clumsy-wonderland

[clumsy-wonderland]

🌈💖✨Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome🖤☮️💫

You sure know how to woo a girl, you cheeky bugger <3

[clumsy-wonderland]

*boops your nose* Send this to ten blogs you think are lovely and deserve a boop on the nose ❤️❤️

You're such a cutie and you deserve all the boops <3

[clumsy-wonderland]

Omg I love your writing so much, this chapter was just a perfect rollercoaster of feels <3 and uuugh that whole bit about “tell me to stop” “I will not” had me SQUEALING! I’m so excited for part 4!

The White Raven 3 / 4

Surprise! It's time for the next chapter of my latest fic! And not only that - it comes with a delicious eye-candy - a wonderful piece of art I commissioned from the extremely talented @mewpet. Thank you! 💙

This was actually how this fic started. I had the image of Thorin at a waterfall in my head for quite a while and couldn't get rid of it... and then a white raven flying through the waterfall popped up in my head. After that, I knew this was the story I wanted to tell you.

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Rating: E (18+) Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. Years have passed, but Thorin can't stop thinking about the white raveness, her eyes, and her kiss...

You can find this fic on AO3.

🌟This chapter comes with a prompt from @mismaeve's February Challenge: “I want all of you, forever, every day”.

HUGE thanks to @legolasbadass and @linasofia for taking the time from your busy schedules to read it in advance and offer me your invaluable advice and extra thanks to @laurfilijames for helping me out with the horse-related vocabulary 💙💙💙

Oh, and this chapter is a bit longer than the previous ones. I hope you don't mind!

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | ... 🌟

Khuzdul: Karkûnê - My Raveness

The White Raven Chapter 3: The Chance

“Uncle?” A familiar voice filled the stable.

“I am here, Fili,” Thorin tightened the girth on the saddle of his buckskin pony.

“I thought you were going to leave in a week, after the Summer Solstice festivities, like you usually do,” the sound of his nephew’s steps ceased behind his back.

“I am riding out today,” Thorin checked the stirrup leathers, his back still towards Fili. “There have been rumours about a solitary Dwarf wandering through forests north from here.”

“I see,” Fili said after a moment’s silence in a softer voice. “Do you think it could be Grandfather this time?”

“I intend to find out,” he replied quietly, patting his mare’s neck. “Let me ride out with you, Uncle, like the last time. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

“It is a kind offer, Fili, but I have to decline it. I will manage on my own. Besides, you will miss the celebrations if you follow me,” Thorin turned to face his nephew.

“So will you. And Bombur ordered twice as much ale as last year!”

“Then there will be more ale for you, Kili and the lads,” Thorin grinned encouragingly. “Drink and be merry as the saying goes.”

“If that is what you want, Uncle… but what about our Firebeard guests?” Fili’s eyebrows forced together into a pronounced frown. “They expect to see you tonight at the feast.”

“I have already sent them my apologies. If the rumours are true, I need to find my Father before our enemies do. Fili, I am certain that you will be a most courteous host to the Firebeards, ” Thorin’s hand rested on his nephew’s shoulder. “You will not be alone – your mother and Balin will be there, beside you.”

“But… Lady Tarja…” Fili cleared his throat, his lightly bearded cheeks darkening slightly.

“Oh, I see,” Thorin hummed. “Tell your mother that Lady Tarja would be a better match for her oldest son than for me. Not only in age.”

“Uncle, you know better than me what is at stake here!” Silver cuffs clinked in Fili’s bright hair as he shook his head. “Lord Yngví wishes to join our clans in alliance by marrying his daughter, Tarja… I mean, Lady Tarja, to you.”

“Lord Yngví wishes for his daughter to become a queen,” Thorin gave him a smile. “He does not care which heir of Durin she marries as long as he is a king at some point. Besides, something tells me that if he asked his daughter’s opinion, she would choose the golden-haired one. Is that not so?”

“How do you know?” Fili’s eyes widened.

“You two were not the only ones who decided to take a breath of fresh air last evening. It was not your first meeting, was it?” “We met a year ago on Durin’s Day but we decided to keep it secret until we knew that her father would approve of me courting Tarja. I swear, Uncle, none of us knew that Lord Yngví planned to offer her hand to you in marriage. And when I heard of it from Mother two weeks ago…” his nephew looked him straight in the eye. “We love each other and I wish to marry her!”

“Then there is only one thing you should do, Fili.” Thorin said, recalling another young, golden-haired Dwarf who spoke very similar words to Thráin, years ago.

“What is it, Uncle?” Fili’s jaw was set and there was a determined glint in his eyes. Like father, like son.

Thorin’s response was short.

“Tell your mother that I approve of this match.”

***

Apparently, history likes to repeat itself, Thorin mused, riding out of Thorinuldûm and leaving all the negotiations, contracts, and intrigues, along with a very joyful Fili, behind. At least his oldest nephew had a chance at happiness now. Kili was too young to think of those things yet and as for himself… It was complicated. He had never been inclined to find himself a wife, but since that night he met Carra all those years ago Thorin would sometimes catch himself wondering about how it would be to have a life companion. Someone to share his days with. Someone to embrace. Someone to wake him up with gentle caresses of his face.

Thorin grunted at his own ridiculous thoughts. Perhaps Dwalin’s teasing contained a grain of truth after all and he was becoming softer with age. Life in the Blue Mountains was comfortable, his people became prosperous and a tad, well, sluggish, exactly like him. That was why every year he would ride out into the wilderness to remind himself of the hard but simple life he used to lead. At least this was the explanation he offered to anyone who asked. No one needed to know that with his excursions came hope. His eyes would search the sky above his head for a white, graceful shape, hoping to hear that characteristic flutter of wings, or find a silver-white feather or two at his feet. Thorin’s fingers wandered to his chest, where, under his brigantine armour, a feather of that same colour hung from his neck. This was the only proof that his meeting with the White Raven truly happened. Years had passed, but his efforts to find her never ceased, even if he kept on returning empty-handed. Sometimes he would hear gossip at taverns about sightings of a large white bird flying along the River Lhûn or over the peaks of the Blue Mountains. If not for the tale Fili brought home when he was but a pebble, Thorin would have probably disregarded it all. Asking around for a silver-white haired woman with eyes black as coals usually ended the same way and yet he continued searching. The silver-white token pressed against his chest kept on reminding him that Carra was not a dream.

***

Almost ten days had passed since Thorin departed from Thorinuldûm. The rumours of a solitary Dwarf turned out to be true, but not in a way he expected: the Dwarf was a wandering storyteller on his way from Shire who had never met a Dwarf that matched Thráin's description. Another false lead. Thorin hung his head.

It was late afternoon, but the forest air was heavy with summer heat and his pony’s gait became slower and slower. Stopping for the night seemed like a sensible choice. He was not in a hurry and both he and his steed deserved some shade and a good rest. Besides, Thorin suspected that his four-legged companion was as parched as him. He got off his buckskin mare and led her into the woods.

Luck was on his side that day. Deeper in the forest, among rock formations overgrown by lush plants he did not know the names of, Thorin found a waterfall with a small pond at its feet. His pony gave out an approving neigh and proceeded to quench her thirst. Thorin followed suit. The crystal-clear water was pleasantly cool and refreshing. Some of the drops trickled down his beard and found their way under his tunic, a thought formed in his mind. This was a perfect place for an evening bath.

Thorin was not entirely sure how long he let himself drift in the pond. With his eyes closed, he enjoyed the way the water washed over him, taking away both the heat of the day from his skin and the soreness from his muscles. In truth, he did not wish to know how much time had passed since he stopped there. He was not in a hurry. Leaves rustled in a gentle evening breeze, crickets chirped, and he floated in the water, feeling almost weightless, his mind pleasantly blank. Dwalin would have probably scolded him at the carelessness he showed; his clothes and weapons lay in the grass at the edge of the pond, out of his reach. His pony was even further away, grazing. If Orcs or bandits were to appear in the area…

A strange, or rather familiar sound interrupted his thoughts. In his ears, it sounded like a cry for help. Or a pleading raven’s croak.

Thorin rose rapidly, ignoring the water splattering around him. His gaze turned to the waterfall. Were his senses deceiving him? Was it possible that the alarmed sound came from that place?

Mindful of the slippery stones that covered the bottom of the pond, Thorin approached the curtain of flowing water painted silver by the moonlight. Moments after stepping into the cloud of water dust that surrounded the waterfall, he stilled, listening. That unusual sound didn’t repeat. Curiously, he reached out ahead. His hand disappeared among the sparkling ropes of water that descended from above and then his tattooed forearm followed. Instead of a stone wall, his fingers encountered some greenery, leaves most likely, and then… nothing. Emptiness. He took a step ahead, crossing through the humming, flowing veil, eager to discover the secrets it hid.

Thorin found himself in a small cavern. Water trickled down his bare body, pooling at his feet, as he looked around. Moonlight seeped in through the waterfall, giving the walls a faint bluish tint. The place seemed empty. Almost. By the wall opposite of him, a white, irregular shape lay, covered with a silver-white mantle.

And then it dawned on him. It was not a mantle. In a few strides he closed the distance between them, kneeling beside her. Carra. Her eyes were closed, her cheek rested on the back of her hand, and the rest of her face was hidden behind her hair. Her luscious locks looked much longer than the last time he saw her. What a wonderful feeling it would be to braid them, to feel their silky smoothness on his skin…

A barely audible whimper escaped her. A frown appeared on her face. Another whimper reached his ears.

“Carra?” Thorin whispered. The last thing he wanted was to alarm her. “Wake up, my lady.”

“No…” she mumbled, not reacting to his words, a grimace contorting her features. “Please… No…”

He found her arm and shook her as gently as he could. She seemed fragile under his touch, making him feel a sudden urge to protect her from any harm that might befall her, now, tomorrow, in a year, or fifty.

Only a moment passed before her eyes fluttered open, focusing on him.

“Thorin…” she gasped. “Thorin?”

“It is me,” he reassured her, warmth blooming in his chest at the way her face immediately brightened.

“It is you,” Carra exhaled in clear relief.

In a blink of an eye a pair of arms wrapped around his neck, the cool skin of her cheek pressed against his, and her joyful whispers seeped into his ear like life-giving nectar into an ailing person’s mouth.

“You are alive… Thank the Great Mother, you are alive!”

“Why would I not be?” he chuckled, wrapping his arms carefully around her lithe body, painfully aware that under the mantle of her hair she was as naked as he was.

“The dreams…” she stumbled upon her words. “In my dreams, there was snow… ice… and blood… so much blood…”

He pulled back slightly, looking into the inky depths of her eyes, “It was only a bad dream, nothing more. I am well and so are you.”

“You truly are,” hesitantly, Carra’s palm rested against his bearded cheek.

“Aye. And I am not a dream,” Thorin covered her hand with his in a reassuring gesture. “But I am glad to have found you, Carra.”

As those words slipped off his lips, he found himself taking in all the charming details of her face, confronting them with his memories, and finding that the latter could not hold a candle to what he saw and felt at this very moment. Her unique beauty, the way a delicate smile danced on her lips, the smell of snowdrops in the air, her hand cupping his cheek; everything seemed perfectly right, stirring up all the sensations he thought he had forgotten years ago. She was with him again, in his arms, and he had never felt more alive than at this very moment.

“Found me? But you have not lost me,” she tilted her head to the side in a very bird-like manner.

“Have I not? You disappeared,” he grunted at the bittersweet memory of their last meeting. “Because I kissed you.”

“It was I who kissed you first,” her whisper was fainter than the murmurs of the waterfall behind them.

Something lit up in his chest, warmth quickly spreading inside him. Time blurred his recollection of the details, but he still remembered vividly how those raspberry lips inflamed him, fueling his imagination and dreams. “Then why did you leave?” he asked, focusing on her words.

“Because it is against the laws of my people,” when Carra spoke, there were hints of sadness in her voice and a small frown on her face. Then her other hand moved to his right cheek and hesitantly hovered over it for a heartbeat before cupping his beard. What battle she fought with herself he could not venture to guess. In the end, her eyes flickered over his features and her gaze softened as she breathed, “I am unable to watch over you if I do this…”

The softness of her lips took his breath away. A faint thought flickered in Thorin’s mind, some question he wanted to ask, but a wave of heat washed over it. Inch by inch, Carra, the woman he could only dream of until yesterday, peppered his lips with a myriad of little kisses, kindling flames of passion inside him. She tasted like spun sugar one could buy at a spring market in Dale, featherlight and sweet, waking his hunger. Thorin’s reaction to her caresses was not the most patient one: he claimed her lips, grazing them with his teeth, parting them slightly with his tongue. The fervour with which Carra responded made the blood sing in his veins. As their tongues danced with each other, he pulled her closer to him, eager to taste more of her, his hand splayed flat on her back, her small, pebbled breasts pressed against his chest. A symphony of contrasts played at his senses. Her cool touch scorched his heated body; her pale thigh pressed against his tawny skin; her soft, slim body pressed against his large, sturdy dwarven bulk; he marvelled at the softness of her skin as his calloused fingers explored her curves. Her soft moans were accentuated by his groans; the silver-white river of her tresses flowed together with the damp, dark waves of his hair. Every single thing about her, every detail, set him ablaze, filling his senses to the brim. He wanted to taste her more, listen to the sweet little whines she made as his hand closed over her shapely breast, admire the flushed skin of her cleavage as her chest rapidly rose and fell, smell the flowery scent of her hair, touch even the most intimate parts of her alluring body, he wanted to know everything about her. He wanted every single part of her, and more.

Thorin didn’t know when it happened, but she lay underneath him, deliciously bare, her hand delving in his hair, their legs intertwined. He, the leader of his people, always praised for his self-control and adherence to tradition, found himself a moment away from breaking all the rules and giving in to his desires. This was not the way of his people. In a situation like this, the Dwarven laws demanded at least a year of courting and then signing a marriage contract, and only then....

“We should…” he murmured hoarsely, his lips reluctantly parting from hers. “Tell me to stop, my lady.”

She found his gaze, running her finger along his upper lip, “I will not. This is what I want, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór.”

Her arms closed around his neck, pulling him towards her, and he needed nothing more. Only her.

Thorin delved into a deep, ardent kiss, letting his passion sing praises of her, rules of propriety completely forgotten. Carra eagerly explored his body, her fingers sinking into his muscled arms, running along the peaks and valleys of his chest, kindling the fire of his passion more and more, as if he was a red-hot furnace, melting the steel of his resolve even before work in the foundry started.

His hand ventured on an uncharted trail of her inviting body. She was truly different from his kind; slight and feminine in a completely non-dwarven and yet overwhelmingly enticing way. Every little detail he encountered fascinated him. As he covered the lovely hollow between her clavicles with his lips, it turned out to be much more sensitive than he expected. A sigh. The ruby tips of her breasts hardened like precious gems when he slowly swirled the tip of his tongue around each of them. A moan. The way her breath hitched when his fingers traced purposeful patterns on the pale plain of her belly. A purr. The way her legs parted when his hand caressed the roundness of her hip made his breath hitch.

He delved between them with eagerness, but not before his lips finished discovering all the wonders of her body. The sensitive skin at her wrist. The bend of her elbow, which when caressed by his lips, made her tremble. The rounded line of her shoulders. The arch of her neck as he found her earlobe with his lips, her whispers reaching his ears, asking him for more. The alluring shapes of her breasts he worshipped thoroughly while her hands buried in his hair, her fingers running against his scalp, igniting new flames inside him. She was perfect in every way; the woman who enchanted him completely with one single kiss on a winter night. Thorin lifted his gaze and their eyes met, sapphires and opals, and he was pulled into an endless sea of senses. Space and time cease to exist.

Their lips meet again in a new kiss, so different, so slow and tender; their breaths intermingle and their bodies intertwine in an attempt to close the last inches between them. His steel hardness presses against her moist, silky heat. He lets out a groan, savouring the sensation. Her hands move down the muscles of his back. He sinks into her in an unhurried motion. Her hips lift to meet him and then they find it together. Perfect harmony. His hand runs through her hair. Her lips curl up in a smile, diamonds shine in her eyes, and he finds the answer to the spark of hope he tucked away in his heart when they first met.

“Carra,” he murmurs softly, returning her smile.

“Thorin,” she gives out a soft cry of wonder.

They are like two rivers winding through a barren landscape for ages, only to finally join and flow together as one, their currents entwined. They rush under the hills of desire and through the valleys of passion. One by one, waves of their pleasure wash over new, breathtaking shores, rapture blooming in their wake. It does not matter where he ends and she begins, it only matters that they surge ahead, merged, undivided.

Joy sings in their veins, spurring them towards the rapids of rapture ahead and they take a leap, still together. Ecstasy claims them, filling them with impossible sweetness, branding them with its ancient magic.

The echoes of their voices—of their heated breaths—slowly quietened as they drifted together on the island of bliss. Carra drowsily opened her eyes, seeing the unmoving tangle of their bodies painted silver and blue by the light of the moon. She lay sideways, enjoying the afterglow of their lovemaking, curled up against Thorin’s chest, wrapped in his arms, her cheek resting on his arm. Somehow, she didn’t mind the way his coarse chest hair tickled her skin, so different from the way feathers felt. In fact, she welcomed all the new, unexpected sensations their meeting brought her.

Perhaps because they were undreamed; unforeseen and yet untainted by the darkness that lurked in her dreams these days. Forbidden and yet very much wanted. She and Thorin, her son of Durin, were like two pieces of a magnetite rock, constantly circling around each other and drawn to each other by an invisible force. Together at this very point in time. Just this once.

His warm, broad hand cupped her cheek. Then, his lips brushed gently against hers before he spoke, his rumbling voice filled with affection.

“I want all of you, forever, every day, Karkûnê.”

