#thorin & co

[flumet]

If I had a nickel for every time Martin Freeman played the role of a character writing down the adventures with his homoerotic best friend, I'd have two. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

[brethilach]

Headcanon: Dwarves have event-oriented culture(s). Let me explain.

When I say "event-oriented" I mean that their activies and doings in the day are centered around events rather than strict timeframes, and therefore do not "begin" until a certain amount of people have shown up. Most people come and go as they please, parties often go late into the night, many have a "if you're on time, you're early; if you're late, you're on time" mentality. For example, if someone says they're throwing a party at 6:00, what they're actually saying is that you're setting up the party at 6:00 and the party itself won't start until a couple hours later — and for parties at someone's house specifically, there is no set time to end. People will often put a delay of at least 30 mins just to be sure the host is ready, and people closer to the host might arrive before the scheduled time to help organize. So if you show up on time, you're expected to help set up. Then the party will often go for hours on end, so most just show up when they can and then stay as late as they want. Time is (often) treated like a suggestion and it is totally acceptable or even sometimes socially expected for you to be late (because the set time can sometimes actually be the time people begin preparing for the event).

Most real-life event-oriented cultures are centered in places near the equator (Brazil especially comes to mind for me), and I think the reason behind this is because there's so much warmth and time during the day that it isn't much of a problem for events to go late into the night — whereas for places north of the equator (who usually have stricter time-oriented cultures), there's only so much time in the day before things start getting very dark and cold (impractical for... everything, really), so you need to be more strict with how you spend your time.

For Dwarves, I think it would be the opposite scenario, but would still come back to the same cultural phenomenon. Because most Dwarves live underground in the mountains and probably don't see much of the Sun in their day to lives, they don't need to worry about it getting dark or cold outside because they're not outside all the time to begin with!! I'm thinking about how the Dwaves in the book actually stop Bilbo from getting a lamp for the meeting because they just "like the dark" and tell him that there are "many hours left until dawn" (when it seems as though it's already fairly late for Bilbo at that point).

I don't think they would see (solar) time as a binding. They'd see it as just a guideline at best (and probably have their own methods of keeping time too, actually, but that's a different conversation).

This could be reason behind why all of the Dwarves arrived to Bilbo's house at drastically different times (at least in the book) and the "party" didn't actually begin until most everyone was there. The only one amongst them I think who was really considered late (in the movie) was Thorin, but no one even mentioned it after he said he "lost his way" and explained he just had a hard time finding Bilbo's house (they probably kept their mouths shut in part because he's their King, but even when Gandalf pointed out that he wasn't there before, Dwalin seemed very nonchalant about it).

Think about what happens in the book: Thorin tells Bilbo (in his letter) that they will meet at the Green Dragon to depart from the Shire at 11:00, and explicitly says they expected him to be "punctual." Bilbo wakes up at 10:45 in a panic, rushes out of the door, and runs a mile south to arrive at the Green Dragon "just on the stroke of eleven". When Bilbo apologizes, Dwalin says "don't be precise, and don't worry!" (despite the fact that the letter seemed to clearly state that he should be precise). If you put this in the context of a Dwarven event-orientated culture, they would have meant they would meet at the Green Dragon at 11:00 to prepare for departure. Whereas Bilbo most likely would have intepreted it as though they departing at 11:00 exactly. Thorin's definition of being precise (in this sense) would be "you should start preparing the leave your house at 11" — rather than "we're leaving the Green Dragon at 11 and if you're not there by then we'll just leave without you" (which is probably what Bilbo thought). I imagine that Shire-Hobbits likely have a much stricter time-orientated culture where events start whether or not you've shown up, you're expected to be early regardless of the set time, and being more than a few minutes late is like a social death sentence (just taking into consideration Bilbo's behavior and the fact that jirt pretty obviously based the Shire on pre-industrial Britain)

This is just my headcanon though! I just think it's a neat concept to think about.

