is missing. like this bitch probably has a full twenty pages long plan about what to do in case he gets dumped so that his ex will regret it terribly. and the worst is that kaz is a smart bitch who knows people’s weaknesses and how to exploit them so it WORKS it works and he absolutely loves it, jesper is like ‘dude how come every single time you got dumped they came back asking you to get back together only for you to reject them EXACTLY five months later’ and kaz hiding the twenty pages long binder with his elaborated plan behind his back as if it wasn’t carefully calculated and just shrugging like ‘idk i guess im a catch’ he makes everyone SO angry and honestly good for him!

14- BARRY BERKMAN

two words: murder spree. healthy coping mechanisms WHO we don’t know her in this house he’s sad and angry and he’s going to make it YOUR problem. guns out angry bill hader face ON baby. pew pew motherfucker it’s murder time. bam thirty casualties. rip to them. and he doesn’t even feel better after it either he’s crushed by guilt and having ANOTHER breakdown which will result in MORE ptsd and more sadness and anger and eventually ANOTHER breakdown and ANOTHER murder spree. its a lose-lose situation for everyone. except for his partner who’s free of his shit now i guess so true of them

#hermy posts #ranking my favorite characters about random shit

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 2 years ago

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Be Okay- Aragorn x OC

Aragorn x Issa

Description: When Frodo is brought to Rivendell, Issa is there to help Elrond heal him. Afterwards she’s there to greet her fiance and help him unwind after the dangerous mission.

Word Count: 1.8k

Issa, though she wasn’t exactly trying to, couldn’t hide her shock when Lindir approached her. Well, that wasn’t what shocked her, it was what he said: the Ring Bearer was in Rivendell and gravely injured. While on the way to Rivendell with four other hobbits and Aragorn in tow, Frodo was attacked by Nazgûls and stabbed with a Morgul Blade. Arwen had sensed the danger and rode her horse to meet and save Frodo, returning him for her father to heal. He had sent Lindir to fetch Issa as he needed her assistance, and the girl wasted no time in heading towards the healing wing of the Last Homely House.

It felt like the process lasted for hours, and it was exhausting. It was nearly dark by the time they managed to stabilize the hobbit, and they left it up to the other healers to make sure he stayed that way. Elrond thanked her with a kind smile before making his way to deal with some other business, leaving Issa alone. With nothing else to do but worry and pray, she leaned against a nearby wall and slid down, finally taking a deep breath. She didn’t stay there for long however before she heard footsteps approaching her quickly. Her head snapped up when she heard her name.

“Issa,” Arwen called, almost breathlessly as she rounded the corner by Issa. The girl was quick to stand and brush her dress to look more presentable as the elf reached her.

“Arwen, what troubles you mellon nin (my friend)?” She questioned concernedly.

True to Arwen’s words, Aragorn had just reached the top of the stairs of the Last Homely House with four hobbits in tow. The latter were looking around the entrance in wonder, but looked at Issa when she and Arwen reached them. In an instant Aragorn’s arms were open and Issa stepped into them, hugging him tightly. Once they pulled away, they noticed four pairs of eyes on them, and Aragorn cleared his throat before looking at the hobbits.

“Gentleman…and my lady,” he glanced at Brooke, who giggled at the title. “This is my wife, Issa Goodwin.”

“Future wife,” the woman reminded him playfully, which made him roll his eyes playfully before continuing.

“Issa, these are Mr. Meriadoc Brandybuck, Mr. Peregrin Took-”

“You can just call me Merry though,” the boy, Merry, piped up.

“And me Pippin,” said boy added. The girl had to hold back a giggle at the slight exhaustion in Aragorn’s expression at the interruption.

“Anyways, That there is Mr. Samwise Gamgee, and finally, that is Miss Brooke Bilberry,” he concluded, gesturing to the last two unnamed hobbits.

“You may just call me Sam,” Samwise added softly. “Almost everyone does.”

“And I don’t have a nickname, but you’re welcome to think of one,” Brooke spoke up, which made Issa finally let out a small chuckle.

“No, we’re fine,” Sam spoke nervously. “Is Mr. Frodo okay?” A small, patient smile graced her face as she nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Baggins is in the hospital wing resting at the moment,” she answered, receiving relieved sighs from everyone. “It was lucky that Lady Arwen was there to bring him here immediately. Would you like to go sit with him?” Immediately the hobbits perked up and nodded eagerly.