Savouring the warmth that bloomed inside her as Thorin’s words rang in her ears, Carra refused to breathe, not wanting to interrupt this precious moment, as if it could stop time from moving forward. She could not. Something stung in her eyes and she let her eyelids drop, tucking her head under his chin, clinging to him, wishing away the world that existed beyond this hidden cavern. A faint, mewling sound escaped her. At first, Thorin was silent; he caressed her hair with slow, soothing motions, holding her close, but he spoke after a while.

“I did not wish for my words to be the reason for your tears.” “My tears?” she blinked, looking up at him puzzled. Only then did she feel the surprising wetness on her cheeks. She brushed it away with her fingertips and curiously looked at the moisture they gathered.

Tears. Ravens did not cry. It was something Dwarves did whenever they were moved by something, great sadness or overwhelming happiness. What was the emotion she felt at this very moment? “My tears are… of no consequence,” she swallowed, letting her fingers caress his cheek. “Unlike you, son of Durin. The Raven Crown of Erebor is to rest on your head one day and you have a destiny to fulfil as a king.” “What do you speak of, Carra?” Thorin’s eyes searched her face. “What does destiny have to do with my feelings for you? And with yours?”

“Mine?” she whispered faintly.

“I can see it in your eyes, Karkûnê,” he added with a soft smile on his lips, running his fingers through her hair.

“I…” her cheeks burned with another new, confusing sensation, but she had to focus on more significant matters. “What I speak of is of greater importance than my feelings. Dark clouds are gathering over these lands. If the light is to prevail, the Dwarves need to grow in strength and the line of Durin must stay unbroken. It must grow.”

Thorin’s fingers intertwined with her trembling ones, steadying them.

“It will,” she heard him speak. “I am hoping for my oldest nephew to wed soon – he is my heir.” “Your nephew has a different role to play. You are the direct descendant of Durin. The oldest son of the oldest son. You need to have your own heirs. Only then…” the words died on her lips. Thoughts spinned in her head. She had already said what should have remained unspoken, and yet the dreams kept on whispering to her. Coaxing her.

“I am listening,” his cerulean eyes sparkled in the moonlight. His fingers tightened around hers and his voice softened. “You spoke of me needing sons and daughters.”

Something tightened in her throat under his gaze. Something fluttered in her belly. Carra chased away all those unknown feelings. She had to make him understand.

“You must find yourself a queen that will bear you children. A strong and worthy Dwarf-woman of an ancient lineage. This is the only way the line of Durin will not perish,” she managed to finish the sentence without letting her voice tremble. She said all that she could. She didn’t say that in her dreams the queen has luscious, red hair and a beautifully braided beard, and she is wise and beautiful. In her dreams, Thorin and his wife look at each other with deep affection in their eyes. She didn’t say that there are two children beside them as well. She was trying to ignore the ache of her heart.

“Why do you speak of such things?” anger rumbled in Thorin’s words as he sat up swiftly. His hand moved away and clenched into a fist.

“Because this is my purpose in the world, son of Thrór’s son. Not only to watch over the Lonely Mountain in the absence of your people, but to guard the path ahead of you, son of Durin. To ensure that it stays unchanged, untainted by darkness,” she wanted to reach out and touch him again but stopped herself before it was too late. She allowed herself a moment of weakness, but now it had to end, regardless of their feelings. This was not written in stars. Not for them. They both had different roles to play in days to come.

“I shall not find myself a queen!” Thorin snarled, his brow furrowed in sudden fury.

“You must! This is the only way for…” Carra protested, but was not allowed to finish.

“You speak of destiny and future, of light triumphing over darkness,” he leaned towards her, silver cuffs clinging fiercely in his hair. “And yet you offend my honour!”

“On the contrary, I wish to ensure that you tread the path of honour and glory in the days to come, just like my ancestors did with yours. You must see this!”

“I see only one thing: you claim that your gaze goes beyond the mundane and yet you seem to be blind to one simple truth,” he retorted.

“What truth do you speak of?” “You forget that Dwarves mate for life,” the hoarseness in his voice gave way to silkier tones and yet it pierced her newly found confidence as if it was a soap bubble. The realisation hit her like a sudden blast of turbulent wind and suddenly she found herself in the eye of the storm of her own emotions. Utterly lost, exactly like the path she was supposed to mark out and he – to follow.

“Forgive me, Thorin,” she heard herself say, trying to find the courage to look into his eyes and failing. Her cheeks were wet again. “So do ravens…”

The gentleness of his embrace surprised her, but she leaned into him, hoping to find solace again, relishing in his reassuring closeness. How could something forbidden feel so overwhelmingly right? They strayed and yet…

Thorin’s beard prickled against her cheek as he whispered into her ear: “I know, Karkûnê. I know.”

And then they let their bodies speak instead of their words.

Unlike the previous time they met, she did not fly away before dawn. When the first rays of morning sun filled the cavern with their glow, she rested her head on Thorin’s chest and closed her eyes, lulled to sleep by his steady breathing. For the first time in years, Carra’s dreams were filled with joy.

***

One passionate night in each other’s arms was not enough. They cherished each other’s presence for several days until it was time for Thorin to return to his life in the Blue Mountains and Carra to hers, at Ravenhill. When they parted, there was no sorrow in their hearts for they whispered promises of meeting again whenever circumstances allowed. It often happened that she found him travelling through the wilderness. Many a time he came to their hidden cavern behind the waterfall only to see her already waiting for him. In secret they enjoyed their time together, a handful of stolen nights and blissful days, year after year, and their feelings never wavered – on the contrary, they seemed to bloom stronger with each joyous meeting.

Change came on dark wings, bringing unfortunate tidings on the day when Thorin Oakenshield, the ruler of the Longbeards in exile, had a chance meeting with a wizard at the Prancing Pony in Bree.

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | ... 🌟

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#thorin x oc #thorin fanfic #fic reccomendations

[clumsy-wonderland]

I had the BIGGEST grin on my face while reading this. It was so cute <3 thanks for writing this, it was perfect!!!

For the sickeningly sweet romantic cliches bingo card: Over the top romantic gestures with Fili? While the OC/reader (whatever you’re most comfortable with) is kinda like “dude you are so cheesy” while still thinking it’s kinda sweet?

Stars.

A/N imma try to make this as cheesy as i can, which when it comes to flirting I kinda am lol, so definitely tell me if I did it enough! But hope you enjoy 💕💕

Rules, Requests, and More!

Spinning in place, Y/N watches with a grin as the skirt of her dress follows perfectly. Turning to face her mirror, she smooths out the ruffles of her long sleeves when she hears a knock on her door. Standing straight as the excitement bubbles in her, Y/N takes a deep breath in before answering the door.

"Are you," her date trails off when his eyes land on her.

"What do you think Fíli?" She asks nervously, swaying slightly in place.

"You look absolutely beautiful Amrâl," Fíli says breathlessly, earning Y/N's gaze. Her eyes widen when she sees a large bouquet of her favorite flowers.

"Fíli!" She squeals when he holds them out to her. "How did you come across these?" They don't grow so far north."

"Indeed they don't," he says as Y/N takes the flowers, breathing in deeply their sweet scent. "But I saw an elven merchant carrying them, so I had to grab them for you."

Feeling heat creep to her face, Y/N quickly turns back to her room, letting the dwarven prince follow behind her. "Thank you of course," she says, taking one last whiff of the sweet scent before moving to put them in a vase. "Now we best by going," she says, turning to her date.

"Right," he nods, offering to take her hands in his. Giving Y/N's hand a squeeze, Fíli leads her out of her room and the large hall it resides in. "You will love this," Fíli says, his voice filled with excitement. "It took me most of the day to set up."

Y/N feels a small smile creep its way onto her face as they continue through the mountain. Her mind wonders what Fíli could be leading her to, Y/N knows it's not the gardens.....not after last time which earned them a permanent ban from the King, but the springs are still open to them! Then why would Fíli have her wear such an expensive dress? Her thoughts immediately stop when Y/N finds herself in front of the to the mountain.

Shooting a curious glance at the prince beside her, Y/N shakes her head as she's led through the mountain's entrance. The cool spring air nips at her cheeks as they break away from the main path. Immediately recognizing it, Y/N's heart melts with each step.

The sound of running water makes her giddy with joy as Fíli begins to slow, reaching the end of the path, he lets go of Y/N's hand and lets her look around.

Small lanterns were strung through the thick canopy above them, mimicking the stars that the trees block. Before her was a large cleared patch where soft dirt lay, resisting the urge to go and stand under the trees, Y/N turns to face Fíli with a grin.

"I, umm, did my best to recreate it," Fíli mumbles, taking her soft hands in his. "But I can not make it colder nor have the trees shed their leaves of course."

Letting out a soft snort, Y/N pulls Fíli back to the cleared land, their decorative boots sinking slightly in the dirt. "I prefer it this way," Y/N smiles softly, letting Fíli place his hands on her hips and start swaying gently to a soundless beat. "No long dress that I would trip over, you being bolder to join me, no snow." She ends with a sigh, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you enjoy this Amrâl," Fíli whispers, the endearing name making her swoon. "But try not to get so comfortable, I have a few other plans."

She can practically hear the grin as he speaks. "May I ask what they are?"

"You may," Fíli hums, his hands gently running up and down her side. "I have gotten a few servants to bring up desserts to our new room for us to try, as well as a nice long few hours in the springs."

Burying her head into his shoulder, she lets out a silent laugh, slightly overwhelmed by all of the Prince's plans. Moving to look him in the eyes, Y/N's amused smile only grows bigger as she sees the slight confusion on Fíli's face.

"Is something wrong?"

Shaking her head, Y/N bites her lip in order not to smile or laugh any more than she already has. "No, no." She begins, watching a wave of relief wash on the Prince. "You just...hmm what's the word?"

"Are perfect in every way?"

"Oh haha," she says sarcastically. "No, umm, well yes, but I was going to say that you spoil me too much."

With a grin to match hers, Fíli twirls her around before saying, "ah but you deserve it! And more!" Which earns him a small giggle and a long sweet kiss.

#fili x reader #fic reccomendations

[clumsy-wonderland]

Omg I loved this whole fic. It was so cute and sooo frustrating, it took forever for them to get together. It’s so hard to find good Malarkey fics and I can tell you put so much effort into this, thank you for posting it <3

SMILE FOR ME (III/III)

Summary: a young promising war photographer is sent to document the Airborne's first missions on french soil, where she inevitably meets Easy Company, and Don Malarkey becomes immediately smitten by her. Lucky him, France wouldn't be the only place in which their paths would cross.

Pairing: Don Malarkey x Photographer!Reader

Genre: angst-fluff

Tags:

Band Of Brothers: @sparkyluz @chubbypotatoepie @clumsy-wonderland

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @comfort-reads

Warnings: warfare, blood, wounds, death, language

A/N: This multipart was so fun to write for some reason even the angsty part I'm so sorry for that. Enjoy this Malarkey content my darlings, I've got more of it coming your way <3

Part I

Part II

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Such a terrifying sight; not because of the cold, not because of the phantasmagoric, stripped-of-life landscape we could barely see in the dark, but because of the trail of soldiers carrying themselves out of the woods the best they could.

"Holy shit..." I instinctively pushed Y/n behind me, as if the defeated men who were pulling back would hurt her in any way.

As if she hadn't just come back from there.

"Y/l/n." Winters approached us. The photographer's left hand squeezed my bicep while the other one found shelter in my own, interlacing her frozen fingers with mine. "I know you're supposed to come in with us, but I want you to pull back."

"But I—"

"Take a picture of us entering, then pull back with these men." He insisted in a commanding, yet comforting tone. "I'll have you being sent here once this is secured." Y/n was about to complain again when Winters added something in a lower voice that made my blood run cold. "We can't have you dying, nor soldiers dying for you." The Captain's eyes flickered to me and swiftly came back to the photographer with brows raised. "Pull back."

"... Alright, sir." Y/n gave in, her own gaze stealing a concerned, almost guilty glance at my form while giving Winters a halfhearted nod. "I'm really sorry." She whispered, turning to face me once Winters was gone to speak to Colonel Sink.

"It's for the best, this doesn't look... Ideal." I reassured her, peeking at the trail of defeated soldiers walking by us. Guarnere and Babe had had the brilliant idea of taking away their ammunition, something I, too, should be doing. I pondered my options. "Shit— hold on," I turned away from Y/n, joining my friends for a moment. "Toye! Grab me some ammo!" Joe yelled back an affirmative response, and I walked back to the war photographer, pulling her away from the crowd in order to gain some privacy. "Do you know what we're walking into?"

She hesitated before giving me a nod, but she didn't explain what she knew about the dangers of the Ardennes. I don't think I would have wanted to know, anyway.

"If I don't see you again," I began in a whisper, feeling the blush creeping up my neck all the way to my cheeks. "Just know you're the most incredible gal I've met," my mouth practically vomited the words, feeling as if I was running out of time to say it. "and that when I feel blue, I always think of your smile— and that I'm always wishing to see you somewhere with your camera, even if we don't really get to talk— and—"

Cupping my face with both of her cold hands, she brought me in for a soft peck, which I barely had time to return.

"You're the sweetest soul, Don." She murmured, her own face heated up, rubbing my cheek with her thumb before letting her hands fall on her camera. "Please be careful."

"I'll try my best." I responded, bracing myself, since the cold weather threatened to leave me lifeless even before diving into the woods.

"You better do." She warned me, taking off her scarf to wrap it around my neck. I didn't complain— I craved warmth, and the piece of clothing had her scent. "Now go." She stepped back and raised her camera. "I gotta take a fuckin' photo."

I waved her goodbye before joining the fellas; Skip, Penkala and Toye, who had grabbed me some ammo, awaited for me with knowing grins. I didn't scold them, my heart was still pounding fast, and a beam of my own had been imprinted on my face, so I just allowed them to tease me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P.O.V.

"You organize things here and I'm gonna go for... Help." Luz impersonation of their CO made all of us wheeze.

"What a fuckin' character." I commented, leaning on Don, whose arm was wrapped around my middle, pressing me to his side.

He had been keeping me close since I had arrived on the January 27th, but specially after we had witnessed the German artillery blowing up Bill Guarnere's and Joe Toye's legs.

That scene would forever haunt me, specially after having to take pictures of it. It was like being back to the VIII Corps in the beginning of December— there was one difference, though; the men of the Airborne, specially the ones from E company, had grown on me.

Don's serious voice brought me back to reality. "You alright?"

"Yeah, just cold." I gifted him an effortless smile, tilting his helmet down so it would cover his eyesight.

"You guys are disgusting." Skip gagged, making me laugh while Don put his helmet back in place with a lovey-dovey grin.

"Yeah, moving out, fellas." Penkala agreed, tugging Muck's coat to get him to walk away with him. "Don't wanna throw up."

"Ignore them." Don spoke, raising his gloved hand to move away a strand of hair that had escaped my wool hat. "They're jealous, whiny bastards."

"Way to talk about your friends."

"They know I love them like brothers."

"Bet they—"

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, the peaceful, cold night turned into a shelled hell.

"WITH ME! WITH ME C'MON!" Don ran to the nearest foxhole, pulling me along with full force.

Luckily, we jumped into it just in time; an explosive landed on the ground behind us the moment we were getting coverage from the cold ground.

Not so luckily, a piece of shrapnel reached my face just as I was diving in.

"FUCK!"

"Y/N!"

"I'M FI— SHIT!" Another piece of artillery landing near us triggered Malarkey to pull me to his chest, arms wrapped tight around me as we held our breaths.

The wound I had just gotten either wasn't all that bad, or the adrenaline levels of my body were so high that it didn't hurt.

It only took a couple more seconds for the attack to be over, but they felt endless.

"Okay." I whispered, reluctantly pulling away from Malarkey. "Everything alright?"

"No?" He sat upright, taking off his gloves to pull the hat off me and carefully move my hair out of the way. "You need a medic— MEDIC!"

"That bad?" I questioned, unconsciously taking my own hand to the side of my head, where I was starting to feel a stinging pain and the warm blood running down my neck and cheek.

"Well, depends." Don tilted his head to the side, putting my hand away and digging in his pocket for something. "Bad as in a regular context? Probably. Bad for a round of Kraut artillery?" He shook his head no, pulling out a packet of sulfa powder. "Could be worse."

"Do I still have both ears?" I joked, figuring that was where the worst pain was focused.

"Well," Don grimaced, making my lay down to sprink the sulfanilamide on the side of my face. "Let's just say half of one is somewhere over this foxhole."

"Shit..."

"It's okay, you're okay. It's not that bad." He reassured me, taking my hand in his and giving it a firm squeeze. "Where the fuck's Roe?" The Technical Sergeant, now on his knees besides me, peeped over the foxhole. "MEDIC!" I heard fast footsteps hitting the ground near us right before Eugene jumped in with his bag. "She got hit by shrapnel." Malarkey explained while the medic pulled me up, checking the side of my face before pulling a bandage from the equipment. "She gotta be pulled back."

"Okay, Y/n," once the wound was covered, Eugene held my chin, moving my head side to side in order to thoroughly check the rest of my face. "Can you hear?" I nodded. "You're good, we'll get you out of here." He then turned to the man who still held my hand. "Malarkey."

"Yes, Doc?"

There was an instant of ominous silence, in which the medic seemed to ponder how to break the news, until he decided it was best to get it out with straightforwardness.

"Muck and Penkala's foxhole took a direct hit." Malarkey's hold on my hand tightened into a grip. "There's... There's almost nothing left." I knew Don was struck by astonishment, because so was I. "Do you wanna... go see it?"

The boy took a moment, as life left his gaze and body, and then denied with his head, hand falling limply on the ground, away from mine.

"I'm gonna be right back." Eugene assured Malarkey, giving his arm a squeeze. "Luz will come see you in a minute. I'm gonna go take her back to CP."