[conkers-thecosy]

Bagginshield-tober / Day 6 / Recovery

Hey folks! Here's my offering for day six of the "Bagginshield-tober" prompt list, by the lovely @smolestboop 💛

You can also find these little snippets compiled into one fic on AO3 - day seven is posted there too, but it's only a short one!

This one is a liiiiittle angsty, so be warned, but as always there's an element of hurt/comfort and a fluffy end, which hopefully balances it out.

Hope you enjoy!

~*~*~

It had been three weeks since Thorin and Bilbo had begun to share one another’s beds.

It was perfectly innocent, of course, and Bilbo had gone out of his way to explain that in hobbit culture it was more than acceptable to share a bunk with friends or family for comfort. Co-sleeping, he called it. In truth, it wasn’t the first time they had done so, as on the road to and from Erebor, they had often slept side by side for warmth and safety. Not just the two of them, either - all of the company had piled in wherever there was a space.

Now in Bag End, they never began the night in bed together. They would say goodnight as they always had, then head to their respective bedrooms. It was September now, and much cooler, so they were able to shut their doors once again. Still, since that first night when Thorin had been incapable of ignoring Bilbo calling his name in such distress, they had both come to an unspoken agreement; if one had a nightmare, then the other would knock on their door and quietly ask if they wanted company.

It seemed to settle them both, and often once they were in the same bed, feeling the weight and warmth of the other beside them, they would both settle into a much more peaceful slumber than if they were apart.

Tonight it was Thorin who had cried out, and Bilbo who had come to him, quietly asking if he had need of him. Thorin had accepted the comfort, wishing he was confident enough to ask the Hobbit to start the night with them sharing a bed, and spare them both the distress. He would only say it was platonic, and of course it would be, but in his heart he wished fervently that it might turn into more, that it might in turn answer another question that he longed to ask, but dare not.

He was shocked and shaken to wake again the same night from another nightmare, despite Bilbo already being beside him. Awakening with a muffled cry, his body taut and chest constricted, he was confused for a moment to find a small hand pressed gently over his heart.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” Bilbo shushed him softly. “Just a nightmare, Thorin. It’s not real.”

Thorin looked up with wide eyes as Bilbo leant over him, sleep-tousled and concerned, and felt immediately ashamed. He didn’t know why, couldn’t hardly think straight, but it felt like some kind of failure to still be woken so, even with Bilbo as close as he was. Like he was too broken, too used up to ever recover, that he would always be haunted by the horror of his own actions.

“Try to breathe,” Bilbo pressed, his voice quiet, as though afraid they might wake others despite being the only ones in the smial. “It’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” he grit out, turning on the mattress so his back was to Bilbo.

There was a long pause, and Thorin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe normally again through sheer willpower and shame alone. Then Bilbo spoke carefully.

“Would you like for me to leave?”

Thorin’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Had he frightened Bilbo? Did he want to leave? But no, surely if that were the case, the Hobbit would simply have gone without a word. He had been trying to offer comfort, and Thorin had snapped at him for it, but only because there was something so unsettling to be looking that the version of Bilbo that tormented his dreams, and waking to be faced with the same visage, only soft with concern for one who did not deserve it.

Still, Thorin knew he was greedy by nature. Selfish. Hateful. He could not help but reach for the things he wanted, even when it was wrong to do so.

“No.”

Another silence followed, shorter this time, before Bilbo sighed quite quietly. “I will not be offended if you wish to be alone, Thorin.”

“No, please,” Thorin shook his head against the pillow, hating how pathetic and weak he sounded. “Please stay.”

Bilbo immediately settled himself back on the bed, and the dwarf was surprised when, instead of simply laying side by side as they always had, not touching and being very careful of one another’s space, an arm was draped carefully over his waist. His heart jumped again, only for a different reason, and he felt the Hobbit press his soft, warm body flush against his broad back.