“Please,” the only girl, Brooke, asked politely as she took Merry’s hand in hers, which made Issa’s smile widen.

“Very well, Lady Arwen here will escort you to his room. Arwen, if you please,” she gestured down the hallways they had just come from. The elf offered her a smile then a simple nod before rounding the hobbits up and walking off. Issa watched them until they disappeared around the corner, then faced her fiance. She wasn’t surprised to see him already looking at her, but she was when he suddenly stepped forward and hugged her again, this time much longer since they no longer had an audience. It wasn’t that Aragorn wasn’t a touchy person, but it was usually her that initiated it. She knew it was one of two things: he knew that she would want to hold him but he beat her to the punch, or he was just genuinely scared about something (most likely what happened). It only took her a split second to hug him back, resting her head on his chest.

“Doubting my skills now, melethdel (darling)?” He questioned jokingly, effectively lightening the mood and making her breathe out a laugh.

“Aragorn, I know that you’re a skilled ranger, but it was just you and those hobbits. I didn’t know what to think.” A small, sympathetic smile appeared on Aragorn’s face as he pulled back to look at her. Issa’s eyes stayed on him as he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I would not allow anything to happen to me or the hobbits, not when I have a beautiful woman patiently awaiting my return home as always.” A blush dusted the girl’s cheeks and she shook her head amusedly.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, melda tulwie veru nîn (My beloved future husband),” she retorted amusedly, pulling away from him.

“You stink, you need a bath,” she quickly diverted.

“Maybe you could help me,” he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“You’re disgusting Aragorn,” she scoffed, walking away.

“Issa, you know I was just kidding darling,” he said quickly, watching her helplessly. Rather than face him again, she simply spoke.

“Are you coming or not?” She didn’t say anything nor turn around as she headed to their shared room, knowing that he would follow. And, as usual, he did.

“You are Valinor (basically elvish version of heaven) sent,” he muttered gratefully as he reached out to grab a piece of bread. She watched as he ate the food she brought, savoring every bite, and she grinned affectionately. After he finished eating he began to bathe himself, and Issa felt the atmosphere change. Not in a bad way per se, but she could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face. After knowing each other for so long she was able to understand what he was feeling by the subtle expressions on his face and in his mannerisms. She could already tell what made his attitude change: he was thinking about what happened to Frodo on the way to Rivendell.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” She inquired after a minute. The man in front of her shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to meet her eye and instead focused on scrubbing the grime off his arms.

“There’s not much to say,” he answered. “We were too slow in our journey and Frodo was forced to pay the price for it.”

“Aragorn,” Issa called softly, resting her hand over the one that held his rag, which made him pause and finally look at her. “You did the best that you could, my love.”

“I left them alone,” he muttered, sounding guilt-ridden about it. “Without protection at that. They had no idea how to use a sword, it wasn’t fair to do that to them.”

“You weren’t expecting an attack, people make mistakes all the time,” she shot back. “There’s nothing wrong with that. And guess what? Because you were quick in thinking and you got back to them in time, you stalled long enough for Arwen to get to you and the hobbits. If it weren’t for you, Frodo would be a Ring Wraith or worse, dead.” Her words comforted him a bit, and he finally conceded with a nod.

“If you say so, melethdel (darling).” Issa smiled triumphantly, which brought another smile to Aragorn’s face as she stood.

“Now, you finish washing up while I take this back to the kitchen,” she gestured to the plate now in her hands once again. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

“Yes ma’am,” Aragorn chuckled, which made her roll her eyes playfully as she walked out of the bathroom. It didn’t take her long to run to the kitchen and wash the dish (because she always liked doing her part around the house), yet when she returned to their room again Aragorn was already out of the tub and in more comfortable clothes. He was already in bed, laying on top of the covers. For a moment Issa thought yet again that he had fallen asleep, but then, without opening his eyes, he reached his arms out for her.

“Lord Elrond is hosting a secret council tomorrow,” he mentioned softly. “He wants both of us there.”

“We can worry about that tomorrow,” she brushed off as her eyes closed. “Right now I just want to spend time with you and focus on you.” Aragorn’s chest rumbled with a quiet chuckle and his grip around her tightened just a bit.

“As my love wishes,” he responded simply, pulling her closer to him as they melted in each other’s embrace for the night.

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr imagine #aragorn #aragorn imagine #aragorn x oc

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