Still struck by the surreal, heart wrenching news, I myself couldn't say anything while the medic pulled me up on my feet; I could only stare down at Don, whose eyes were following my movements closely, grief setting in them as I got out of the foxhole.

As Roe rushed me away from the position, I took an overall view of the place, and found George Luz, kneeled on the ground, looking down inside a foxhole at merely twenty yards away from ours.

"I'm gonna ask you to do me a favor." The medic whispered, signalling a jeep to stop by so I could climb on it. "Stay off the line for a while." Before I could ask the reason, Roe explained it. "If you come back here and get hit, we lose Malarkey." He spoke slowly and intently, helping me sit down. "We can't lose Malarkey."

I nodded understandingly, looking down at my camera, which seemed to be in better condition than I was at that very moment.

Hopefully, the little shrapnel incident would be enough to keep me off the battlefield— I just wished I could take Don with me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I tried not to sprint to the building where I had been told E company was left to lounge in, and instead slowly but surely planted my feet on the Nazi German ground.

It was the first time since Bastogne that I would be seeing Easy; I had just arrived to the Eagle's nest to take pictures when Nixon pulled me aside to announce the good news.

"Do you wanna break it to them?"

"I— yes! Yes, I'd love to."

Breathing in and clutching with one hand the strap of my backpack, I pushed the gate open. I was instantly met with the soldiers who I had grown fond of, in much better condition than I had left them.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Luz, who stood facing towards the door, beamed at me, a cigarette hanging on his lips. "Malarkey!" He shouted, turning and jogging into another room while the rest of the boys shot a look at the door, first confused, then in shock.

"Hey fellas!" I waved my hand at them with a smile as I strolled in their direction. "Holding up pretty good, huh?"

There was a chaotic, excited wave of greetings while they all left their little circle to surround me, much like that first time I had made contact with them back in Sainte-Marie-du-Mont.

"How the hell did ya get here?" Perconte questioned.

"They indulged me." I informed them with a chuckle, placing my bag on top of a very out-of-place coffee table near me.

"What're you doin' here?" Liebgott asked.

"I'm the designated bearer of good news." My statement, along with my coy grin, triggered a new roaring of anticipation and eagerness amongst the men. "Calm down, boys! Why dontcha get me everyone here so I can—"

"Y/n?"

Just like Muck and Penkala had first dragged Don to my presence almost a year earlier in Normandy, Luz was now managing to sneak the ginger into the center of the ruckus that had just formed.

"Don!" My amused smile grew into a simper at his dumbfounded little laugh. "You sure cleaned up good."

There was a cue of whistles at Don's sheepishness and at my words; I didn't mind it, nor did he, but I had to fight the urge to leap forward into his arms, and I knew he was suffering from the same need.

"So? What is it?" Someone behind me inquired expectant.

"The German Army surrendered." I announced, as loud as possible for everyone to hear my words, though my eyes never left Don's.

Confused, incredulous whispers flooded the vast room, growing louder and louder until they became cheers of happiness.

"Happy VE Day." I spoke, this time to Don only.

The twinkle of joy in his eyes that had been dulled by the horrors of war seemed to shine just as bright as that first time we had met when he pulled my hand to bring me towards him.

With his arms wrapped tight around my waist and my own enclosing his neck, he swept me off my feet, tearing a surprised squeal out of me.

Once he put me down again, we shared a brief look remaining in each other's embrace before he closed the gap between our faces.

Having been so long expected, it felt like the most natural thing in the world when his mouth met mine.

It had nothing to do with the rushed peck I had gifted him before we parted ways at the entrance of the Ardennes; this was a deep, joyful, reciprocated kiss, charged with so much love and relief that it made time stop and our tummies flutter.

As Don slowly retrieved his lips from mine, the chaos around us started to slip back into my ears. "Happy VE Day, Y/n." He whispered, resting his forehead against mine while I dragged my hands all the way from his back to his chest, not without brushing his cheeks first.

"Get a room!"

"Shut up, Alton!" Don yelled, halfheartedly pulling away from me, though keeping his hands on my hips. "I'm tryna have a moment here."

"Have a moment IN A ROOM!"

"Luz I'm gonna—"

"Oh— Don!" His head snapped back at me, eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted as he awaited for my words. "I almost forgot— I got somethin' for ya." I pulled away from him to grab my backpack from the table. "Come." He obeyed, following my lead to another room. "Y'know, while I was away," I opened the bag, grabbing a folder from it and pulling it out. "I went to the states to work on my pictures and— well I thought..."

I cleared my throat, reaching for that one photograph. Was it a good idea? We would soon find out.

I stole a glance at Don, whose brows were knitted now, gaze fixed on my hands while they pulled the picture out.

"I thought you'd want this." I murmured, handing it to him. His shaky hands took the most careful hold on it; he took his time to examine the three protagonists of the photograph, beaming at the camera with the French landscape behind them. He surely wouldn't recognize himself —not entirely, anyway— but the two boys with him, those he would recognize.

His lower lip quivered, the back of his hand swiftly wiping the tears from his eyes before they were shed. Once he removed the picture from his face, I stepped towards him, tentatively snaking my arms around him once more.

He quickly embraced me too, pulling my flush against him with one arm, his face buried in the crook of my neck.

"Thank you." He whispered in a squeak. I rubbed his back letting him vent the sorrow in silence for a moment.

Just as we were pulling away, a handful of men crowded together at the entrance of the empty room, calling for me. "Y/n, you have to take a picture!"

"I sure do!" I responded with a smile, shooting them a look before briefly returning my attention to Don, who was successfully putting himself together. "You gotta be in it." I stated, walking back to my bag to grab the camera. "Boys, come in here!" I animatedly urged the soldiers, who were fast to take the cue.

I led the one besides me to join his comrades, giving his arm a comforting squeeze and placing a chaste kiss on his cheek before stepping back.

"Alright, fellas!"

I checked everyone was well situated before letting my gaze fall intently on Don, who stared at me in adoration, inevitably making my face turn a shade of pink.

"Smile for me!"

Click!

#don malarkey #fic recommendation

[clumsy-wonderland]

You always say that you’re not very good at writing Fili and Kili, but right off the bat, you immediately nail the differences between them. Kili grinning like a little fool and Fili more serious, kneading his hands, etc.

Omg Kili is so cute <3 with the letter from an eagle and his brother never getting one, so he doesn’t love him xd omg. This fic is gonna kill me.

Damn, look at Thorin, spitting out poetry like that.

I shit you not, I GASPED at Fili’s line, nearly choked on my own laughter. Holy shit xd I love him. “If one has to be beautiful to be loved, then you know that it’s looking very bleak for you indeed” daaaamn, the cheek on this one!

Pfff I loved this <3 it was so great. You have this amazing talent for turning the most mundane things into beauty by absolutely NAILING the descriptions of emotions, facials expressions, etc. You’re so good at creating interesting dialogue and little Fili and Kili were so cute! Plus I love that Thorin is kinda serious and using the occasion to teach them a lesson, but kinda playful when they’re gone and he’s alone with the reader, melts my heart.

Then for the last prompt of sunset can I ask for request a Thorin drabble with him telling young Kili and Fili of when he started loving the reader and the reader just responds “i woke up one morning and realised i loved you.” with Kili and Fili laughing their heads off at that - T

So here goes my final prompt for this challenge!!!

Thank you so much my dear <3

Stars

Words: 1,5 k

You could smell the interrogation a mile away; Kíli was grinning ear to ear and Fíli was kneading his hands in that self-soothing manner he usually got when working up the nerve to be just the slightest bit pompous. Noblesse oblige, and so on; he really was your beloved Thorin’s nephew.

“Uncle,” Kíli piped up – just a tad too early which made it necessary to raise his voice – and wriggled his eyebrows in an imitation, both adorable and terribly accurate, of Thorin’s inquisitive expression that you had to suppress a wild chuckle.

“Uncle,” he repeated as he drew closer, “how did you know that you loved auntie? Fíli says that one has to get a letter delivered by an eagle for love to be real.”

His small, still fairly hairless, lip trembled for a moment as he added that his brother denied ever having had such a letter and that – hence – he did not love his annoying little brother.

“Well,” Thorin leaned back against the high back of his chair and sighed, “I have loved your aunt for quite a long while now and – let me tell you this – it is very important to court ladies for an appropriate amount of time before speaking of any kind of emotions.”

Ah, you thought, Thorin would turn this into a teaching moment. You loved him dearly and that’s why you refrained from rolling your eyes at his own fit of self-importance.

“One day – after a perfectly proper courting period – we sat on a hill and watched the sun sink into the mountains, covering them with liquid gold; your aunt – my beloved – was positively glowing in the soft light.

It was then that I realised that I would look to her for light and warmth; she was the never-setting sun of my days. No matter the burst of all the colours of a fire the sunset painted into the sky, this natural spectacle of glorious defeat could not rival the unbroken radiance of your aunt.

Long did we sit there until the night sky was powdered with diamonds, sprinkled liberally onto the dark velvet backdrop like the treasure trove of some distant giant.

And still, the twinkling of mischief and unadulterated joy in your aunt’s eyes put the very stars to shame; she was not only the light of my days but the solace of my nights.

In this moment, I understood that I would turn to her instead of the sun and that it was her – and her beautiful eyes – that I would consider in making my maps.

Over time – I cannot stress that enough – she had become both my home and the destination of my long and weary travelling.”

It was rare that Thorin waxed lyrical about anything or anyone and you felt deeply flattered by his words; of course, you suspected that he had embellished a few of the details for his nephew’s sake but - in essence – you did not doubt that his words were as true as his heart was.

He had courted you according to the rules and traditions of your people and in a manner befitting his status; the stolen kisses and the wild giggling upon almost being caught in a rather compromising position though seemed to have been – for pedagogical purposes – omitted.

“So, she was beautiful?” Kíli cocked his head dubitatively, pulling at his dark, unruly hair in disgust; it was clear that – despite his best efforts – his uncle was not being very comforting to the young boy.

"Ah, if one has to be beautiful to be loved, then you know that it’s looking very bleak for you indeed…” Fíli teased his brother whose lip wobbled more consistently now.

“No,” Thorin cut in sharply, “I mean yes, she was gorgeous, but she was also kind.”

This last word cut like a knife, and you could see Fíli’s head drop in shame; he knew how much his approval meant to his younger brother, but he was not yet of an age where he’d easily recognise when he was going too far in his jibes.

“Your aunt was gentle, warm, and generous; she was a great companion and a loyal friend. I felt happy whenever I was with her; she made me feel brave and strong…”

Thorin rubbed his broad, callused hand over his forehead; they were his sister-sons and he loved them dearly, but he knew not how to explain things to them that they would not experience nor even begin to understand for decades to come.

Sometimes you suspected that – more protective and jealous than even their own mother – Thorin would have preferred that the days of flighty flirtation would never come around for his darling nephews.

He tried to explain the world to them nonetheless and he deserved all the credit in the world for his honest endeavours to prepare them as well as he could, be it when it came to crafting, fighting, or interacting wisely and fairly with others.

“What about you, auntie? When did you know that you loved uncle Thorin?”

You froze; you had not expected that your perspective would be wanted or needed on this subject.

“I guess, I just woke up one morning,” you started lamely, “Thorin was snoring, and his heavy arm lay draped around me like a rope of warmth. We had fallen asleep while staring at the night sky and – even though a tad sore – I felt safe and warm.”

You smiled at the memory; of course, Thorin’s eyes were exactly like that darkening night sky: endlessly blue, unfathomably deep, and riddled with stars and tiny fires, but you didn’t think that the boys would listen to another soppy exposé about the beauty of an ‘old’ person.

“Just like that?” Kíli’s face betrayed the struggle between disappointment and childish hope being fought within his heart and mind at this very moment.

“Yes, little one,” you said, bending down to breathe a kiss upon his sweet head, “love is very simple. I woke up and knew that – as long as Thorin was right beside me – I’d wake up every day with a smile on my lips, I’d never be afraid of the dark again, and I’d greet every morning full of faith.”

“Kíli snores,” Fíli interjected with a small chuckle.

“And how does that make you feel?” you asked him very earnestly.

“It’s funny,” Fíli admitted, “and it’s annoying when he climbs into my bed and kicks me in the shins while tossing and turning on top of sounding like a bear cub.”

You merely raised one eyebrow patiently.

“He’s always snored,” Fíli went on, gnawing on his lower lip with a crestfallen expression on his face, “and I guess I like it.”

“Do you now?” Kíli’s head snapped up, his eyes starry with hopefulness.

“Of course, you little idiot. It means you are there and you’re breathing…it means you’re fine and I am not alone. You were an ugly thing when Amad brought you home,” Fíli sniggered again, “so I guess I lied about the letter. I do love you and my love for you is much more like auntie’s for uncle than the other way around.”

You gave your husband a triumphant wink.

“I certainly don’t find you all that pretty, Kí, and when I first met you, you were really dull as well. You’re growing on me though,” Fíli grinned, gave you and Thorin a quick, perfunctory hug and then took his brother’s pudgy, little hand into his own.

“Thanks uncle, thanks auntie! We’re off to play…erm…something!” they called and disappeared much too fast for comfort.

“Don’t be late for dinner,” Thorin yelled after them, turning to you and breathing a kiss onto your brow as he mumbled: “Wise. I forgot to tell them how wise you are, my love.”

“I think they know…after all, my advice was better than yours,” you cackled and started running, knowing full well that Thorin would catch you before you made it to the end of the corridor.

The low, playful growl and the thumping of heavy boots onto stone confirmed your suspicion.

When he caught you around the waist, lifting you into the air effortlessly and pressing a passionate kiss onto your trembling lips, you could only smile to yourself.

They were of one ilk, of one family, of one blood indeed…and you had never stood the slightest chance; you were doomed, damned, and destined to love them.

And love them you had and would, never looking back, never asking why…maybe Thorin was right, and you truly were the wisest of them all.

So, in a truly draining effort, I have completed the bingo card!

Thanks again @fellowshipofthefics for this opportunity...and all my love to my darling reader! You mean the world to me <3

#thorin fanfic #thorin x reader

[clumsy-wonderland]

So happy I finally had time to sit down and read this, the first chapter was so great and I was really excited about this one and uuuuugh it was so good!

The descriptions were ON POINT, as usual, the dialogue was interesting and I squealed at your descriptions of Thorin, I’m always such a sucker for his voice and you did it so well. Also, those really short sentences after the cut really helped with conveying her confusion, well done!

Plus I loved that moment when she started to trace his features, it was so cute <3

The White Raven 2 / 4

Thank you everyone who helped me decide on posting this chapter :) The orcs are dead, but the woman with silver-white hair turns out to be much more that Thorin has ever expected...

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Rating: T (E later on) Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike.

You can find this fic on AO3. A part of this chapter is prompted by @legolasbadass ask for the @fellowshipofthefics event:

Special thanks to legolasbadass and @linasofia for your help and support. You are the best 💙💙💙

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | ... 🌟

The White Raven Chapter 2: The Legend

The woman was real. And wounded. Her fair skin was marked by a multitude of shallow cuts scattered across it. The crude rope of the net pressed into her flesh, bruising it visibly. There was no time to think. Thorin placed two fingers against the cool skin of her neck. Thank Mahal, there was still life in her, although her breaths were shallow. He took out his hunting knife and freed her swiftly from the barbaric contraption.

As gently as he could, he wrapped her naked body in his fur-lined cloak, trying to avert his gaze as much as he could. A dry chuckle left his lips. There he was, in a forest at night, spattered with pungent orc blood, trying to save a life and survive a winter night ahead, and yet his courtly manners took the better of him. Manners from the time long gone.

Only when he lifted her surprisingly light body in his arms and started walking did he dare to look at her face. Her white eyebrows, high cheekbones, small mouth and triangular chin gave her a youthful look emphasised by her beardless cheeks and lack of sideburns. The woman’s closed eyes were slanted, making him think of a cat or some other wild creature. Even though Thorin had thought at first that she resembled a Dwarf, he had to change his assessment. Apart from his previous observations, her silver-white hair was completely unbraided while her ears were pointy and much narrower than Dwarf ears. He had never seen a creature like her before. Whoever she was, a shapeshifter, a fairy or something entirely different, she required help.

It took him a while to find a proper place to rest for the night. At some point, he found a large windthrown tree with gnarled roots that could become a proper shelter from the falling snow and freezing wind if he cut enough branches of the nearby firs. Thorin placed the woman carefully on the ground and started working.

***

Cold. Pain. She opens her eyes. It is dark. She blinks a few times. Double vision. Dizzy. Nausea. Nausea? She is confused. And cold. She is shivering. She wants to puff out her feathers. There are none. Instead, she is wrapped in something pleasantly soft and… smelly. Pipeweed smoke. Horse. Blood and iron. Dwarf. She cannot stay there. Leave. She needs to leave. It is difficult to move. There is no strength in her to shift back. She has to return to her bird form. She needs to fly away. Weakness overwhelms her. She tries to flap – lift – her wings – arms – and fails. Too weak. Too cold.

She opens her beak – mouth – to croak, but only a raspy moan leaves her throat.

“Here, my lady, drink this.” Words in Westron reach her ears. It takes a moment before she understands them. A pair of arms appears in the darkness, lifting her head slightly. “It will warm you up.”

Something cold and hard is pressed against her lips. This is wrong. This was wrong. She should not be here.

“Just a little sip, my lady,” the voice was strong, low and a bit hoarse. She had heard this voice before. She remembers. She takes – took – a sip.

Burning fire flowed down her throat down to her empty belly. She coughs and tries to spit it out, but it is – was – too late. The arms were steadying her now. She should protest. She should fly away.

The river of fire changes into sharp warmth that blooms inside her. And yet her body is still trembling. Something hot touched her cheek. His hand. Touched. Her. It is gone before she can react.