“I’ll stay as long as you like,” Bilbo promised, his breath puffing against Thorin's shoulder and disturbing his hair very gently. It was hard to breathe again.

Thorin didn’t know how long they lay like that, Bilbo holding him as a lover might, his small hand finding its way back over his heart, the warmth of it seeping through his sleeping tunic and into his skin, into his very bones. His breathing became even again, and he knew that Bilbo was still awake, if only from the way he was still holding him almost protectively. There was a time not too long ago where he would have scoffed at such a notion, but now… now he felt safer than he had in a long time.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Thorin murmured into the night.

“Don’t apologise,” Bilbo replied, his words like a caress against Thorin’s skin. “You’re still healing, and it takes time.”

Thorin closed his eyes and sighed. “I may never heal fully.”

He felt Bilbo offer some approximation of a shrug from where he was pressed up against his back.

“Maybe, but it will get easier, I’m sure of it,” the Hobbit said. “And I will be here to help, no matter how long it takes. I will be here for the duration, I promise.”

There was such conviction, such earnest faith in his words, that Thorin had no choice but to believe him. He did not remember falling asleep after that, but he must have done almost immediately, the lingering promise of forever giving his fraught mind the peace he so craved, and a fresh hope for eventual recovery.

[sharkangelic]

Friendly reminder that Thranduil is the one who named Bilbo “elf-friend.”

Friendly reminder that in the books Thranduil isn’t an asshole.

Friendly reminder that basically every bad or mean thing Thranduil did in the movies did not happen in the books at all whatsoever.

[kierancaz]

My heart is buried in Erebor

[snazzynacho]

Snapdragon & Co. Masterlist

The Hobbit fan fiction/Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!fairy!elf!OC

(My (mainly lotr/hobbit) account is @whorin-oakenshield yet I’m posting this on here bc this is where I’ve already posted my fan fics to lol)

Read on ao3 here

Read on wattpad here

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Dragon Sickness, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Found family, Mage, Magic, Psychic abilities, Just kiss you idiots, Fae, Fairies, Fae magic, Thorin got that Royal Rizz™, Fili and Kili are sillies, Multiple Endings.

Synopsis: A lonely half-elf-half-fairy and her long-lost sister, whose speciality is magic, join forces with Thorin Oakenshield and Company. To them they are doing a noble thing but little do they know what darkness lies ahead. And what of their past they have to face.

Or, in which,

Nessa had a heart of gold and Thorin was addicted.

chapters under the cut:

Chapters:

1

2

More coming soon!

[tharelofthewoodlandrealm]

Thorin asking Balin if he can still mix a flash-flame in DoS makes me wonder how many times tiny Thorin spent whole evenings with him making these and then using them to prank his dad/grandad/other dwarflings/a very grumpry Dwalin

[bragiedfili]

Finally got stickers for my hydro

[hewalksinstarlight]

weeeeee

vignettes from Tove Jansson’s (1962) illustrated edition of The Hobbit

[elodieunderglass]

Having dug out the Unfinished Tales to reference a conversation Tolkien wrote between Gandalf and Pippin (but didn’t publish) I thought I’d share it. Gandalf is talking to Pippin about the history of Thorin’s company, hobbits and why he chose Bilbo.

This is evidence for the grand statement I just made about how Bilbo was intended to be a catalyst that changed his society, and that hobbit society was indeed significantly different after his journey, with large social changes occurring between The Hobbit and Fellowship. But it’s also a very funny passage to me so here it is:

‘And then there was the Shire-folk. I began to have a warm place in my heart for them in the Long Winter, which none of you can remember.

They were very hard put to it then: one of the worst pinches they have been in, dying of cold, and starving in the dreadful dearth that followed. But that was the time to see their courage, and their pity one for another. It was by their pity as much as by their tough uncomplaining courage that they survived. I wanted them still to survive.

(😭😭😭😭. Also the theme of having pity for each other is what redeems both Bilbo and Frodo re: Gollum.)

