#like the Thranduil face in the movies is interesting so.... I’m adding it here

[thenerdyalchemist]

So your Elladan has a scar on his left cheek? Is there a specific story behind it?

Tw: Scars

Funny story what if I told u there is a whole story about that?

(It’s kinda like what Thranduil does in the movies)

#look at that I’m finally adding in more of my own stuff into this #yes there is a story to how it happened #and it might have happened during a certain bois fathers death #like the Thranduil face in the movies is interesting so.... I’m adding it here #raising Estel #mine #my art #lotr #tw: scars

[blankdblank]

Sarcasm - Thranduil Prompt

Thranduil Prompt Request - Could you do ‘There’s only one bed’ and ‘how did I lose it?’ with thranduil? These prompts are so interesting! Thank you so much

- requested by @himoverflowers - perhaps a bit long, but I hope you like it!!

Tags –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @fizzy-custard, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @evyiione

…

Once again the tall broad frame of the Man you were always lumped into working with had settled into the chair beside you, in the small office you were granted access to for your most recent project. For years now you’d worked at this company and never once had they forced you to work with anyone, at least not until he was hired, the tall blonde bombshell Thranduil Greenleaf had easily found himself at the hopeful intentions of nearly every woman in the building, several having even attempted to claim him for themselves and failed. Your days at his side nearly always ended with any woman with a few minutes to spare approaching you for any details that could assist them in gaining his affections, something, not so discretely to you, he had to go through as well with the men hoping for yours. Though for the both of you it was a notion that seemed to baffle you, against your best attempts you’d settled yourself as the shockingly sarcastic and slightly brash Woman to the unintentionally, uncommonly rude Man, who seemed to lack the ability to understand your unintentional nervous humor at all.

Honestly if the both of you could get past your instinctual nervous guards you could easily mesh well, something that seemed to shock your coworkers when you would be nearly at each others throats and sending glares and eye rolls at each other through the day from opposite ends of the floor in your separate offices, but when you were put together for your first project it baffled everyone when you managed to sync together easily and the ideas flowed to complete the task at hand before returning to your corners without a word. The whole show ending up as something labeled as the Barbie War with some of them claiming that there could only be one gorgeous creature on that floor of the Company, even in separate departments that merely shared a floor with their added back story the constant flow of new interns claimed to be able to cut the nonexistent tension with a knife.

The latest point of interest for the on looking coworkers being the latest trip you were being sent on, three days out to a city up in the Mountains to further explain the latest ideas to the pickiest and most stubborn of the board members who had refused to return to the office for the meeting. Sure you’d both been sent on trips before, silently claiming your own territories and keeping to yourselves through your trip until you could return back home. Though this trip proved to end far different, starting with your packing that proved to be equally irritating for you both.

..

Your Cousin Tallie sat on the end of your bed with a large smile nudging your arm as you finished folding your blanket and traveling pillow and added it to your bag, “Come on, don’t forget the lingerie.”

You rolled your eyes, “Of course, because I’m going to strip for him on the other side of the hotel. It’s not going to happen Tallie.” Doing your best to keep the image from your mind.

She groaned laying back across the bed turning her head to you, “Come on, he’s gorgeous, maybe if you just, I don’t know, brush against him the right way he’ll realize you’re meant for each other.”

You nodded shallowly, placing your blanket and pillow in the bag before adding your sleeping clothes, “Oh yes, obviously cuz I’m just going to walk up and slide up against him and somehow my ass touching him is just going to make everything alright between us.”

Shooting her a quick glare as she smirked at you, “You haven’t seen your ass from anyone else’s perspective. It could.”

You rolled your eyes again finishing adding the last of your clothes and heading to grab your toiletries bag as she quietly slipped something from her purse into your bag before you came back and left to warm up the car allowing you your final planning before heading out to join her for your lift to the airport.

..

Thranduil sighed as his teenage Son Legolas helped him pack his bag with a growing smirk that increased his Father’s already growing nerves about having to be so close to you yet again, dropping his folded traveling blanket and pillow into his bag and looking at his Son, “What?”

Legolas chuckled, “Why are you so nervous already? She’s not even here.”

Thranduil drew in a quick breath, “I’m not talking about this-.”

The teenager threw his head back with a groan, “Come on Dad!” Lifting his head again, “Just ask her out, write it down and slip it to her if you have to!”

Thranduil sighed again adding the already folded stacks of clothes to his bag along with his toiletries bag, “Not going to happen.”

Legolas groaned again dropping back across the bed dramatically again, “You need to go out with her, she sounds perfect for you, just what you need to loosen up.” Thranduil groaned turning to grab his traveling documents as Legolas took the opportunity to grab something from his bag and shove it under his Father’s pillows on his bed before adding the same stuffed Elk that he’d always lent to him on his trips since he was a small child earning a quick smirk from his Father at the continued tradition, “Don’t make me do it for you.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes with a slight groan, “I doubt you could convince her to, especially with how the past year has gone between us.”