“You are still shivering,” his voice was like a murmur of a distant storm in spring. “I cannot start a fire. There might be other orcs in the area, but this shelter will keep us away from prying eyes.”

Shelter. Orcs. Cause and effect. She shivers even more. Curled up into a ball. Tangled up in the softness of the fur. One of his hands lightly touched her arm through it. She felt a thick piece of fabric wrapped around her upper arm in the same place where the orc injured her wing. Cause and effect.

“My lady, you are wounded and need rest,” he said, trying to look her in the eyes, but they fluttered shut. It was hard to keep them open. He spoke the truth. She was exhausted. The shift always took a toll on her. At this very moment, she was paying the price for its suddenness. Her mind desperately tried to align itself with her changed form. It was taking all the strength she had left. Now, she lay beneath a bunch of fir branches, with the son of Durin beside her. And he touched her. She should not have allowed it. She should… She is so very cold. So weak.

“We need to keep you warm, my lady. Do you hear me?” His rumbly voice closed in. She wants to croak out a warning, but she can barely make her lips part. Her mind is slowly drifting out of consciousness. She needs to heal. Regenerate. Adjust.

“My lady…” she heard him speak once more, his voice thick and sweet, like the honey the wild bees made. In the haze that descended on her mind she only registered a few words before falling into deep sleep.

“Allow me… my body heat… keep you safe.”

She did not hear anything else. She did not notice when he lay beside her, making sure she was properly wrapped in his cloak, and then his strong arms carefully encircled her unmoving form. She did not notice the heat that radiated from his body, seeping into her skin. She did not notice when the shivering subsided and her body relaxed against his chest.

When her unconscious mind arrived at the place beyond the veil, her old friends – dreams – welcomed her. Dreams of things long gone. Dreams of things that have yet to pass.

***

When she opened her eyes it was dark. Dark and pleasingly warm. The pain was almost gone. The fatigue was leaving her body. She heard slow, steady breathing behind her. Her back was resting against something hard and broad. Something that moved with every breath. Something that held her close, wrapping around her like a cocoon. Not something. Someone. Her body stiffened. This was not done. This was forbidden. And yet… It felt right. Safe. She noticed how their chests rose and fell in unison. How gently he held her. How warm his breath was against the back of her neck. How close he was to her. She should have felt trapped, but she did not. Neither did she move away, even though she ought to. Instead, she slowly turned around to face him, careful not to wake him up. The son of Durin muttered something in his sleep and she froze for a moment until his breathing evened out again. His arm slid down and loosely wrapped around her waist, burying his fingers in the thick cloak he covered her with.

She found his face in darkness with ease; she did not require light to see the familiar features she longed to see from up close again. His thick, wavy hair looked exactly like she remembered. It was perhaps somewhat longer and ruffled up, but it still made her think of the shiny, black feathers of her kin. His beard did too. It was short and slightly unkempt. The braid was still gone and for a moment she wondered why he had not grown it back. She knew very well that beard braids were as important to Dwarves just as tails were to ravens.

Dwarves and ravens.

He would make a magnificent raven with that kind of hair, with the strong line of his nose, akin to a beak, and his sharp, observant gaze. She remembered well the deep colour of his eyes, like the winter sky after sunset. She waited, hoping for his eyelids to lift so she could see it again, but it did not happen. He slept soundly, unaware of her thoughts.

Dark clouds were gathering beyond the veil. The dreams failed her yet again. The orcs were not supposed to come. The caravan that travelled with the sons and daughter of Durin was not supposed to be ambushed. Still, they attacked the Dwarves and then caught her by surprise. It surprised her even more when this Dwarf, none other than her son of Durin, appeared in the forest clearing and attacked the orcs. And now he was protecting her, sharing his body’s warmth with her. Why? Was he aware of what it meant among the ravens?

She found herself staring at his peaceful face, unable to tear her eyes off him. She had never seen him from so close. If she moved a little bit forward, she would be able to press the tip of her nose against his. She wondered what it would feel like. Such thoughts should terrify her, but her instincts did not seem to mind. Her feelings puzzled her. She did not even think of flying away from this place. Not any longer. On the contrary, it made her feel curious. All of him did. He looked large and solid, like one of the rocks standing at Ravenhill. So different from her or her kin. He was a child of Mahal, so it was as it should be, of course. Being so near to him was against the ways of her kind. She should not allow him to touch her in any way. She was supposed to keep her distance. To observe. And yet, at this moment, the laws of her people, the words of the Great Mother, seemed too distant and insignificant in comparison with the intense, fascinating corporeality of his presence. Perhaps overwhelmed by his closeness, by his touch, by all the unexpected experiences and feelings, at this point in time she was filled with a new kind of bravery that shunned any thoughts of consequences aside. Only the present mattered.

When the tip of her finger touched the noble ridge of his nose, she was surprised by the feel of his skin. It made her think of sun-warmed earth. Encouraged by his still even breathing, she ran her finger down his nose and then lightly brushed her fingertips against his cheek above the dark line of his beard. She decided that she liked the feeling and then her fingers began to explore the short prickly hair that covered his jaw. Another new experience – and she was fascinated by it. Her gaze drifted to his mouth, making her focus on the central part of his face. One of her curious fingers carefully traced the curves of his lips. His upper lip was almost completely hidden under his moustache that tickled her skin. The sensation made her smile. She let her forefinger slowly run over his fuller lower lip, marvelling at its unexpected softness, when a blur of movement filled her vision.

It took her a heartbeat to realise that his eyes were fully open now and her hand was trapped in a strong grip.

She swallowed, not daring to move. For the first time in her life, she trod an unknown path. The path she had not seen in her dreams.

The twin pools of his gaze roamed her face and his dark brow was slightly furrowed until he blinked a few times and the haze of sleep left his eyes. They resembled the evening sky, just as she remembered, but it was not a winter sky any longer. They hid the secrets of a warm summer night with a myriad of minuscule stars sparkling against the midnight blue satin of his iris. And she wanted to know every single one of those secrets.

***

Thorin knew that this could not be a dream, even if what he saw looked and felt like one. His lungs filled with the faint smell of snowdrops. Disoriented, he was woken up by the strangest sensation, as if something tickled his face. His warrior instincts reacted, making him reach out and grab a small, long-fingered hand. Then he saw the frozen features that belonged to… He blinked. A woman of ethereal beauty was staring at him, her eyes wide, and he did not have the slightest idea who she was – and what she was doing so close to him. In amazement, he loosened his grip. Her fingers slipped out of his hand, leaving a faint, warm afterimage on his skin.

The mysterious woman continued to gaze at him without a word, and when he looked into her eyes, a distant memory came to him. In the darkness, they were black as coals, contrasting with her pale eyelashes and making him think of precious opals. Thorin was convinced that if the sun shone at them at just the right angle, all the colours of the rainbow would dance within them, unlike any gemstone he had ever seen. Her face was framed by a halo of down-like hair that seemed to float around her head. These silky locks were silver-white.

Silver-white.

In a heartbeat, everything came back to him.

“The White Raven,” he heard himself whisper. “You are a woman…”

“And you are a man, son of Thràin, son of Thrór,” her voice was like a melody in his ears. A song of childhood from years and years ago. From another life. Another place. A longing.

“You speak Khuzdul…” Thorin was uncertain as to what surprised him more. Her ability to speak his language with the flawless Ereborean accent, her apparent knowledge of his identity, or the fact that she did not look like the revered bird at all.

“You do too,” she simply stated as if it was supposed to explain everything. “But I am a Dwarf and you, my lady…?” He blurted out, rising on his elbow.

She made him wait for the answer as she sat up, clutching at his cloak that was still wrapped around her. Thorin was aware of the delicate physique hidden underneath it. His body instantly recalled the softness he felt when he wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to offer her warmth last evening. Something stirred inside him.

“I… am Carra,” the White Raven slowly articulated each word. “And I thank you for saving me from a fate worse than death, heir of Durin.”

“Carra,” her name pleasantly slipped off his tongue. “I am honoured. And I gather that you know who I am.”

“The ravens of Ravenhill have known you since Carc the Wise, your grandfather’s companion, croaked your name from the ramparts of Erebor on the day of your birth, Thorin.” Erebor. Home. Hearing this word more than a thousand miles away from the Lonely Mountain, in a nameless forest dangerously close to an Orc nest, made his chest tighten. When he spoke, his voice sounded raspy, like a wolf’s growl.

“Why did the Orc filth want to capture you?” “The same reason they attacked you and your kin. The darkness stirs in the world again. There are forces that wish to forever reign over the land, sea, and sky, and they want to eliminate all the obstacles before the time comes. It has happened before. It will happen again.”

“I do not understand,” he frowned. “Do you mean to say that another war is coming? We have crushed the Orcs at Azanulbizar barely twenty years ago!”

“The future is in motion. This was but a grain of sand before the sandstorm that may yet sweep the Middle Earth,” she wrapped his cloak tighter around herself. “I do not know when it will happen, but I fear that both the ravens and Dwarves are going to feel it first.”

“Can it be stopped somehow?” Thorin asked, his mind already set on calculating how many weapons their new forges in Thorinuldûm could produce.

“Have you ever tried stopping a sandstorm? In place of the grains of sand that fall to the ground new ones come in greater numbers,” slumping her shoulders, Carra looked down at her hands. Somehow they made him think of folded wings.

“Then tell me, why your people and mine?” he felt his temper rising. Had the Longbeards not suffered enough? Was this another trial sent by Mahal the Almighty?

A slim hand appeared before his eyes, palm up. Thorin noticed that the cuts and bruises on her arm from the day before seemed barely visible now. Perhaps it was too dark to see them clearly.

“May I?” Carra asked, moving her gaze towards his hand. Unhurriedly, he lifted it, stretching his hand towards hers. The long, pale fingers contrasted with his darker skin tone and wide palm as she traced the lines etched in it by an invisible sculptor before he was born. He could barely feel her fingertips moving against his skin, but he did not want her to stop.

“Our kinds are tied together in more ways than one,” she whispered. “The Enemy knows it. Now, the ravens of Ravenhill and the Longbeards of Erebor are apart. Vulnerable. Carc the Wise perished after receiving news of King Thrór’s demise. We are weaker. It is easier to wipe us out before we reunite again and...”

Words died on her lips. His breathing quickened.

Without thinking, Thorin took her both hands in his, searching her eyes.

“Reunite…? Are you saying… that my people will return to their homeland one day…?” his chest tightened again.

“I truly hope so,” Carra looked away. “The ravens await the day when the dragon is vanquished.”

“If I only had the means to defeat him, I would have already rid us of the vile slug,” he hissed.

Carra gave him a faint smile and a little squeeze on his hands, “There is righteous anger within you, son of Thràin, son of Thrór. Perhaps Mahal will grant you this wish and you will see your home again one day.”

“And you? What brought you so far from Ravenhill? From your people?”

Silence rang in his ears for a long while. There were emotions written on Carra’s delicate face, she bit her lip and looked down as if she was waiting for something, but Thorin did not know what it might be.

“I could not trust… I needed to reassure myself that you truly were well,” those quiet words sounded to him like the great bells of Erebor ringing on Durin’s Day.

“Me? Have you travelled so far only to see how I was faring?” He could not comprehend it, and yet something stirred inside him once more. She lifted her gaze to meet his, her hair flowing lightly down her shoulders.

“Yes, I have.”

Thorin took a deep breath.

“Truly?” He freed his hand and moved it towards her face, only to stop it a few inches before it.

Carra’s hand rose to meet his, their fingers intertwining. The skin of her cheek felt smooth as she pressed his hand against it.

“Truly.” she simply said, her dark, alluring gaze never leaving his face.

When their lips met, sweetness washed over him like a wave. There was nothing else in his mind, just her taste, her tender caresses, her closeness, her hair tickling his cheek, the touch of her supple lips against his, the faint, fresh scent of snowdrops. It felt as if he was a miner that had been lost in stuffy tunnels for years who finally found his way home.

“Carra,” he softly whispered, placing one little kiss in the corner of her mouth, his thumb caressing her flushed cheek.

“Thorin?” her breath felt hot against his skin. Her hand clasped tighter with his.

“Now that you see that I am well,” he murmured, lightly brushing his nose against hers, “will you do me the honour of staying with me?”

A hitched breath. A whiff of cool winter air instead of the warmth of her lips. A rustle of fabric falling to the ground. A flutter of wings.

A silver-white feather gently fell into his palm. She was gone.

To be continued...

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | ... 🌟

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#thorin fanfic

[clumsy-wonderland]

Little Bird of Betrayal - Part 6

Pairing: Fili x OC Word count: 4805 Applied warnings: Near-drowning experience, swearing, blood and violence, some Goblins dying, my OC being absolutely batshit crazy, cannibalistic Goblins planning on eating my favourite little lion-man (dwarf, whatever).

Tagging: @fizzyxcustard​ @faeriefics​ @jester-junk​ @i-did-not-mean-to​ @guardianofrivendell​ @lathalea​ 

Previous Part - Masterlist

The river wrapped its frigid fingers around another victim.

The current claimed her body, jerking her back and forth, fighting over her as she struggled against the dark waves, seeming determined to share her with the rocky ground below that her feet couldn’t find by pulling her in half. The angry water was black, there was no brightness, no light to guide her in the direction of the surface as she tumbled through the depths like a lifeless doll.

Brinn had never been a good swimmer, nowhere near good enough to know that it was much better to swim parallel to the bank rather than make her way towards it. She wasn’t even sure where it was, not when a downward pull dragged her around before another current swept her up and she felt air on her cheeks, mouth gaping, eagerly sucking in air, her head being pushed under again before her lips could lock around the supply of oxygen.

The water was cold, the kind of unforgiving cold that penetrated flesh and never stopped, like little pinpricks dancing along the skin as bones froze and limbs went numb. It started in her hands and fingers, arms clawing for the surface stilling as the deeper tissues ceased to cooperate properly, then her kicks faltered, legs going stiff until she drifted along helplessly.

Her heart was beating against her ribcage at first, intensely aware of the anticipated transition of death, alone in the darkness, but the terror was temporary; it passed and she was stripped of her panic and fear with surgical precision.

Her muscles gave out and she didn’t feel it as much now, the waves weren’t beating against her back and pushing the air out of her lungs anymore. It had turned into a hazy dizziness, her body giving in to the exhaustion as the will to fight drained out of her, leaving her almost oddly peaceful. There was a calm heat, spreading slowly through her limbs, a light-headedness, a soft content even as her lungs burned and her legs cramped. Consciousness was peeled away from her by the turbulent river, a distant ringing sounding in her ears flooded with freezing water while the last breath escaped from her lips in silvery bubbles.

She rarely thought of her anymore, had forced the memories to retreat to the dark parts of her mind where they pressed against the back of her skull and lived in shrouded anonymity, flowing and ebbing like the tide, but never going away. Over the years the familiar features had faded, going from being able to recall them perfectly to a blurry and shapeless outline, turning into a meaningless mass of colour that didn’t resemble anything. But now, in these last moments, she allowed those half-forgotten memories to slip forward, tearing through the warm veil of comfort that drowning offered and realised her subconscious had painstakingly maintained those details in the last two decades, saving them for this exact moment, displaying the picture with flawless accuracy.

The exact shade of her copper skin, the delicate curve of her lips, brows forever tight with worry, the almond-shaped and sentimental eyes that carried an uncharacteristically furious glint - it was all there, so clear and defined that Brinn almost believed she was actually here.

Nika was angry that she was giving up and she understood, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She didn’t want to fight anymore, in fact, she was almost happy it was over.

It was smoother and softer than she had originally imagined, strangely satisfying and yet a little anticlimactic, easier than what she always expected she would experience. All heat and fire, a chant of war stuck in her throat, stained with filth on the field of battle, her steel slick with blood and having proven its worth - as any Unburnt who feared the Gods and nothing else hoped to do one day.

I’ll see you soon, sister.

Nika quirked an eyebrow at her, shook her head and smirked in silent amusement.

Brinn frowned, she didn’t understand and was about to protest when-

She tore through the surface, gasping with shock, blue eyes and the liquid gold of wet hair strangely wide and stretched in her vision blooming with black spots. A hand was clasped around her wrist, the grip turning tighter than a beartrap as fingers dug into her skin, and her defeated eyes stared at him mutely, still glazed over from when the last threads of reality had been broken.

He said something to her, she could see his lips moving, but her mind was clouded over with a thin mist and couldn’t place any of the noises he was making, she simply watched his weary face in a dreamlike daze, unable to attach a name or meaning to any of it.

Then she was heaved onto the bank, the ground slapping the water out of her chest.

Her shoulders jerked forward as she emptied whatever was left in her body, it gushed out in astonishing volume, pouring from her mouth and nose, too much to catch a breath as she choked and coughed her way through it until it was done - leaving her pale and out of breath, her head spinning.

Her brain swished and rolled sickeningly as she flopped over onto her back, shoulders rising and falling heavily, sparks of pain pinching her sides, panting and wheezing, her legs twitching as she tried to steady her uneven breathing, eagerly sucking in oxygen. When her strength was somewhat regained and the air in her lungs renewed, the laughing started, wrangling itself from her throat in hacking barks, red-faced, cheeks burning a reddish-brown colour, like the flowers Kit had always liked that grew around the sea of Rhûn in uneven patches.

Poor Kit. In a moment of weakness - for there was nothing else left in her - she almost felt uncomfortable with the fact that she had never told the girl much about her parents, but that feeling vanished as soon as it had appeared.

For a while her lips lingered on the edge of speech, parting and closing. Her tongue felt numb and heavy as it scraped against the roof of her mouth and she struggled to construct a coherent sentence, every word seeming foreign in her melting and dizzy mind.

“You’re a real bitch, Nika,” she eventually croaked, raspy and thick, an oddly childish thing to say, barely recognising the sound of her own voice as she pressed the heel of her good hand into her sockets, trying to push the black spots away, the other arm awkwardly draped over her chest.