But I saw that the Westlands were in for another very bad time again, sooner or later, though of quite a different sort: pitiless war.

(This is possibly one reason why this passage didn’t make it to publication - Gandalf shouldn’t have had this much foreknowledge of the upcoming war of the ring.)

To come through that I thought they would need something more than they now had. It is not easy to say what. Well, they would want to know a bit more, understand a bit clearer what it was all about, and where they stood.

(It’s also explaining that Bilbo’s role in Thorin’s company was predetermined both by a more omnipotent Gandalf and by Fate; that Gandalf selected Bilbo to be a social catalyst, to return and provoke hobbit society into a more adaptable, resilient state; therefore increasing their chances of surviving.)

They had begun to forget: forget their own beginnings and legends, forget what little they had known about the greatness of the world. It was not yet gone, but it was getting buried: the memory of the high and the perilous. But you cannot teach that sort of thing to a whole people quickly. There was not time.

(Thus Bilbo was supposed to be changed, and return changed by his journey, to teach his people.)

And anyway you must begin at some point, with some one person. I dare say he was “chosen” and I was only chosen to choose him; but I picked out Bilbo.’

‘Now that is just what I want to know,’ said Peregrin. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘How would you select any one Hobbit for such a purpose?’ said Gandalf. ‘I had not time to sort them all out;

(He is SO funny)

but I knew the Shire very well by that time, although when I met Thorin I had been away for more than twenty years on less pleasant business. So naturally thinking over the Hobbits that I knew, I said to myself: “I want a dash of the Took” (but not too much, Master Peregrin)

(This is brilliant we are always BODYING pippin constantly. NOT TOO MUCH TOOK 👀. We were ROBBED not having this in canon )

“and I want a good foundation of the stolider sort, a Baggins perhaps.” That pointed at once to Bilbo.

(Eugenics! Observing them like laboratory mouse lines! Call him a Charles River BILB/o the way you’re genotyping these poor little bastards for your purposes)

And I had known him once very well, almost up to his coming of age, better than he knew me.

(??? Hiding in the bushes spying or…?)

I liked him then. And now I found that he was “unattached” – to jump on again, for of course I did not know all this until I went back to the Shire. I learned that he had never married. I thought that odd, though I guessed why it was; and the reason that I guessed was not the one that most of the Hobbits gave me: that he had early been left very well off and his own master.

(Was it cos he’s gay as fuck, Gandalf)

No, I guessed that he wanted to remain “unattached” for some reason deep down which he did not understand himself – or would not acknowledge, for it alarmed him.

(I 100% now and for always love a narrator in a constant state of Just Fucking Lies To Everyone All The Time, Giving Us Nothing, Acknowledging Nothing Including Himself. NOPE NOT PROCESSING ANYTHING TODAY THANKS. WE’RE CLOSED. COME BACK TOMORROW. just A Massive Liar about everything and for what!!! Bilbo Baggins my beloved you were born wrong.)

He wanted, all the same, to be free to go when the chance came, or he had made up his courage. I remembered how he used to pester me with questions when he was a youngster about the Hobbits that had occasionally “gone off ”, as they said in the Shire. There were at least two of his uncles on the Took side that had done so.’

You can see why I love this! And I can see why Tolkien didn’t include it, too. Still very fun passage and near enough to canon to be used if you ever want to.

[brethilach]

I often see people question why Nori wasn't considered for the Burglar (in the movie), considering the crux of his character was being a thief, and I've seen plenty of creative explanations as to why that is the case - But I think the easiest explanation here is... Nori just didn't WANT to. My guy already joined the the Quest to avoid facing the consequences of petty thievery, there's no way he's going to face A DRAGON

[conkers-thecosy]

Bagginshield-tober / Day 4 / Company

Hey folks! Here's my offering for day four of the lovely @smolestboop's "Bagginshield-tober" prompt list 💛

You can also find these little snippets compiled into one fic on AO3

*Warnings for nightmares and light trauma symptoms.*

~*~*~

It took a lot to break the will of Thorin Oakenshield.