Legolas sat up as his Father zipped up his bag sliding over to the edge of the bed to join him on the walk to the car to drop off his Father, accepting the heavy arm curled around his shoulders, “Don’t worry, it’ll happen.” Triggering a chuckle from his Father along with another eye roll.

..

You climbed out of the car grabbing your purse before turning to the trunk to grab your bag as you spotted a blonde teenager step up to your side with a large grin, “Hi.”

Your eyes scanning over his face wondering how he seemed so familiar, timidly replying, “Hi.”

His hand raised to brush his hair behind his ear, “I’m Legolas, heard a lot about you.”

You nodded fighting the cramping feeling growing in your stomach as your eyes narrowed slightly, “How, exactly?”

His head turned back as you heard a familiar voice calling out to him, “Legolas.” You leaned to the side glancing at your coworker around the body of the tall teen catching the widening of his eyes before he walked behind the open trunk door leaving Legolas to turn back to you with a larger smile, “You should come over for dinner some time, we’d love to have you, dad never stops talking about you.”

A small crack in your voice escaping as you heard his trunk close and your Cousin joining your side grabbing your bag with a chuckle, “Come on now, you’re going to-“ her head turning to Legolas with a large smile, “Oh you’re handsome,” nudging your arm, “Introduce me.”

You rolled your eyes grabbing your bag from her hand as Thranduil stepped to Legolas’ side, dressed far more relaxed than normal in a dark t shirt and jeans with boots underneath and his hair laying out across his back freely, “Not happening.” Her eyes darting to Thranduil with an excited squeak and a growing smile as you turned and shut the trunk before curling your arm around her middle and dragging her back to her seat as she said, “Oh come on, at least invite them over!” You man handled her back into her car shutting the door behind her before shooting her a glare and heading back around the car passing them both as Thranduil watched you carefully as you glanced at Legolas and said, “Nice to meet you.”

With a quick nod preparing to turn for the airport as the teen’s smile grew and their eyes darted to her head darting through her now open sunroof, resting her arms on the roof and shooting another large smile at the pair, “So, dinner, movie possibly?”

You rolled your eyes mumbling, “Bolt of lightning, any time now.” You turned back again, “Get in the car and go home!”

She shot you a playful glare as Legolas chuckled and a small grin fought to slide onto Thranduil’s face as his fingers shifted in his grip on his bags handles at how close you were to him, “Her birthday’s in a week, gonna go see the new _ flick, you should come, make a date of it.” Her sentence growing louder as she spoke and you walked off towards the door.

Legolas tried to step closer to your Cousin but was quickly helped into their car as well but not before he typed out the time, date and theatre location for your plans in his phone making a note of it and promising that they would be there before finally accepting the hurried hug from his Father and started the drive home as Thranduil followed after you. Claiming the spot behind you in line and swallowing as he tried to inconspicuously eye your figure hugging jeans and t shirt under your brown leather jacket with matching heels and your long ponytail a small smirk slid onto his face eyeing your hand rising to rub your forehead with a soft groan before dropping it as you were called up to the desk.

His steps shadowing yours until the crowds broke allowing him to join your side, glancing at you quickly and saying, “I’m sorry about my Son.”

You chuckled glancing up at him before looking back forward, “He seems nice, don’t worry about it, my Cousin however-.” You sighed at a loss for words.

He let out a quiet chuckle sending a heat straight up to your cheeks hoping that he wouldn’t be able to tell, “Don’t worry about it, I suppose we can call it even.”

You nodded and you both headed to take the back hallway following the others attending the trip with you to the security for the Companies private jet, the others silently hoping for some discomfort for the two of you and all chose the seats leaving you to claim the last two seats together. Their joy not lasting long however as after Thranduil helped you put your bag away he added his and claimed his seat at your side opening his book and releasing a quiet relaxing sigh spotting you opening the next book in the series he was reading from the corner of his vision.

The nearly ten hour flight allowing you both to finish your books at nearly the same time, with him sitting there unsure of what to do next having expected that it would take him longer to finish his book, his head turning to you as you handed him your book while your eyes were directed at your purse on your lap while your other hand retrieved the next book in the series and revealed the next one after that as well along with a smaller grouping of a sister series under that. His smirk returned and he quietly responded, “Thank you.” Carefully grabbing the book as you placed your purse back under your seat before reaching to slide off your heels and curled your legs in your seat before opening your new book, he stole a few more glances at you spotting a few waves of emotions sliding across your face wondering what could be triggering them before relaxing again and returning to your book.