The wind streaming through the trees almost sounded like laughter.

She knew she couldn’t stay here, she had to move, force herself to her feet, get a sense of her surroundings and make a plan. Get up, she commanded, but for a while she could do nothing, thought of nothing, and watched the moon waxed round and silvery against the backdrop of midnight, chasing away all the lesser stars.

“Dwarf, don’t die on me,” Brinn whispered into the darkness as she finally found the strength to push herself off the ground and curled her legs underneath her, her head still sluggish, dreading what she had to do, but seeing no other solution. “Don’t tell me that I’ve risked my neck for you, only to see you collapse now.”

She sighed, gritted her teeth in dreaded anticipation, and pulled.

A cry leaped from her throat as the bone shifted and her shoulder popped back in place with a nauseating click, her feet digging into the dirt below, neck straining, slamming a fist against the stone in an effort to release tension before she fell back. “Fuck.”

She rolled her shoulder, fingers prodding the flesh to test the strength, and tore into her tunic so she could fashion the strips into a makeshift sling. “Dwarf?” she asked, looking up when she received no reply, looping the pieces of fabric around her neck. “Quit your lollygagging. This is hardly the time to play hide and seek.”

She peered out into the dark, scanning her surroundings, and wandered over to the riverbank where the turbulent currents had smoothed the rocks down to nubs. The roots of a tree had twisted themselves into an arching tangle that rambled across the sleek bank and dipped below the surface, melting away in the water, here he had found holdfast when he had thrown her to safety, but now she found no sign of life amongst the angry waves that must have swept him up.

Gravity always won when it competed with the air, but it had absolutely nothing on the all-powerful display of dominance that the river held - not even a sturdy Dwarf with heavy bones was a match for its perils.

The thought caused a grin to stretch across her features. “Every cloud has a silver lining.”

She was soaked to the bone, fabric clinging to flesh and hair sticking to her neck and cheeks, limbs stiff and cramped inside of her skin. However, the will to fight and survive another day had returned to her and with a renewed sense of determination she stared manoeuvring across the rough terrain in the dark, commanding her tired feet to shuffle along.

The valley was a deep pit surrounded by tall mountains and the boulders that had galloped down over the centuries had formed the rocky ground underfoot, deep cracks patiently waiting to catch an unsuspecting ankle. She moved slowly, seeming to creep forward like a snail and never getting anywhere, tripping and stumbling, arms flailing in the air like a windmill as she tried to regain her balance. She hissed with every movement, her shoulder throbbing painfully, hunched over and shivering.

She came to a ridge crowned with bushes bearing large clusters of pale flowers, having produced droves of berries in the early summer, swollen round and plump amongst the stems covered in treacherous prickles. She plucked one of them, rolled the fruit between her fingers, sniffed, and then dutifully inspected the spade-shaped leaves that were toothed along the edges, flipped them over to see the hairy undersides and decided they were safe to eat.

They were bitter, but her stomach howling with the familiar pinches of hunger didn’t mind and she stuffed great handfuls of them into her mouth, the juice dripping down her chin as they popped between her teeth. She listened to the eerie noises in the darkness around her while she ate, it could have been a trick of the wind as it hissed amongst the rocks and trees, but there was life in the night and the humiliating shame of fear lingered in the back of her mind as she thought about what terrors the wilderness could bring.

She didn’t stick around to find out and followed the river as it curved eastwards before it plummeted down into the depths below, forcing her to scale down the rocks at the side of a waterfall, sleek and slippery, sliding on the wet stone as she descended. The rough texture caught the fabric of her clothes, tearing and shredding as she crawled past until she made it down, trudging along the riverbank where her boots sank into the damp sand and the branches of hunched over trees whipped at her face, slicing the skin open.

The land had been drier and more open behind her, thinner and less difficult to manage, but here the trees of the denser wood closed in. The stems were green with moss and netted over with cobwebs, shimmering silver, their branches lacing and curling into a tangled net above her head. The darkness seemed heavier here, even though the sky had already started to brighten into a soft shade of orange, breaking out into pale grey as the black of midnight drained away.

The early hours of twilight dawned cool and crisp, promising relative safety, but instead brought new dangers in the form of unfamiliar voices. The silence was broken as they sniggered and whispered amongst themselves, the wind carrying their words in a most treacherous way, betraying them effortlessly.

“Make yerself useful, Onk, jus’ grab ‘is legs,” a voice said, sharp and raspy, a sound that was unpleasant to the ear. “Get ‘im inside before the bugger wakes up!”

She pressed herself against the shaggy growths smothering a tree and peered around the large trunk. She found three grotesque creatures, their sallow skin riddled with various diseases and deformities, clad in mismatched clothing and scavenged items of armour, gangly arms and crooked fingernails prodding and poking the limp body of a lone Dwarf who laid lifeless on the riverbank.

“Incompetent clot-head,” she whispered under her breath before shifting her weight, leaning on the balls of her feet as she slunk through the forest. She made her retreat effortlessly, stepping around twigs and clusters of fallen leaves, a graceful elegance to her soundless feet, distancing herself from the mess the Dwarf had gotten himself into.

“Will ye ‘urry it up already? I ate nothin’ but stinkin’ goat for weeks, I’m starvin’!”

Fuck. That was a little unfortunate, but hardly her concern.

On the other hand, Kit would know. The girl wound take one look at her and she would know what Brinn had done. Her brain didn’t seem to tick quite right at times, lost in thoughts and staring at empty corners, forever lost in that dreamlike daze of hers, but she had these rare moments of clarity in which she was terrifyingly sharp and the raw cunning in her green eyes saw everything.

She would know and she would undoubtably be furiously angry for weeks, tears of boiled-over frustration pooling on her waterlines and threatening to spill, endlessly nagging, reminding Brinn that she would never have left anyone behind - friend or stranger, Elf or Unburnt or Dwarf, it wouldn’t have mattered to her.

She would never hear the end of it.

“Get the plump thing on the spit, skewer ‘im like a pig,” one of the Goblins said, spitting out a hacking chuckle. “I like watchin’ the skin go crispy.”

Another Goblin snorted. “Ye always overcook everythin’!”

She glanced over her shoulder and watched them pull off the Dwarf’s heavy boots and unbuckle his belt, bony fingers searching through his pockets and inspecting the swords slung across his back with eager curiosity.

She sank down into a crouched position, waiting, a little uncertain, rolling through the possible choices and weighing them in her head, arranging and rearranging her thoughts, skimming along the different scenarios. Then they started peeling the leather coat with fur lining off his shoulders, the one that had kept Kit warm while she had sniffled and sneezed in a damp cave, and it caused something to drop in Brinn’s stomach. It was formless, an unfamiliar feeling that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, carrying a name that tasted foreign to her vocabulary, but it made her chest sing with sour pinches.

Oh, Gods, no. It was guilt. What kind of fresh horror was this? No self-respecting Unburnt was supposed to deal with something as humiliating as guilt. She didn’t like it, but the choice was made, and her feet seemed to move of their own accord when she plunged through the forest.

Curse the fool with dragon sickness.

She stepped on twigs and leaves and kicked small rocks along in her path, announcing her presence before she appeared and smoothed her features out into something that resembled dull indifference. “Oi, you there!” she called out.

The three Goblins whirled around, snarling from those gaping mouths and they reached for the curved weapons at their belts. “Stop right there,” one of them demanded gruffly in a sharp voice, like nails scraping against a rock. “Toss yer blade over and put yer ‘ands up, up, I says.”

She made a great show of rolling her eyes, but did as they asked, throwing her sword into the dirt and raising her hands slightly above her head. “Is this really necessary?” she asked flatly, feigning boredom.

“Scrawny lil’ thing,” the shortest of the three said, a grey tongue escaping from behind thin lips covered with sores, trapped between jagged and overgrown fangs in thought. “Nothin’ but bones to pick me teeth with.”

“Ye’ll need the bones for the pickin’, Dwarf-scum got tough skin.”

“No one is eating my bounty until I have my coin,” Brinn argued loudly. “You best keep your filthy paws off him until I have my promised payment.”

One of the Goblins scrunched up his flat nose and narrowed his skewed eyes, nostrils flaring, a wide mouth stretching across rotting fans when he spoke. “Ye what now?”

“You better hope that I’ll still get my money’s worth after the mess you’ve put the Dwarf in, is he dead? Azog won’t like that one bit, he prefers to do it himself, you see?”

The Goblins shared a look of confusion and then turned beady eyes back in her direction, seeming a little taken aback, but not entirely convinced. “We don’t gone put ‘im in any mess, lil’ thing! Found ‘im like this, didn’t we, Onk? Watcha losin’ ‘im for anyway?”

“He ran,” Brinn said, shrugging absentmindedly. “Took a tumble into the river. I’ll have his skin for that.”

“Well, we’re plannin’ on eatin’ the Dwarf-scum’s skin while it’s still fresh and juicy, ye can’t ‘ave it!”

“Once I have my coin you can figure out with Azog who gets to strip it from his bones, but until then no one touches the Dwarf.” She bent down, keeping one hand raised above her head and slipping the other into her boot of supple leather, worn and scuffed, her movements slow and easy to follow for suspicious Goblin-eyes that tracked every contraction of her muscles. “Here, maybe this will help.”

She held up the piece of old cloth Darla had given her in Bree, rough to the touch and still damp from the river, blurry stains of leaked ink forming a strange pattern of symbols in a harsh and ugly language, seeming unorganised and difficult to decipher to the untrained eye.

The tallest Goblin shoved the one that had been called Onk roughly in her direction. “Get goin’, I can’t read,” he ordered in a short and clipped command.

Onk blinked his yellow eyes at her in uncertainty and she twisted her features into something that was deceptively pleasant, a façade of sweet innocence, her eyes kinder and gentler than usual. He crept closer, carefully breaching the distance between them, while a sharp shade of red crept along his sallow skin dotted with festering sores, betraying his nerves, and she had to bite her lip to stop her mouth from curling up into a grin of triumphant trickery.

He snatched the cloth out of her hands and retreated back to the others, never daring to turn his back to her, muttering to himself as he traced the symbols with a black finger. “Hm, scrawny Man-child speaks true things,” he said, passing the cloth over to another Goblin who studied it curiously.

“What’s yer name?” the tallest one wanted to know.

“Brinn,” she answered and then she hesitated, dreading giving voice to the name that she had somehow collected over the years, making the memory of the one who had split her face in half linger in the old scar that shone silver on copper skin. “The Snake-Eye.”

The tall Goblin shrieked in amusement, barking out a laugh that sounded like a hoarse cough while his eyes crawled across her small form. “Thought ye’d be taller.”

Her shoulders dipped low when she sighed and the well-executed façade of politeness cracked and crumbled, lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, I hear that a lot.”

“Well, don’t ye be standin’ there like a ‘alfwit, lil’ snake-thing, grab ‘is legs. Be quick about it, sun’s comin’ up!”

As soon as he dropped his guard and turned his back there was the sound of metal scraping out of a sheath, a small arm wrapped itself around the bones sticking out of sallow skin stretching across a thin shoulder, nimble fingers carrying a quick knife, and the tall Goblin would never say anything again as a fast cut was carved into his throat, severing his windpipe and vocal cords.

Brinn didn’t have the sharp eye of a marksman, couldn’t zero-in on anything and forget about whatever lingered at the edges of her vision.

Instead, her mind was a wide pool, seeing the entire picture and storing away everything it saw, filtering the different categories simultaneously, diluted hints that barely seemed worth being spared another look and clearer hints visible from miles away equally as important. Like a burned-out librarian with too many books to keep track of, all of them constantly at the forefront of her mind in case she had to access a particular one within a moment’s notice, flicker through the pages of her memories, glimpsing a half-forgotten detail that hadn’t made sense at the time, but was now a startling revelation.

It was an exhausting and mentally draining process that gave her headaches and made her eyes sting, but it meant she saw the fist lunging for her head. It took half a second for the Goblin-hand to reach her, but within that small snap of time her mind twisted and spun through the different scenarios that could possibly unfold - like complicated steps of a dance practiced by Lords and their Ladies in high-ceilinged halls of old.

She could throw herself back and, hopefully, not stumble over the roots sticking out from the ground like the tripping-hazards they were, only to end up within arms-reach of the other Goblin - no, much too dangerous, those gangly arms could crush her ribs. She could attempt to tackle him to the ground before the fist made contact, wrap her arms around his waist and throw him off balance, but Brinn was realist above all things and knew that there wasn’t enough space between them to gain enough momentum, she’d never be able to pin the beast if she couldn’t break out into a quick run first.

Or.

She braced herself for the impact, was prepared for it, but not for the surprising amount of force behind it.

Her face whipped to the left, a sickening crack rung in her ears and then she had a mouthful of grass and blood, her brain swishing in her skull and the bones trembling in her face. She groaned, stumbled, disoriented, her vision blooming with black spots that flowered in the corners of her eyes and she nearly choked on a chipped piece of her own tooth.

Black fingers with crooked nails tangled in her hair and heaved her onto her feet, she spat a thick spray of blood into a round face littered with overgrown deformities and in his confusion he let her go, only for her to sink to her knees and slice a blade through the festering skin on a bare stomach, watching a sickly mess of organs plop onto her legs.

Onk turned and ran and she was upon him with all the sharp cleverness of a quick-footed cat, he was the shortest of the three, the least eager for a fight and the best to keep alive until the end - the most cowardly of them.

He didn’t cry out when she pounced and forced him to the ground, instead those yellow eyes bulged like a clueless fish in a flat face and he gurgled in protest when a knife sunk between his ribs.

“It’s all right, I’ve got you,” she promised, shushing him into silence as the blood dripping from her chin misted his face. “Now, if I may, allow me to walk you through your options. One, I pull this knife out and watch you bleed to death, which will be a real treat for me. Two, I leave the knife in, like the cork on a wine bottle, and I let you tend to it to stop the bleeding before we remove it. Are there others around and how many?”

He sputtered and twitched dramatically as he wrestled below her, hissing when her knee dug into his chest. It was a strange sensation to touch the tough skin of the beast, finding warmth beneath a hairless and almost scaly surface, not entirely expecting the walking piece of filth to be so… alive.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like me to write this down for you? If you have trouble keeping up, you can just tell me and I’ll let you out the side-door,” she announced, seeing his face pinch and his throat tighten when she twisted the knife.

“They’re deeper in the mountain,” he eventually admitted, rasping through the words with great difficulty, his chest rattling with uneven breaths. “They won’t come out, not now the sun’s comin’ up.”

“You’re sure?”

Onk snarled at her, but affirmed the positive, nodded slowly, and thought of Ghield when the Snake-Eye went back on her words and he died. He remembered the whisps of snarled hair braided down her back, the mysterious black eyes and how she hopped through the mountain like an overexcited goat, the way her belly curved in and her ribs stuck out, of how the Dwarf-scum’s skin and insides could have kept her fed for a week.

Unlike him, Brinn thought of nothing while she ripped the knife out with little ceremony, absent flair or grandiosity, pulled the wound open with her fingers and saw the ground drink the blood eagerly, reddening as she watched.

She prodded and pushed at her face, testing the strength of the bone, looking for cracks and broken splints, finding none and then ran her tongue across her teeth, retracing the one that was sharp and angular and chipped - right at the front, too.

She checked the fallen, rammed the toe of her boot into their sides, watched their chests for any sign of breath still lingering in their lungs and pawed through their stone-grey clothing, looking for anything useful, before releasing all the air she didn’t know she was holding. She waited for the hidden fear to leak out of her pores, steadied her trembling legs that threatened to buckle underneath her and moved over to the Dwarf.

The clot-headed fool was still out cold, golden hair matted and twisted after his fight with the river, thick and gelatinous blood pouring out of the wound near his temple, but the beaded braids in his moustache had kept their shape a little too well, which was suspicious in itself.

“Get up,” she demanded weakly, kicking his leg and poking his cheek. “I can’t carry you, you’re too heavy.”

Dwarves were sturdy, built to last and rock-solid, thick skin stretching across wide plates of bulging muscles protecting him from the cold that was wrecking Brinn’s body with stuttering trembles. He didn’t move an inch when her hand weakly slapped against his damp chest.

She sighed, turned her back to the fool and started collecting some kindling while rolling her painful shoulder and jutting her jaw back and forth, trying to loosen the aches that were building up there. It took a long time to get the fire started, she placed the branches she had found in silence and left enough air between the wood for the heat to burn them to a crisp, eventually managing to coax it to life, hissing and cursing all the way through.

She tended to her own needs first, warming her stiff fingers close to the heat, shaking the leather boots off her feet, wringing her wet socks out and wiggling her numb toes near the flames. She didn’t turn her attention towards the Dwarf until the limbs cramped inside her skin were warmed up a little and then, with a great grunt of effort, tried to roll the fool onto his side.

It was a difficult task to peel the heavy coat off his shoulders with only one good arm, pausing halfway through to scoop crushed berries out of her pockets and licking the juice off her fingers, but eventually, after more time having passed than she liked to admit, Brinn laid the coat out to dry around the dying fire and cleaned her knife on the fur lining.

“It’s a good day for you, Dwarf, at any other time I would have left you to your fate,” she announced into the silent waste of the deep-cut valley, breaking the logs open and letting the spark trapped beneath rise into a proper flame, settling in for a long wait and seeing the sun come up. “You’re lucky I’m in such a good mood.”

Funnily enough, it wasn’t even a lie.

#fili #the hobbit #fili fanfic #fili fanfiction #fili x oc #hobbit fanfiction #lbob #little bird of betrayal #clumsy-wonderland

[clumsy-wonderland]

Alriiiight finally had time to get started on this and I’m so excited!

I love everything that features little Fili and Kili as tiny pebbles and they are so cute in this first part already, you had me squealing when Kili mispronounced white raven <3 I just wanna squeeze their chubby little cheeks.