The madness of his grandfather had not broken him. The dragon and destruction of his home had not broken him. The years of wandering and starvation, and leading a grieving and desolate people had not broken him. Not even the death of his younger brother, nor the loss of his father had broken him. 

Immovable. Headstrong. Unyielding.

His mother had often called him pig-headed, though with the love and fondness that came from one who knew it would be the source of great strength for him over the years. His sister had called him muleish, though with more exasperation than their mother ever had. Strong-willed, Balin had told him, kindly, and with great sadness before he had left to head back West with Bilbo.

Bilbo.

Nothing had ever swayed Thorin from a decision he had made, no one could talk him out of a course of action that he had become set upon. He would always plant his feet and stand firm, determined and unwavering in the face of all things… save for one small Hobbit.

“No… no, please… don’t…”

Sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, and hands in his hair, Thorin could only listen to the quiet cries of his dearest friend and greatest love from the room next door. It was agony to feel so useless, to be so close, and yet unable to do anything. He had promised himself he would give Bilbo the space he needed to deal with his trauma, knowing full well it had come at Thorin’s own hands in the first place. He shook with the silent desperation of wanting to make this right, of needing to offer comfort, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He shouldn’t.

It might even make things worse, he tried to reason with himself, as another small whimper sliced through his already broken heart. For Bilbo to dream so fearfully of what had passed between them on top of the ramparts, Thorin deep in his madness, twisted by the lure of the Arkenstone. It would be cruel for him to awaken to the face of his aggressor, who so haunted his nights. He would wake soon, anyway. He always woke himself, then settled fairly quickly afterwards. All Thorin had to do was wait…

“Thorin!”

At the terrified cry of his own name, he could not help himself. He was on his feet and through Bilbo’s door before he even registered what he had done, and the Hobbit was awake, his eyes wide and fearful and hurt, and Thorin knew he had made a mistake, but he had been seen now, he was here, and what was he to do…? 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said again, looking right at him with the fear melting away to be replaced by something akin to relief. His hair was a mess, sticking out wildly in all directions, his sheets rucked up, and one of his pillows had fallen to the floor beside his bed from where he had been shifting about so restlessly. Thorin saw all this, but it was eclipsed by Bilbo reaching out a small, shaking hand to him, and speaking with a tremor in his voice. “Please?”

Again, Thorin moved on impulse, unable to ignore such a plea. He walked quickly to Bilbo’s bedside and took the outstretched hand as gently as he could. Bilbo grasped him with both hands then, and pressed his knuckles to his forehead in an oddly reverent manner. 

“You’re real,” he whispered, almost to himself. “You’re alive, and you’re here.”

“You… you feared me dead?”

Bilbo didn’t look at him, didn’t move even a muscle save from the trembling of his small frame. “I dream of it all the time. That I was too late to warn you on Ravenhill, that I stayed to argue with Gandalf instead of immediately coming to find you. I dream that… that Fili and Kili… that they died horrifically and senselessly, and that you… you were… on the ice, bleeding to death, and I could do nothing but hold your hand and watch. It… it feels so real, Thorin. I am so afraid that I will wake and it will all be real, and you won’t be here.”

Thorin could hardly believe what he was hearing, even as the words came tumbling out of the still shaking Hobbit like a shameful confession. He knelt, very slowly so as not to startle Bilbo, clasping his other, much larger hand over the two small ones still holding onto him tightly, as if afraid he would vanish otherwise. 

He wanted to ask if Bilbo truly meant what he said, if it was not Thorin’s rage and threats at the gates that caused him to cry out in the darkness with fear, but he already knew the answer. Bilbo was not a liar, and even if he stretched the truth occasionally, there was no way even his quick tongue could have fabricated such sorrow and heartbreak in such a manner. It was so earnest and true, there could be no questioning the sincerity of his words.

All this time Thorin had stayed away, thinking his presence would only make things worse, when in fact proof of his life and continued existence was what would bring the Hobbit comfort most. He felt like a prize fool for not asking, simply asking, too stuck in his own guilt to offer what aid he could. 

“I could stay, if you would like?” he offered quietly, then shrank back a little as Bilbo looked up in surprise. “Only if you would like me to. I could fetch a chair and sit by the bed until you fall asleep?”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, still wide eyed, though his face a little darker from the blush that would be staining his cheeks. “Well, I would feel terrible making you sit up so that I might rest…”

“We both know I’m not sleeping, anyway,” Thorin brushed this concern aside with a wry smile, immediately feeling better for acknowledging their shared troubles. “If you would like my company, I would be more than willing to stay.” 

Bilbo fidgeted a little, then released Thorin’s hands slowly. For a moment the dwarf thought he was about to be told no, that he had misread the situation after all, and was perhaps over-stepping some kind of personal boundaries, until Bilbo scooted across the bed and patted the mattress beside himself in invitation. 

“I’ll not have you in a chair all night, but perhaps we might both sleep a little better for some company?”

It took a lot to break the will of Thorin Oakenshield, but in this instance, he found no will to be broken - only a relieved acceptance, as he passed the night beside the one he loved, and they both found a little peace.

[holmsister]

I agree with this post but also I have just been hit with the startling realisation that Chilchuck is who the dwarves thought they were hiring when they went to pick up Bilbo and now I desperately want to read *that* version of The Hobbit

"Chilchuck would hate Frodo" bullshit, Chilchuck would be super fucking intensely protective of Frodo Baggins.

The ring you got for your inheritance turned out to be CURSED? And you VOLUNTEERED to WALK HUNDREDS of MILES to destroy it!? And when you got stabbed by a monster blade, the ELVES TOOK YOU AWAY FOR MONTHS and you THANKED THEM!?

No. No, I'm your father now, kid. You're joining a union, I'm negotiating your back pay for that trip. And your ongoing medical treatment, and I'm getting you EXTRA for mental anguish. Oh, the elves are offering to take you to some mysterious continent off in the West as recompense? Let's find out how many of these obscure cuss words they can decipher.

[thesummerestsolstice]

I love how the entrance to Rivendell is shown in the Hobbit movies– the path is clearly enchanted; the geography is wonky, and the passage only shows up when Thorin & co really need to escape danger.

I feel like this is just how Rivendell works– there are no set pathways in and out of the valley, strange corridors and hidden passages to it just show up when and where they're needed. People who have been to Rivendell before can usually find their way back pretty easily, but even they usually can't explain exactly how they got there. Only the residents of Rivendell can reliably lead others to the valley– and Galadriel, because she's Galadriel. It usually takes Gandalf a while to find the path. He's convinced Elrond just like messing with him.

This is very much Elrond channeling his inner Melian. Doriath was extremely hard to get into, but in the normal fairy way where you just get lost in the woods endlessly if you're not welcome, and the forest parts for you if you are. Elrond saw that and decided to spice things up a little for his realm. You know, some impossible rock formations, a few very strange trees, landscaping that is vaguely beyond mortal comprehension, all that.

Rivendell's residents think it's great. Most outsiders think it's a little creepy.

[sharkangelic]

saw someone calling Bilbo not brave and like. I’m not particularly a Bilbo stan but I disagree.

You think a coward would have faced, and mocked, a dragon? You think a coward would have endangered his life to save his friends from a nest of giant spiders, while taunting the spiders? You think a coward would spend WEEKS hiding in the Elvenking’s halls instead of, idk, escaping, just for the hope of a chance to rescue his friends?

Do you think a coward would have spared Gollum?

Do you think a coward would have brought the Arkenstone to Bard and Thranduil? It takes a lot of guts to stand up to one’s friends.