LOVING this paragraph right here, that starts of with “This was the topic…” and ends with “…more real”. It’s very relatable, I think everyone likes talking about stuff they’re interested in and the whole thing about “Even though his findings had not brought him any closer to the truth he craved, there was an urge inside him to speak of it, as if this simple act could make it more substantial”. Ugh, somehow that is such a poetic line.

I always love it when people invent their own legend/culture/language/whatever and build this whole story around it, you’ve done that so well!

Oeeeeh this whole fight scene was so amazing! Quick and kinda panicky.

Loved this first chapter, very curious about the next one ^^

The White Raven 1/4

Hello, my wonderful readers! Remember me? I'm (sort of) back! I've been trying to fight a writer's block and since the Valentine's Day is coming soon, let me treat you to a love story straight from the Middle Earth.

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Rating: T (E later on) Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike. You can find this fic on AO3.

Special thanks to @legolasbadass for all your help and discussions and @linasofia for your unwavering support. Love you guys! (Feel free to check their stories here and on AO3, these two are really talented, you won't regret it!)

Khuzdul: Kaminzabdûna - Yavanna Kheled-zâram - the lake of Mirrormere

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | ... 🌟

The White Raven Chapter 1: The Legend

“Uncle?” A chubby dwarfling crawled up on Thorin’s lap, joining his little brother.

“What is it, Fili?” Thorin ruffled the boy’s wheat-colored hair, careful not to wake up Kili who snored quietly against his tunic.

“Is the White Raven only a legend?”

This innocent question made the king in exile freeze for a heartbeat.

“Why are you asking?” He made his voice sound casual. Lighthearted.

Fili looked around and whispered, “I saw a white raven today when I went out with Amad.”

“Have you?” Thorin lowered his voice. Perhaps it simply was a child’s imagination. Fili was an inventive lad after all.

“It sat on a branch on that big oak on the way to the market, but when I went to see it up close, it just flew off!” The boy gesticulated lively. “Are you certain that it was a raven?”

“I’m not a little pebble like Kili, Uncle! I know a raven when I see one!” Fili protested. “It just looked weird, because it had white feathers.” His little brother sighed in his sleep and shifted, making Thorin wrap his arm around him tighter as he pondered Fili’s words. Was it truly possible after so many years?

“You were lucky then,” Thorin spoke carefully, “There are many stories about the White Raven and all of them say that it shows itself only to a few.”

“Stories? Please, Uncle, I want to hear all about the White Raven!” Fili pulled on his sleeve.

“White Waven!” Exclaimed Kili, suddenly awake.

“Very well,” Thorin said, unable to stifle a smile at their enthusiasm. This was the topic he himself had been passionate about and researched through the years. Even though his findings had not brought him any closer to the truth he craved, there was an urge inside him to speak of it, as if this simple act could make it more substantial. More real.

Thorin’s gaze travelled towards the flames dancing in the hearth as he chose his words with care.

“Legends say that the White Raven is a clever and powerful bird. Our priests teach us that it is the sacred bird of Mahal, the symbol of his wisdom. Some say that it is sent by Kaminzabdûna herself to protect its kin and that one is born in every generation. Others claim that it is one of the great wizards, an immortal who became tired of his human form and changed his shape to roam the earth and watch over the world. And there are others who believe that it is simply a regular bird born without colouring in its feathers.”

“And what do you think, uncle?” Fili looked at him, wide-eyed.

It took Thorin a moment before he could form a fitting response.

“Every Dwarf should find the answer to this question by themselves. The old stories tell us that a White Raven led Durin the Deathless to Kheled-zâram and then accompanied him to Khazad-dûm. A White Raven sat on Durin III’s shoulder when he received his ring, one of the Seven, the ring of kings that my grandfather and father wore. And it was a White Raven that croaked three times mere moments before Durin VI was taken into the Halls of Waiting.”

“Croak! Croak! Croak!” Added Kili waving his rattle for greater effect.

“Very good, Kili, three times!” Thorin smiled at the bright-eyed pebble.

“So… the raven I saw… was it the same White Raven that Durin met? Or was it a completely different raven?” Fili furrowed his brow just like Dis sometimes did.

“I wish I knew, Fili. I suspect that no one truly knows.”

“What about you, uncle? Have you ever seen the White Raven yourself?”

His nephew’s question caught Thorin off-guard. He opened his mouth, not finding the right words.

“The White Raven…” he started, only to be interrupted by his sister.

“Fili, Kili, are you pestering your uncle for new stories again? You know that he is tired after a long day in the forge.” “But mummy…” Fili groaned.

“It is alright, Dis,” Thorin turned to her.

“It is past their bedtime,” she shook her head and took Kili from her brother’s lap. “Let’s get you both to sleep, my little warriors.”

Thorin barely heard the boys protesting. His gaze was once again drawn to the flames in the hearth, their light reflecting in his eyes.

***

He could not remember when he saw the White Raven for the first time. Among his earliest memories was an image of a large raven with silver-white feathers watching him from a distance whenever Thorin left the Mountain. Later, when the young prince hunted in the woods or visited Ravenhill, he would sometimes catch a glimpse of this bird of extraordinary beauty. Every time it happened, he would leave some nuts or a quail egg for the raven as a treat. On one occasion the White Raven approached Thorin and slowly took the treat from his hand, careful not to touch the prince. When the bird tilted its head, one of its eyes rested on his face, both black and iridescent, like a precious opal, and Thorin felt himself drawn to the glints that danced within it. He did not know how long he stared into its bottomless depth, but when the raven suddenly flapped its wings and flew off, the prince became certain of one thing. He would never speak of this meeting to anyone.

On the day Smaug attacked Erebor, it was ravens’ croaking that alarmed him about the dragon’s presence. Thorin liked to think that it was the White Raven attempting to warn the Dwarves, even though he never determined where the croaking had come from.

Almost fifty years had to pass until he saw the White Raven again.

***

The orc shrieked at the top of his lungs and fell on the snow-covered ground with a wound gaping in his chest. Thorin did not have the time to check whether the foul creature was dead; he had to pursue the last two of his companions. Their tracks led him into the forest. A barely visible black trail of orc blood on the frosty ground confirmed his suspicions: Dis’s arrow had found its target. Now he had to catch up with his foes and make sure they never left the woods. Whoever sent out those warriors must have known that a large dwarven caravan with women and children was passing through these lands, dangerously close to the orc stronghold.

Thorin followed the trail until just before sunset. Loud rustling beyond the evergreen bushes nearby made him stop in his tracks. There was something large ahead. An animal? He had no way of telling. Slowly he approached the source of this sound, holding his sword at the ready when he heard a croak of a raven and fluttering of wings. Surprising. Thorin did not know that ravens lived in those parts. He had not seen one in ages.

As quietly as he could, he moved the leafless branches that obscured his view to the side and almost gasped. The orcs he was chasing were engaged in a fight with a large bird, its wings silver-white. The White Raven. His White Raven. He was not certain how he knew it, he simply felt it to be true.

The opponents were fighting fiercely. One of the orcs had thrown a net over the raven, limiting its movements, but the bird was not giving up, clawing at the enemy. An arrow was sticking out of the shoulder of the second orc and yet he did everything he could to reach the thrashing raven with his dark blade. The bird’s movements were swift; Its robust beak and sharp claws often hit their mark, making the orcs howl in pain or throw insults at it. But Thorin saw the blood that stained the raven’s feathers red and noticed how the bird frantically flapped its wings. The heavy net was dragging the creature down and soon the raven would be on the ground. Trapped. Helpless.

Thorin acted instinctively.

With a war cry, he ran towards the orcs with his sword, Deathless, in his hand. When he crossed his blade with his enemies, Thorin realised that he faced two dangerous warriors, even though at least one of them was wounded. The fight was not easy: both orcs were taller than him and had a wider reach, but as long as Thorin was fighting them, the White Raven had a chance to escape.

Attack. Parry. Feint. Blades meeting once, twice, thrice, and again; the sharp metal singing in the air.

Attack. Attack. Parry. Snow falling down in the last light of the day.

Lunge. Feint. Attack. Putrid black blood painting the snow black as the first orc lay spread on the ground.

Parry. Parry. Step back. Parry.

And then a heavy blow landed on his chest.

The fall knocked the air out of Thorin’s lungs and for a moment he was unable to move. The remaining orc lunged at him, but Thorin was faster. Relieved that his brigantine held, he rolled away and launched a counterattack, thrusting his sword upwards, into the orc’s side, a thumb’s width behind the edge of his breastplate.

The silence that fell after his last opponent perished mingled with the shroud of the night that fell upon the forest, as if refusing to witness more blood being spilled. Thorin’s eyes adjusted to darkness quickly as he turned around, trying to find any signs of the White Raven.

The only thing he noticed was an irregular, pale shape on the snowy ground. There was something unusual about it. He quickly approached it, trying to ignore the bitter taste of unease on his tongue. The shape was not moving. Only after he crouched by it did he realize what it was: instead of a raven entangled in the orc net, a Dwarf-like figure lay beside him, facing the ground, their bare back partially covered by long, silver-white hair.

Thorin was staring at a completely unclad woman.

To be continued...

🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | ... 🌟

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Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings​ @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @anyaspidergirl-blog @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia @justfollowtheroad @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @legolasbadass @yourqueenunderthemountain @reblogunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell @elrawienthewhite @xmly-xo @tschrist1@nelleedraws @beenovel @vee-vee-writes @mcchiberry @shalinizhara-deactivated2022020 @dumbassunderthemountain @errruvande @laurfilijames @emrfangirl @s0ftd3m0n @lilith15000 @kami-chan1512 @ragsweas @enchantzz @aduialel @myselfandfantasy @thewhiteladyofrohan @elliepie1226 @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @blairsanne @fckmini @clumsy-wonderland @narniaandthenorth @i-am-the-raven-queen

#thorin x oc #thorin fanfic

[clumsy-wonderland]

Kili: Tauriel, my gorgeous, crimson haired princess.

Tauriel: hmm?

Kili: Have I ever told you that your beauty makes my heart grow wings.

Tauriel: ....

Kili: One kiss from you is worth more than all the gold in the kingdom of Erebor.

Tauriel: What do you want from the top shelf of the pantry.

Kili: The sugar please.

Tauriel: we need a stepladder.

#kili x tauriel #the hobbit

[clumsy-wonderland]

Omg I'm blushing over here, this is making my day <3 thank you so much for this, you're always so nice!

Little Bird of Betrayal - Part 5

Pairing: Fili x OC Word count: 5357 Applied warnings: Swearing and a bit of blood and panic at the end there, but nothing crazy. The author’s quick note: Finally some interaction between Brinn and Fili in this one. And a big thank you to @jester-junk for generously stepping in as my temporary beta-reader for this chapter and all the great advise she gave and @scyllas-revenge for supplying me with a brilliant line that she so gracefully allowed me to steal from her!

Tagging: @fizzyxcustard @faeriefics @jester-junk @i-did-not-mean-to @guardianofrivendell 

Previous Part - Masterlist

The morning was bright and clear on the day of their departure. Brinn wanted to wait for the Wizard, but the Dwarves insisted on leaving at the crack of dawn and so she said nothing while they slipped through the valley, grey shapes in the first light, disappearing from underneath the watchful eyes of the Elves who thought their quest to be a foolish venture.

The previous night, during the velvety silence of sundown, she had questioned the Wizard.

“So, they want the mountain,” she had said to Gandalf, bent over the collection of yellowed maps and dragging a measuring rope across the ink stains on old parchment. “Why are you meddling in their affairs?”

“That mountain troubles me, Brinn. Oh, yes, it troubles me greatly, not just because of the serpent that lies there, but for its strategic position.”

She had absentmindedly tapped a finger against an intricately carved compass, seeing the needle jump to life, and glanced up to find an absent look in those all-knowing eyes. “What position?”

“Soon the days will grow darker and the light will be hard to find when the shadows of lurking evil spread,” the Wizard said, his shoulders dipping low with invisible pressure underneath a threadbare robe. “It is paramount that this quest should not fail, it is of the uttermost importance.”

“Why me?” she had demanded to know, pausing in her search of the quill she had tossed onto the table earlier, the purity of a white swan-feather blinking from its hiding place underneath a map with torn edges. “There are other smugglers who know the way, better even, perhaps, who would serve you just as well.”

Gandalf had displayed that strange half-smile she had never quite gotten used to, the riddles falling from his lips aggravatingly unfamiliar to her usually sharp ears. “After the mountain is won, I will tell you why I have asked you above all others. I fear you will not thank me when that day comes, for this will not be the last time I call upon your help, but it must be done.”

Keep reading

#fili #fili fanfic #fili x oc

[clumsy-wonderland]

Aaaw thank you so much for this lovely comment, I'm glad you enjoyed it! Your opinion always means a lot <3

Silent Slumber

Pairing: Thorin x OC Summary: In which she knew when she had stopped hating his snoring, was certain during which time she had started to enjoy it, but couldn’t recall when she could no longer stay sane without it. Word count: 863 Applied warnings: None. The author’s quick note: First time I’ve written about Thorin, it’s a lot shorter than the stuff I usually do, but I kinda like this fluffy little fic.

Tagging: Not sure who is on my taglist for everything and who is on my taglist just for the Fili fic so I’m just tagging everyone, sorry if you didn’t wanna see this. @fizzyxcustard​ @faeriefics​ @jester-junk​ @i-did-not-mean-to​ @guardianofrivendell​ 

Masterlist

There had been a time when she had hated it.

Every rumbling intake of breath that made his chest heave before it fell, cheeks blowing out as his intake of oxygen escaped, the quickening of his breath that hinted towards the fact he was pulling himself out of a deep slumber before an exasperated sigh slipped from his lips and he started an endless fight with his scratchy blankets, tossing and turning until another crisp and cool day dawned.

She had listened to it with her back turned to him and her arms crossed, eyes twitching in utter annoyance every time he dared to make a sound, jaws clenched and nose scrunched up, silently working up the nerve to tell Thorin to just go to sleep already - but she never did. No matter how loud he got, and he did get incredibly loud, the sounds of his restless shuffling and his unsteady snores causing dark circles to suffer beneath her eyes.

She had hated it while sharp pebbles and the gangly growth of tangling roots dug into her back when they sheltered underneath a large rock that overhung the path, the unsavoury tales of Orcs and their thirst for blood still fresh in her mind. She hated it when the rattling breaths were loud enough to climb above the sounds of eerie noises whistling in the dark on her bed of fragrant grass after Kili had accidentally dragged her bedroll through the mud. She had hated it while she shivered in silence and listened to stone giants hurling rocks at each other for sport in the distance, lightning piercing the sky and splintering on the snow-topped peaks of the mountains, splitting her leader’s pupils in half when it casted spiky patterns of pale light on the damp walls of the cramped cave.

Just go to sleep already.

She had stopped hating it when those eager intakes of air were the only certainty she had that he was still alive, his bandaged chest falling and rising weakly, his throat closing and faltering on a breath that made her fly up from her seated position in alarm. She hadn’t minded it so much when the feverish nightmares caused by milk of the poppy peeled away his consciousness and he slept soundly for the first time, she hadn’t cared at all when he had slumbered quietly with the strength of a man - dwarf, whatever - on the mend, hadn’t even batted an eye when the snores returned and alerted her to the fact that he was slowly coming back to himself.

After a while, she even started to enjoy it.

In Mirkwood, where the dark trees of the dense wood seemed alive and angry, the barks netted over with silver cobwebs seemed to notice her and the drooping branches were not only strangely watchful, but were always plotting to catch one of her unsuspecting ankles in their network of tangles.

When the limited slivers of daylight streaming through the trees faded and the moss-covered stems became nothing more than a haze in the depths of midnight, she was certain that those trees whispered to each other in an unintelligible language. She had cowered in her bedroll, until she heard those rumbling breaths beside her and the once aggravatingly annoying sounds had turned into a comforting lullaby, for if their leader could sleep in this forest that seemed to have been created out of all things nightmares were made of, then so could she.

She had eventually started looking for it, even when his mind had been clouded over by the sickness that altered his thoughts and the newly crowned King rarely ever found his bed, she was still on the lookout for the familiar pattern of breath that lulled her right into a dreamless sleep.

Just go to sleep already.

She liked seeing his usually sharp features smoothed out into a soft sort of indifference and if she didn’t know any better she would have thought that he almost seemed sweet like this, oddly peaceful, in that innocent sort of way that was lost on adults during the day, especially when his brain swished sickeningly inside of his skull and was trapped in the grip of endless gold.

She knew when she had stopped hating it, was certain during which time she had started to enjoy it, but couldn’t recall when she could no longer stay sane without it.

Even now she watched him while he slept, allowing her eyes to crawl across that sharp and angled nose, his strong jaw and the surprisingly delicate curve of his lips, trying to find the secrets hidden in his skin.

Thorin surprised her that night, when his slow breathing quickened and his chest rose with a deep sigh before he pushed himself up into a seated position.

She could feel his eyes carving a trail into her flesh and even though she couldn’t see it in the dark, she knew he was making a great show of rolling his eyes, flipping his dark mane over his shoulder with a grand gesture and then, with great booming flourish, he announced:

“My love, just go to sleep already.”

#thorin x oc #thorin fanfic

[clumsy-wonderland]

Aaaaw thanks for your lovely comment, made me so happy to read it and I'm glad you enjoyed it <3

Silent Slumber

Pairing: Thorin x OC Summary: In which she knew when she had stopped hating his snoring, was certain during which time she had started to enjoy it, but couldn’t recall when she could no longer stay sane without it. Word count: 863 Applied warnings: None. The author’s quick note: First time I’ve written about Thorin, it’s a lot shorter than the stuff I usually do, but I kinda like this fluffy little fic.