[snazzynacho]

Snapdragon & Co.

The Hobbit fan fiction/Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!fairy!elf!oc

Masterlist

Chapter One: Last of their kind

Chapter 2

Love had always felt like a distant dream to Nessa.

A fantasy one's imagination makes up to cope with the everlasting loneliness of what it meant to be a ranger. Even more so when she was turned away from the only place she could call home.

Even if she never particularly liked the elves, her being half-elf meant she grew up in the core of Elvish life. Rivendell. Her mother who was dying of a broken heart didn't help either. Especially since she is still knocking on death's door years later. Nessa presumed it would be easier to deal with her mother as if she's already passed than to watch her slowly dying.

It's not like her mother would care anyway. The last she heard of her was that she was doing much better since Nessa left. Seeing her daughter obsess over everything fairy-related must've been the cause for her decline. And Nessa's leaving, despite how horrible it sounds, made her survive.

Being Half-Elf and growing up in Rivendell meant Nessa would have always been fighting to fit into a world that saw her as a joke. A 5'3 half-elf half-fairy whose loud bubbly and, at most, eccentric personality only made her stick out like a sore thumb. I guess she could blame the fairy genes for that...But she never wanted to blame her fairy heritage for anything! The few times she had heard about the Fae from her mother appealed to her greatly. The lost race of the fairies would always hold a place in her heart. She was proud of her origin.

The Fairyland, though practically nonexistent today, sounded like the perfect place for her. If only it wasn't for the major depletion it accumulated in all of time, she would be living the dream by now. Thus her Elvish mother took her to Rivendell when she was a baby.

Also, because her fairy father flew off. (Literally.)

__________________

In a quiet clearing on the outskirts of a woodland, near a village in Bree, Nessa received a letter.

Upon opening, almost unreadable scribbles - assumed to be due to someone's shaky old hands scrambling to write their last words from their death bed - become clear and her theory of someone old writing this letter only made more sense to her as she began to read;

Dear, long lost sister.

                            My name is Rogue. All I've been told is that we have the same father. Sometime after he left you he became my father also. So, I am writing you this letter in the hopes that you may want to talk. You don't know me and I don't know you and yet we're sisters. Deep down I know you will do anything for me and I'll do the same for you.

This is why I want to ask, Would you like to meet in person? I will be arriving shortly.

We sure have a lot to catch up on. Time is of the essence, my dear sister.

From,

Rogue.

Nessa's eyes were as wide as her pet Owl's when she refused to give her another treat, and her mouth was agape. Nessa's had a long-lost sister this whole time and only finds out now?!

If this sister is who they say they are, they must be old now, as she speculates. Half-human. Half-Fae. Rogue is right, time is not on their side. Death seems to follow Nessa and even still, plagues a half-Fae-half-human.

The sweet hoot of her owl (Pilvi) and the gentle flapping of its wings brought Nessa back to her surroundings. She must pack a bag immediately. Food. Water. Medicine if needed. What state is Rogue in? Are they ill? Is that why they've waited all this time to contact them? Humans don't live long after all. Or had they only just heard about Nessa, as Nessa had about them? Is it too late to meet them? She received this letter weeks ago...

Her pet owl hooted again.

"Aw Pilvi, sorry, were you hooting for me?" Nessa caressed her bird and watched her enjoy it. Pilvi's eyes squinted and her head relaxed as if the loving touch could melt her.

Her precious hoot filled the room once again and Nessa cooed back, softly speaking to her.

Interrupting them, a knock sounded. It was uncommon for Nessa to receive visitors. Not after the fairyland practically died out. This must be some kind of trick, ironically.

Pilvi was flustered. Her wings sprayed in and out continually. After calming her owl down, Nessa grabbed the nearest item that she could find, which could be used as a weapon.

A frying pan.

Nessa slowly opened the door, peering out. An unknown figure stood in the pouring rain. Their fur cloak visibly weighed heavy on their shoulders as it soaked with rain. Along with wet blue locks of hair that peaked from under their hood.

"Oh, my, are you lost?" Nessa asked worriedly. She pondered to herself as to what might have happened to this poor soul out there in the woods in the rain.

"I am Rogue, your sister."

"Oh. You're not old,"

Rogue blinked in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"You're human. Aren't you supposed to be old? Dying on your deathbed?" Nessa waved the frying pan about as she confusingly tangented. "That's why you asked to meet. And your handwriting...very shaky!" She pointed the pan in Rogue's direction who, in return, produced a blank stare.

The frantic waving of the frying pan returned along with another tangent from Nessa and before they knew it they were bickering like sisters do. Amongst the chaos Rogue managed to snatch the frying pan, tired of Nessa waving it too close to their face for their liking.

"GIVE IT BACK!" Nessa shrieked.

This continued for a few moments until Nessa suddenly screamed

"OLD CREEPY MAN!" as she pointed to someone not that far behind Rogue.

Rogue turned around and tried not to show her annoyance at the man. "Speaking of old, that is Gandalf. He's not creepy, he's a wizard."

A long pause comes as all three take long looks at each other.

"OLD CREEPY WIZARD?!?!" Nessa screamed again and in this moment of distraction, she grabbed the frying pan back and held it up as if she was going to do damage.

Rogue yelled out for her and swiftly snatched it again. "I'm half human. HALF. I'm not old."

"Then stop flailing like a child." Gandalf scolded as he walked closer to them, staff in hand.

"She started it!-" Rogue began as Gandalf stopped them again.

"Long-lost sister. Wizard. I think I'm going to faint." Nessa felt her forehead with her hand. The cold rain did nothing to cool her down.

"Let me help with that," Rogue declared as they took a purple glowing flower from their bag and the next thing Nessa saw was darkness.

_________________

Nessa stirred in her sleep, her nose twitched at the smell of

Pipe-weed. She had the weirdest dream. There was a wizard and her long-lost sister!?

She opened her eyes, expecting to be in her bed. Alone. Maybe with Pilvi by her side. And a book. But no. A figure with long blue hair, braided sporadically, leaned over her. Her dream was real. Though, no wizard in sight. Maybe that was the part her dream made up.

Before she could start to question anything and everything, Rogue placed a hand over her mouth and sent her a look, asking for trust. Nessa nodded and the hand was taken off her mouth.

Rogue slowly held out her hands for Nessa to hold. The single touch of their palms caused a glimmering shine to arise across their skin almost as if they were made of glitter. Their glowing veins painted the room in gold.

They studied their skin for what felt like years, unable to look away. "Fae markings," Nessa whispered, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Fae markings," Rogue repeated, pleased that her trick worked.

"You're my sister!"

"Of course I am. Now let's get down to business," They gently let go of Nessa's hands, and the glow dimmed until it was no more.

Rogue took a chair, spinning it around to sit on it backwards,

"Would you like to help a group of Dwarves take back their land?"

"Too right!" Nessa wholeheartedly agreed. She had nothing to lose. With the died-out fairyland and all, she also most certainly understood their wanting to take back land. These sisters finally reunited, the last of their kind would be helping the dwarves reclaim their home, as they wished others would have helped the Fae.

"You didn't make up that wizard, by the way."

"How did you know-"

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A/N:

omg hi I have so much planned for this fic it's insane.

I started this with my bestie and we have made so much lore for the sisters and I literally cannot wait to show you all!

Btw We started a lotr fan fic before this one but we've not added onto it nearly as much as this one although they do have similarities (fairies & angst lol)

So idk when we'll pick that up again (probably after I finish writing this) but for now enjoy this fic <3

Anyway, we hope you enjoyed reading! look out for chapter 2👀

Also I made Nessa and Rogue in sims 4!!!