Tagging: Not sure who is on my taglist for everything and who is on my taglist just for the Fili fic so I’m just tagging everyone, sorry if you didn’t wanna see this. @fizzyxcustard​ @faeriefics​ @jester-junk​ @i-did-not-mean-to​ @guardianofrivendell​ 

Masterlist

There had been a time when she had hated it.

Every rumbling intake of breath that made his chest heave before it fell, cheeks blowing out as his intake of oxygen escaped, the quickening of his breath that hinted towards the fact he was pulling himself out of a deep slumber before an exasperated sigh slipped from his lips and he started an endless fight with his scratchy blankets, tossing and turning until another crisp and cool day dawned.

She had listened to it with her back turned to him and her arms crossed, eyes twitching in utter annoyance every time he dared to make a sound, jaws clenched and nose scrunched up, silently working up the nerve to tell Thorin to just go to sleep already - but she never did. No matter how loud he got, and he did get incredibly loud, the sounds of his restless shuffling and his unsteady snores causing dark circles to suffer beneath her eyes.

She had hated it while sharp pebbles and the gangly growth of tangling roots dug into her back when they sheltered underneath a large rock that overhung the path, the unsavoury tales of Orcs and their thirst for blood still fresh in her mind. She hated it when the rattling breaths were loud enough to climb above the sounds of eerie noises whistling in the dark on her bed of fragrant grass after Kili had accidentally dragged her bedroll through the mud. She had hated it while she shivered in silence and listened to stone giants hurling rocks at each other for sport in the distance, lightning piercing the sky and splintering on the snow-topped peaks of the mountains, splitting her leader’s pupils in half when it casted spiky patterns of pale light on the damp walls of the cramped cave.

Just go to sleep already.

She had stopped hating it when those eager intakes of air were the only certainty she had that he was still alive, his bandaged chest falling and rising weakly, his throat closing and faltering on a breath that made her fly up from her seated position in alarm. She hadn’t minded it so much when the feverish nightmares caused by milk of the poppy peeled away his consciousness and he slept soundly for the first time, she hadn’t cared at all when he had slumbered quietly with the strength of a man - dwarf, whatever - on the mend, hadn’t even batted an eye when the snores returned and alerted her to the fact that he was slowly coming back to himself.

After a while, she even started to enjoy it.

In Mirkwood, where the dark trees of the dense wood seemed alive and angry, the barks netted over with silver cobwebs seemed to notice her and the drooping branches were not only strangely watchful, but were always plotting to catch one of her unsuspecting ankles in their network of tangles.

When the limited slivers of daylight streaming through the trees faded and the moss-covered stems became nothing more than a haze in the depths of midnight, she was certain that those trees whispered to each other in an unintelligible language. She had cowered in her bedroll, until she heard those rumbling breaths beside her and the once aggravatingly annoying sounds had turned into a comforting lullaby, for if their leader could sleep in this forest that seemed to have been created out of all things nightmares were made of, then so could she.

She had eventually started looking for it, even when his mind had been clouded over by the sickness that altered his thoughts and the newly crowned King rarely ever found his bed, she was still on the lookout for the familiar pattern of breath that lulled her right into a dreamless sleep.

Just go to sleep already.

She liked seeing his usually sharp features smoothed out into a soft sort of indifference and if she didn’t know any better she would have thought that he almost seemed sweet like this, oddly peaceful, in that innocent sort of way that was lost on adults during the day, especially when his brain swished sickeningly inside of his skull and was trapped in the grip of endless gold.

She knew when she had stopped hating it, was certain during which time she had started to enjoy it, but couldn’t recall when she could no longer stay sane without it.

Even now she watched him while he slept, allowing her eyes to crawl across that sharp and angled nose, his strong jaw and the surprisingly delicate curve of his lips, trying to find the secrets hidden in his skin.

Thorin surprised her that night, when his slow breathing quickened and his chest rose with a deep sigh before he pushed himself up into a seated position.

She could feel his eyes carving a trail into her flesh and even though she couldn’t see it in the dark, she knew he was making a great show of rolling his eyes, flipping his dark mane over his shoulder with a grand gesture and then, with great booming flourish, he announced:

“My love, just go to sleep already.”

[clumsy-wonderland]

Haha yeah I get that, starting off with a bit of silliness there is always fun!

Ah well it’s not difficult to compliment someone when their writing is this enjoyable and I definitely think you can compete with the masterpieces on here, don’t sell yourself short, cause this fic read so smoothly, that’s an artform in itself. Not even to mention the great descriptions and interesting dialogue.

And oh yeah I never doubted that for a second ghehe xd he’s a Durin and a dwarf, they’re stocky and broad… I imagine it’s all about the girth hihihi. Damn I’m such a nasty little shit xd

Power Outage

Modern!Kili x fem!reader

Requested: no, we had a power outage in December and my brain had a thought when sitting in the dark 

Word count: 5k

Warnings: scary movies, Kíli being Kíli, friends to lovers, blatant ignorance of candle science and what to do during a blackout, slight hint of miscommunication because they’re idiots your honor

A/N:  I don’t know what this is or what I attempted to achieve but here it is anyway. The fic that caused my writer’s block to last almost 4 weeks… And I’m stubborn that way, I refused to work on anything else until this one was published. I’ve read it too many times and if I don’t publish it now, I will keep editing this until next year. Hope you’ll like it anyway.  

This isn’t beta’d (how do you spell it anyway) so all mistakes are my own. Another reminder that English isn’t my first language, so don’t expect any poetic lines or clever wordplays :) 

MAIN MASTERLIST

You peeked over the edge of your blanket for a few brave seconds before closing your eyes as soon as the music swelled again, a small whimper escaping through your lips. 

This was such a horrible idea.

The movie you were watching was one of those creepy ghost movies you would normally skip immediately when they were airing or try to avoid as much as you could on movie nights with your friends. You weren’t a fan of horror movies or movies with a lot of jump scares in them in general and therefore avoided watching them altogether. If the plot asked for a serial killer or the movie started with a group of friends, only to end with one sole survivor, you were out. 

So why put yourself through this? 

Because of Kíli… Kíli really liked horror movies and you really liked Kíli. It was as simple as that. 

Keep reading

[clumsy-wonderland]

5K words? YEEEEES. Also, I don’t know if you meant to be funny while writing your warnings there, but it really made me laugh ;)

Ahh yes, the never-ending cliché of a group of friends and the sole survivor haha, but I do like how you described that part and aaaaahw this line already had me all giddy: “Kili really liked horror movies and you really liked Kili. It was as simple as that.” So sweet <3 And soooo relatable, I can’t even begin to count the amount of times I’ve sat through a shitty film I didn’t wanna see cause some cute guy recommended it.

Honestly, I barely even noticed that the fic started with the current time, then went back in time, and then came back to the present again, which is super impressive. I did that in my most recent chapter and it didn’t feel right, I just couldn’t get it to work, but this was so smooth and the flow was so nice that I barely even realised there was a time jump. Well done!

Loving how you’re cutting off this paragraph right here, with a dash (-) and jumping right to the next line. Conveys the tone really well, that she’s drowning in her daydreams and not really paying attention, makes it feel more abrupt.

No jokes about Casper the Friendly Ghost… I was terrified of ghosts as a child and Casper scared the shit out of me, no matter if he was friendly or not, still a ghost… May have still creeped me out when I was well into my teens I’m sorry to say xd oops.

Daaaaamn this foreshadowing tho. Also, you always find such a nice balance between your dialogues and your descriptions, you break up the longer paragraphs with a quick line of dialogue and then sprinkle in some descriptions with the next spoken line, etc etc, nicely done. Not too long, but also not so short that it’s almost only spoken sentences and I can barely picture what the scene looks like.

I act all tough, but I am such a wimp when it comes to stuff like this, honestly, your descriptions of the horror movie might already give me trouble with sleeping tonight xd

Omgggg. I mean, ofcourse I knew it was Kili sneaking into her house, but still, I was GLUED to the screen during this bit. Couldn’t he have announced himself tho? He’s such a buffoon.

“Distracted by the free display of muscles and the careless torture of cheap fabric.” Damn, ok then, that’s a hot sentence, brilliant!

Oh noooo but it turned sad so quickly, this whole thing is a rollercoaster, what are you doing to me?

“It’s big alright”…. Oh, oh, oh, oh. The teasing little shit xd

This was PERFECTION. I love that it was so long and the description of that hug was everything I need and eeeeeek the ending was so sweet and fluffy and I could go on and on all day about how much I enjoyed reading this <3

Also, you often mention that English is not your first language and honestly, there is no need for that, cause if I didn’t already know I would NOT be able to tell that this isn’t your native language from your writing. The grammar, the flow, everything is on point!

Power Outage

Modern!Kili x fem!reader

Requested: no, we had a power outage in December and my brain had a thought when sitting in the dark 

Word count: 5k

Warnings: scary movies, Kíli being Kíli, friends to lovers, blatant ignorance of candle science and what to do during a blackout, slight hint of miscommunication because they’re idiots your honor

A/N:  I don’t know what this is or what I attempted to achieve but here it is anyway. The fic that caused my writer’s block to last almost 4 weeks… And I’m stubborn that way, I refused to work on anything else until this one was published. I’ve read it too many times and if I don’t publish it now, I will keep editing this until next year. Hope you’ll like it anyway.  

This isn’t beta’d (how do you spell it anyway) so all mistakes are my own. Another reminder that English isn’t my first language, so don’t expect any poetic lines or clever wordplays :) 

MAIN MASTERLIST

You peeked over the edge of your blanket for a few brave seconds before closing your eyes as soon as the music swelled again, a small whimper escaping through your lips. 

This was such a horrible idea.

The movie you were watching was one of those creepy ghost movies you would normally skip immediately when they were airing or try to avoid as much as you could on movie nights with your friends. You weren’t a fan of horror movies or movies with a lot of jump scares in them in general and therefore avoided watching them altogether. If the plot asked for a serial killer or the movie started with a group of friends, only to end with one sole survivor, you were out. 

So why put yourself through this? 

Because of Kíli… Kíli really liked horror movies and you really liked Kíli. It was as simple as that. 

Keep reading

#kili fanfic #kili x reader #fic recommendation

[clumsy-wonderland]

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Babe, you can have three <3

[clumsy-wonderland]

Little Bird of Betrayal - Part 5

Pairing: Fili x OC Word count: 5357 Applied warnings: Swearing and a bit of blood and panic at the end there, but nothing crazy. The author’s quick note: Finally some interaction between Brinn and Fili in this one. And a big thank you to @jester-junk for generously stepping in as my temporary beta-reader for this chapter and all the great advise she gave and @scyllas-revenge for supplying me with a brilliant line that she so gracefully allowed me to steal from her!

Tagging: @fizzyxcustard @faeriefics @jester-junk @i-did-not-mean-to @guardianofrivendell 

Previous Part - Next Part - Masterlist

The morning was bright and clear on the day of their departure. Brinn wanted to wait for the Wizard, but the Dwarves insisted on leaving at the crack of dawn and so she said nothing while they slipped through the valley, grey shapes in the first light, disappearing from underneath the watchful eyes of the Elves who thought their quest to be a foolish venture.

The previous night, during the velvety silence of sundown, she had questioned the Wizard.

“So, they want the mountain,” she had said to Gandalf, bent over the collection of yellowed maps and dragging a measuring rope across the ink stains on old parchment. “Why are you meddling in their affairs?”

“That mountain troubles me, Brinn. Oh, yes, it troubles me greatly, not just because of the serpent that lies there, but for its strategic position.”

She had absentmindedly tapped a finger against an intricately carved compass, seeing the needle jump to life, and glanced up to find an absent look in those all-knowing eyes. “What position?”

“Soon the days will grow darker and the light will be hard to find when the shadows of lurking evil spread,” the Wizard said, his shoulders dipping low with invisible pressure underneath a threadbare robe. “It is paramount that this quest should not fail, it is of the uttermost importance.”

“Why me?” she had demanded to know, pausing in her search of the quill she had tossed onto the table earlier, the purity of a white swan-feather blinking from its hiding place underneath a map with torn edges. “There are other smugglers who know the way, better even, perhaps, who would serve you just as well.”

Gandalf had displayed that strange half-smile she had never quite gotten used to, the riddles falling from his lips aggravatingly unfamiliar to her usually sharp ears. “After the mountain is won, I will tell you why I have asked you above all others. I fear you will not thank me when that day comes, for this will not be the last time I call upon your help, but it must be done.”

She had shaken her head in disbelief at the puzzles he was spinning and returned her attention to the maps. “I’m not exactly biting at the bit to start this quest of yours, but after it is over, I shall make sure to jack up the price of my sword, so you best find yourself some wealth if you plan on making Kit and I stumble through the mud with you again.”

He had chuckled behind her, but it was a hollow and brittle sound that held no joy, his voice stretched thin with tension when he spoke again. “Brinn, the girl, you must make more of an effort with-“

“Don’t speak to me about Kit!” she had barked out, the sharp bite of frustration welling up inside her stomach that twisted itself into knots.

The memories were still so harsh and blunt, raw and reluctant to heal, skin unwilling to knit itself together over the open wound. Perhaps it would never heal.

“Kit is fine,” she lied, for her clumsy attempts at something that barely resembled love had brought nothing but destruction upon the child.

She thought about that lie during the first day that consisted of manoeuvring across the sloping wasteland of dry grass that crept up to the foot of the nearest mountain, turning steeper with every step until their legs went sour and their aching feet started tripping over rocks and roots springing from the earth. The country was rough and barren, the going was slow, their bodies felt like lead by the time they made camp, hidden in the treeline, and Brinn stopped the Dwarves when they started to tear into the hastily packed food.

“Don’t eat that. There are no animals to shoot in the mountains and no fires can be lit at night to cook anything. We hunt now, save that for later,” she explained, cold and chipped, on one hand not really caring if they grew hungry or not, but on the other not trusting them to stop themselves from rooting through her own pack when their stomachs would start to growl unrelentingly. “Kit.”

The girl rose, slinging a quiver full of arrows over her shoulder.

“Kili!” Thorin called out. “Fili, go with him.”

And then she was stuck. They rarely ever travelled with others, it had been the two of them for so long and they simply remained within eyesight of each other at all times. They couldn’t leave the company of the crownless King to plot and scheme amongst themselves, their packs left behind since they would make too much noise with them to shoot anything - weighing them down, their steps as they trudged through the vegetation too heavy, scaring all the wildlife away. Now Brinn was torn in between leaving their supplies unattended with a group of unfamiliar Dwarves or sending Kit off into the forest by herself with two strangers that she didn’t trust any further than she could spit.

The others saw the hesitation and she recoiled at this momentary sign of weakness and uncertainty that was displayed so clearly. “Go,” she said. “It’s all right.”

Kit hesitated and glanced over her shoulder a few times before she plunged into the thick treeline and disappeared from sight.

Brinn built a fire while she was gone, gently coaxing the wood to life. Each group had their own at a short distance, close enough to keep an eye on each other, far enough to reserve some form of privacy and if she strained her neck she could almost overhear snippets of a conversation whispering through the trees. Kit - an excellent shot on light feet that moved soundlessly - came back with a rabbit in no time at all and Brinn couldn’t bite back the grin that split her face in half when it wasn’t lost on either of the two camps that the Dwarves hadn’t made it back yet. Her Kit was quicker.

The next morning, when they were repacking everything, she clamped her hand around Kit’s arm tighter than a beartrap and pulled her aside. “When we’re up in the mountains, we’re going to be sleeping in the caves with them,” she said while checking the straps and buckles on her niece’s packs. “I want you to put your bedroll next to mine and stay close, every night, you understand? No wandering about.”

“You’re planning on guarding me?”

“Yes.”

Kit snorted. “From a group of Dwarves?”

“From a group of fourteen males that we don’t know nor trust who are going to be stuck in a cave with a young girl all night. Don’t be foolish. Use your brain, it’s in there somewhere.”

“Fine,” Kit mumbled, lifting her pack onto her back with a great grunt of effort, bending her knees to test if she could carry the weight and slapping Brinn’s hand away when she started picking things out of the bags to dump into her own. “I’ve got it, it’s not too heavy.”

They walked and stumbled until they were weary, creeping through the days that looked much the same as the one before, while a bitter cold wind streamed through the trees and their coats seemed unable to keep out its frigid fingers. Slowly, but steadily, the mountains drew nearer, looming over them and bending westwards and when the sunlight slanted upon their peaks tipped with snow, they shimmered.

Their climb was steep and difficult, full of sharp slopes and winding paths, twisting treacherously through the wilderness, carrying them to the edge of a sheer fall from where they could see the bleak valleys below, filled with turbulent waters. At night they heard eerie noises in the darkness, shrill cries and wild howls and dull rumblings whistling over their heads.

“What’s that noise?” a Dwarf whose name she didn’t care to know asked Brinn one day, nervously gazing down into the hidden depths, watching the river disappear in the folds of the darkened land and the clumps of trees melt away in a green haze.

“Giants,” she answered.

He heaved a disagreeable snort through a large nose and shook his head. “Surely not.”

She grinned at his ignorance and said nothing.

There were many paths that led up into the mountains, some were dead ends and most were infested with evil things and dreadful dangers lurking about. Only a handful could take travellers safely through, but those were hard and treacherous, crooked and narrow, long and lonely, carved into the side of the mountain, the threat of falling into the abyss forever present. One could climb for days while the wind cut through skin and bones, howling and echoing, pulling at the boulders that came galloping down the mountain sides.

The days grew colder and clouds hurried overhead, dark and low, heavy with the threat of rain and shrouding the great peaks above, the track carrying them along the edge of a deep ravine to the right. Rivendell was now a forgotten speck hidden in the distance behind them, invisible in the gulf of darkness, and the fear of tumbling into the depths below started settling into freezing bones underneath soaked coats.

Thorin found a rock that overhung the path and wanted to shelter there for the night, but Brinn moved up along the line towards him, which proved to be difficult. She had to get close, brushing past shoulders and manoeuvring in between feet, for the narrow walkways couldn’t handle anything more than a single file.

“This won’t do!” she screamed at him, the wind hollering in her ears, seeing her own reflection in the blackness of his pupils. “There are plenty of caves nearby that make better shelter!”

“Caves in the mountains are seldom unoccupied!” he yelled back, plucking strands of wet hair away from where it stuck to his skin and obstructed his view.

She nodded. “We know which ones are safe,” she assured him and went ahead, grabbing the rock wall to the left as her feet shuffled unsteadily on the slick stone.

She dutifully inspected the first one she found. Kit was a silent shadow on her heels while she dragged her fingers along the floor and walls, prodding and poking, looking for cracks that hinted towards hidden doors and traps. When she deemed it safe the Dwarves and their Hobbit poured into the dry cave, wringing out their braids and peeling drenched coats from their shoulders.

“Is that why they call you ‘the Snake-Eye’?” the archer with a mop of unkept dark hair asked when they all tucked into their cold and cheerless dinners of whatever food they had brought, pointing at the left side of her face. She had quite forgotten his name.

“A little decorum, Kili,” another Dwarf demanded, the one with a long beard of white silver and gentle eyes, dressed in scarlet robes, whom Gandalf had introduced as Balin, son of Fundin. “A lady is not to be asked such a question.”

“Hardly a lady,” the archer mumbled under his breath and someone else - whose name she had never learned in the first place - had the good sense to kick him in the shin hard enough to draw a high-pitched yelp from his throat.

It was bound to come up sooner or later, for the massive scar that cracked her face in half was difficult to ignore and her left eyebrow stubbornly lingered behind when she tried to raise it at him, the muscles severed by the deep cut, leaving her left side strangely limp and lifeless.

He was still staring, waiting, and her deceitful smirk twitched around a mouthful of bread when she answered. “Nope.”

Next to her, Kit muffled a snigger with her sleeve.

It was a tight squeeze in the cramped and gloomy cave. The dwarves were at the far end, their youngest in the middle, the others spreading out their bedrolls in a wall around them, protecting the heart of the circle. Brinn was closest to them, Kit safely tucked away to her left, and she leaned against the stone wall while keeping her eyes trained on the entrance of the cave.

There was a leak somewhere. She could hear the water spilling down and dripping on the rocks and with every little splash her eyes twitched, growing more annoyed by the second. She shrugged off her coat and leathers, leaving her in a simple tunic tucked into the waistband of her trousers, twisting the water out of the fabric and laying it out to dry in their damp surroundings.

“Let me have a look at it,” Kit said, wiping the crumbs from her lips and patiently waiting for Brinn to flop onto her stomach. She peeled the tunic away and inspected her handiwork on Brinn’s lower back, tracing the edges of the wound that she had stitched up a few weeks ago with delicate loops.

“It looks good,” Kit announced, rummaging through her bag for her salves. “The skin has knitted together nicely, there’s not too much scarring.”

“Lass?” Brinn heard Balin ask and Kit’s hands stilled on her back. “If I may, how old are you?”

Perhaps he had noticed the last slivers of childhood desperately clinging to those puffy cheeks and soft jawline, age not yet having sharpened the round lines of her features into angular planes. It stood in sharp contrast against the scar that wrapped itself around her throat, the silvery pinkish tone of newer skin shimmering against copper flesh, making her appear older.

She had seen and defied the sharp sting of death once, but terror was a living thing, forever lying in wait to take more from her and everyone else.

“Twenty-six.”

“And when would your kind be considered to have reached adulthood?”

“I’ll have the ceremony when I turn thirty-five,” Kit answered.

Conversation stilled immediately, Brinn awkwardly cleared her throat under the numerous cold eyes that turned her way in disapproving judgement, leaning on her elbows and glancing over her shoulder at Kit who smeared salve on the old wound. “You want first or second watch?”

“One of my company is already taking watch,” Thorin grumbled from the back of the cave, hands clasped around a mug of cold tea.

She made a great show of rolling her eyes while Kit carefully tucked her tunic back into the waistband of her trousers. “If I told you not to bother and that we would take care of the watch, would you sleep easy?”

Silence, then a heavy sigh. “No.”

“Exactly.”

And that was that. Brinn took watch until it was time to wake Kit up, one of the dwarves took watch as well, and no one felt the need to utter another word. The air was thick with tension in their cramped cave, neither group trusted their new travelling companions and a stifling blanket of silence spread over them, filled with the heavy tossing and turning of Dwarves on edge.

Sleep did not come easy for any of them, but one by one, they slowly sank away into unconsciousness while Brinn picked at her nails near the flickering flame of a lantern. When Kit took over she rolled around endlessly, listening to the Dwarves snore. They were so loud, their great rumbling roars of breath echoed up the stone walls, cheeks blowing out as their bellies heaved and fell.

Her dreams were chaotic and turbulent, difficult to keep track of and even harder to remember when Kit woke her up in the morning, shaking her a bit too violently, and it felt as if she had only shut her eyes for a few minutes.

“You look dreadful,” Kit commented as she rolled up her blanket and stuffed it into her pack.

“I didn’t sleep a wink,” Brinn mumbled, rubbing at the dark circles crinkling the soft skin under her eyes. “How is it possible that they all snore?”

“I liked it,” Kit smiled. “It was like a little song, I drifted right off, slept like a baby and not a fussy baby, no, a very happy baby. Do I snore?”

“Sometimes,” Brinn grinned, a little lopsided, the scarred left corner of her mouth never moving much. “When you have a cold, but it doesn’t sound like you’re sawing down an entire forest or putting a diamond through a grinder, unlike some.”

Kit blinked at her in surprise. “But I have colds all the time.”

“Exactly. I’ve been sleep deprived for twenty-six years,” she said, slapping her knees, forcing herself up on her feet and kicking the nearest sleeping Dwarf in the back. “Up and at ‘m!”

It was freezingly foggy that day. The bitter cold was biting at their exposed skin, making their faces feel raw and numb and they hurried along the mountain pass as quick as they could, but the sharp rain from yesterday had made room for careful steps on icy stone and the going was agonizingly slow. The climb was rough, unforgivingly steep, making their calves sting with sour pain while sweat pearled on brows and pooled down backs.

“Where are you from?” a voice behind her asked.

She looked over her shoulder, hunched forward as she navigated the slippery path leading upwards. The dark-haired archer, he was strange for a Dwarf, she noted. His hair wasn’t braided, simply pulled away from his face and clasped at the back, his beard nothing more than a thin line of stubble on the curve of a strong jawline.

“East,” she mumbled.

“Where in the east?”

“Far in the east.”

“But where?”

She threw her head back, sighing in exasperation. “Give me strength,” she muttered up at the sky under her breath. Kit never asked this many questions, not even when she had been a young child, completely bypassing that stage where they asked ‘why?’ after every sentence.

“As far east as east goes, that’s what Brinn says,” Kit called out from in front of her, one of Brinn’s hands firmly wrapped in the girl’s coat in case she fell. She had considered tying a rope around that skinny waist and looping it through her belt, but if she fell then Kit would have been dragged with her and they had decided against it.

“That’s what Brinn says,” she repeated, nodding at the dark-haired archer behind her, turning her attention back to the path stretched out in front of her and abruptly putting an end to their conversation.

About halfway through the day Kit started sniffling, scrunching up her nose every few seconds, in the late afternoon the sneezes came and when they sheltered in a cave for the night she shivered in her bedroll under Brinn’s coat piled on top of her. When a hacking cough wrangled itself from her niece’s throat, Brinn seriously started considering just turning around, finding Gandalf to hand the money back and making their way to a more pleasant part of this world. Let the Dwarves and their strange little Hobbit friend fend for themselves, she wasn’t going to kill Kit over some coin.

One of the Dwarves shuffled over to their spot and Brinn eyed him suspiciously. He was up there in age, requiring a brass trumpet to aid his faltering hearing, his hair and braided beard faded to grey and white - harmless enough.

“Not to worry, lass,” he said with a hesitant smile. “I’m a healer, Oin is the name. This’ll only take a second.”

She watched as he carefully wiped away the whisps of dark hair, pressing the back of his hand to Kit’s forehead and then her neck. “Temperature s’fine, that’s good. Tomorrow we’ll boil some water for tea, I brought honey I can put in it to get rid of that nasty cough. She’ll be right as rain, you’ll see.” Then he bent down, grabbed Kit’s little foot through the pile of coats and blankets and gently squeezed her big toe. “In the morning we’ll get a little fire going, when the sun is out and the goblins don’t come up to nibble at your toes anymore.”

Kit giggled and Brinn managed a weak and joyless smile in gratitude at the healer.

“No fire, not in these parts,” Thorin ruled.

“We could all do with a nice cup of hot tea,” Balin said with a curt nod towards Brinn and no one said another word, the matter was closed.

Brinn started to suspect that they would have been a lot less nice to her if Kit hadn’t been there, with her easy smiles and her kind eyes and her child-like giggles that made even the coldest hearts melt effortlessly.

However, the next night, Kit wasn’t doing that much better.

The chamomile tea with honey the Dwarves had brewed in the morning had been nice and the paste of eucalyptus Oin had smeared on Kit’s chest had opened up her nose a little. Her cough was better, drier and smoother than the hacking rumbles she had spat into the crook of her elbow yesterday, but she was still a sneezing and sniffling mess.

It hadn’t helped that they spend the day in the drizzle while Brinn had it out with Thorin over which road they should take when the path split into two narrow lanes - stubborn fool - and she listened to Kit’s teeth clatter in her bedroll when they settled in for the night, fletching arrows to the sounds of a shivering girl.

It was a precise activity that her niece never had much patience for and she vowed to keep that quiver full at all times, for if Kit ran out of arrows then her last line of defence was nothing more than a small knife she was alarmingly clumsy with.

She was working in silence, a small pile of finished arrows at her feet, listening to the rumblings of Kit’s runny nose at her side and had just started shifting through the bag of cut feathers, looking for three of the same size, when something was thrown at her, making her drop everything in her hands to catch it in time. Surprised, astonished, more like, absolutely flabbergasted, she stared at the item in her hands. The brown leather on the outside was smooth, adorned with geometrical shapes burned into the fabric and when her fingers dug into it she found a soft layer of fur lining on the inside, still warm from the shoulders it had adorned mere seconds ago.

She looked up, finding the blond Dwarf who always hovered around the dark-haired archer as if he was a child, wearing nothing but his tunic, mail and undercoat, quietly dragging away at his pipe. Thorin was hissing disapprovingly at him in that hard and tough language that sat in the back of the throat and that she didn’t understand, but the blond Dwarf just shrugged, his voice a soft and indecipherable murmur when he waved their leader away.

She tossed the coat back at him and he looked up in surprise when it landed on his legs. “We don’t need the coat,” she grunted, eying a feather critically and comparing it to the others she had fished out of the bag.

“She’s cold. Why not just take it?”

He threw the coat at her again and it ended up a few inches away from her knee, turned away from her and while he spoke to the dark-haired archer, Brinn watched him. No, she hunted him. She observed the way his eyes slightly squinted together when he was momentarily lost in thought, how the absence of daylight sharpened his cheekbones and deepened the angle of his jawline, his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip to bite back a grin when the archer mumbled something in his ear, long fingers slipping through his partly braided hair, pushing it back from his forehead and reshaping it, like liquid gold.

She waited, quietly and patiently, until she noticed his shoulders dipping in relaxation, his rigid back easing into a slight curve, his white-knuckled fists loosening, proving how he had quite forgotten about her presence and-

She whacked the coat back in his direction with a little more aggression than necessary, grinned at the way he flinched and how his jaws clenched together. “We don’t need your coat,” she spat at him, a pathetic attempt to wound him and she wondered if she was losing her touch, if she was changing from a wild animal into a docile housecat. “Or your pity.”

She carefully dabbed glue mixed with beeswax onto the shaft of the arrow when she was satisfied with the three feathers she had selected, biting down on her tongue in concentration, trying to get the line as straight as possible. When the coat smacked right into the side of her face the glue went everywhere, the whole thing having turned into a game of dominance neither of them were prepared to lose. “Argh,” she grumbled, wiping the sticky mixture from the shaft with her sleeve. “Shit.”

He was watching her, brows raised in an unspoken challenge, his eyes carving a pattern into her skin that set her flesh ablaze, searching for answers in her features and she tried to read his face, but he had a blank expression that made her none the wiser.

She tried to send him one of those looks that was sharp as knives, that would make him squirm underneath her gaze, trap him in her iron grip, but he was grinning, making the beaded braids in his moustache hitch up, and seemed amused by her glares. “I will not keep repeating myself, Dwarf, so you best get the wax out of your ears and listen, feeble-minded as you are. Keep the coat away fro-“

“Oh, for the love of Mahal,” the archer suddenly cried out, cutting her off, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion at their shenanigans. “Will someone - anyone - just take the fucking coat already?”

There were shouts from every direction, scolding the poor archer into oblivion upon hearing his vulgarity, their screaming thundering through the cave until he squeaked out a quick apology.

The blond cocked his head to the side and his blue eyes softened, an uncertain smile playing with the corners of his lips, but he didn’t let it fully form there. “I am not offering you my pity, but Kit might still have need of it.”

Brinn hesitated for a few moments, but in all honesty, she would rather relinquish a sliver of her pride if it meant keeping Kit warm. If she threw the coat back at him, it probably wouldn’t return this time. With a sigh she spread it out over her niece’s form and tucked her in tightly.

It was big and heavy, Kit was drowning in it, her eyes and nose peeping out over the edge, like a comfortable little caterpillar wrapped in a cocoon. “It’s massive,” she squealed out from underneath it, then her voice softened into a breathless whisper and Brinn had to lean in slightly. “We can’t say fuck anymore?”

Brinn quirked an eyebrow at her. “You want to get scolded by a bunch of Dwarves?”

Kit shrugged, a surprisingly difficult task under the weight of the coat that buried her into the ground. “Suppose not.”

“Then don’t say fuck.”

She heard the heavy rumble of chuckles coming from the blond Dwarf echoing up the cave walls.

“You want to get under here? It’s big enough for the both of us.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Kit, those green eyes gleaming in the dim light of a few lanterns scattered about the dark cave. “I’m not cold, I’m fine,” she lied, shivering and shaking quietly with her legs drawn up to her chest, not wanting to give the Dwarf the satisfaction.

“Stubborn little shit,” Kit sighed, shuffling closer before wrapping herself around Brinn’s form and draping the coat over both of them. It was warm and smelled faintly of sweat, campfires and man - Dwarf, whatever.

The next morning she lobbed it back at him, a grin stretching across her face when it hit him right in the nose and she heard him curse under his breath. “Thanks.”

“Yup.”

That day the Dwarves realised that up there, high in the mountains, the rain and wind and unwanted articles of clothing were the least of one’s worries. For when the lightning pierced the skies above them, splintering on the peaks, casting spiky patterns of pale colours on the ground below, it cracked the mountain in half and split the stone into giants that came alive. They roared and gnawed, hurling rocks at one another for sport, their groaning shouts rolling and tumbling into every cave and hollow.

They found themselves stuck in the midst of this thunder-battle, being swung around on the kneecaps of a giant, clinging to the stone for dear life, their cries echoing through the valley. When the rocks had crumbled underneath their feet and they were separated, Brinn had screamed for Kit over the sound of the wind that whipped the rain and hail in her face, watching that child-like face twisted with fear disappear from her view.

Now she was here, being hurled through the air with half of Thorin Oakenshield’s company, her body trembling violently, knees wobbling underneath her own weight, the air being torn from her lungs with spasms of blind panic.

Even though Kit was far away from her, when she saw someone in front of her go down, a strangled cry leaped from her throat and she made a grab for it in pure instinct. She regretted it immediately, because those blue eyes didn’t belong to Kit and the Dwarf dragged her down with him. They slid down the steep flank, her bags torn to pieces on the stone, hands desperately clawing for something to hang on to and her fingernails scratched against the wet rocks, chipping and splitting and dragging streaks of red across the rough surface until they finally found a ledge.

A sharp intake of air, shock trembling up her limbs, and then she wailed as pain crashed over her in waves of stinging heat, his weight pulling her left arm out of its socket and dislocating her shoulder, cracking it into a terrifyingly strange angle.

Her feet kicked for something solid and far above her she heard the Dwarves scream out breaths of terror, barely a whisper above the ear-shattering sound of groaning and moving stone.

Panic shut her mind down, setting her thoughts ablaze as they turned to meaningless dust in her skull. Rage pushed itself through her body like thick sludge from a sewer, it was white hot and created a mean taste on her tongue, leaving her in a jumbled mess of frustration and anger that caught in her throat and ripped the air out of her body.

She tried to swallow her panic, tried shoving it down so far that it would leave her feeling cold and empty, but it came bubbling up effortlessly, tearing through the surface, stinging the inside of her skull like a swarm of restless bees. She could taste her own fear, smelled the sweat springing from her pores, heard her heart hammer in her chest and the blood rushing in her ears and for a while she just let the waves of terror wash over her until it smoothed out into something more manageable.

The great heap of rocks swung them around, the Dwarf was slipping from her grasp, the blood from her fingers dripped down her arm and she was nowhere near strong enough to hold them up. “I can’t, I can’t,” she squeezed out of her throat, tears pooling on her waterline, choking on her words.

The Dwarf twisted, kicked and squirmed below her, his fingers digging into the flesh of her lifeless arm. “No, no, no, wait,” he pleaded with her in a shrill cry.

She released all the air she didn’t know she was holding, bit back a scream, her fingers slipped from the ledge and the two tumbled down into the dark debts of the valley below.

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