He finished the last book while you settled back against the wall for a brief nap, the soft ding from the seatbelt sign drawing you from your nap and bringing the arm curled around your legs with a hand securely holding your ankles in place with your knees resting against Thranduil’s side, you rubbed your eyes with a soft grumble before dropping your hands wondering how you’d ended up facing him instead of the seat before you.

He closed the book after finishing the last page offering you a small smile as he held the book out for you to take, “Thank you again, you um, sort of did this wiggling turn about an hour ago and your feet kept sliding.”

You nodded feeling your cheeks start to prickle as they heated up, drawing your legs down and turning back forward re-securing your seat belts before you pulled your shoes back on after putting your book away again and saying, “Sorry, about that.”

He chuckled, “You fly better than my Son, either he’s lying across me or he ends up kicking me the entire time.”

Against your best efforts you let out a muffled giggle from behind your hand at the image of his large frame being draped across by his Son who was nearly the same size, your laugh however caused his smile to grow wider as you finally squeaked out, “Sorry, just, he’s nearly your size and I just see you with this glare and he’s just-,” you motioned something close to a draping exaggerated swoon causing him to laugh and smile larger after.

“That’s petty close to it, got a flight attendant to snap a picture once. I can show you after we land if you want.” His sparkling smile nearly keeping you frozen until you turned forward again.

.

After the short car ride to the hotel you’d all formed lines again with you both at the end yet again, you’d received your key as his voice caused you to turn your head again, his arms on the counter with a hand running over his forehead briefly asking in a reserved yet irritated tone, “Exactly, How did I lose it?”

His hand dropping and he pulled back to look at the short middle aged woman with an anxious smile behind the counter, offering her a small smile attempting to calm her nerves as he fought his urge to explode, “I’m sorry sir, but you did call and cancel your reservation.”

He drew in a quick breath and asked in a steady forced calm tone, “I didn’t happen to sound, younger over the phone did I?”

Her face lit up at the memory and she gave a quick nod and a small smile, “Yes, I was a bit shocked at the voice, you do sound very different.”

Another quick flash of a smile later he responded after a quick exhale, “No, that had to have been my Son, are there any other rooms?”

She shook her head with a slightly remorseful expression, “I’m sorry but no, the movie festival in town has all the hotels booked up.”

His fingers tapped the counter until you tapped his bag with yours drawing his attention to you, “You can share mine.” He went to open his mouth to reply but you cut him off, “Unless you’d rather call every hotel in the state.” Turning and heading for the elevator as he quickly thanked the apologetic woman before trailing after you, feeling his shoulders clench through his spiking nerves as he claimed the spot along the wall of the elevator. 

Eyeing you for any set of nerves while feeling his resting stern expression returning in a defensive attempt, his search only finding the same slight rocking of your knees back and forth in turns while you drew your bottom lip into your mouth to wet it, the same adorable habit you had when you got stuck in your wandering thoughts. His attention darting back to the present as you exited and he followed glad that the rest of the group had rooms on the floors above you hoping to keep the rest of the males on the trip from spreading any unnecessary rumors about you, rumors about him he could handle but he didn’t want to give them anything to treat you as anything less than respectful.

Stopping at the door you quickly unlocked and opened it heading inside after turning on the light sensing him timidly following after you through the small entryway near the bathroom before the sleeping area came into view and he paused swallowing, his eyes locked onto the bed until he heard you giggle again after setting your bag on the bed, “What’s that look for?”

“There’s only one bed.”

You giggled again sitting on the bed to remove your shoes, “And?”

His eyebrows pressed together as he drew in a breath, “Well.”

You nodded with a smirk setting down your second shoe by its twin before curling your legs in front of you, “Incredible argument, but if I could point out some obvious facts,” he nodded, “One, you have at least one child, so you’re not really a stranger to sharing, and I’m assuming here that it was a bed,” your eyes spotting his swallowing, clenching shoulders and cheeks that were turning a pale shade of pink, “That assisted in the creation of said child, and two, obviously, it’s a King sized bed and I’m obviously not able to physically take up the entire space. So it really would be a waste to send you somewhere else when there’s really a lot of bed to waste.”

He nodded again and swallowed turning to set his bag on the dresser unable to argue with you in his current state of shock at the moment as you fought a smirk at his slightly stunned behavior before he turned back to face you forcing out his flash of a question, “Hungry?”

You nodded, “I’m nearly always hungry.” Turning to grab the booklet on the table near the bed with the numbers for all the takeout places nearby and held it out for him, he quickly crossed the room and cautiously sat on the bed near you flicking open the book, leading to the easy decision of Chinese food, you both read over the menu and chose your order as he claimed the phone to call it in before you reached across the bed for your bag to change out of your jeans. His eyes trailed over your body as you reached and unwillingly scanned over the items he could see in your bag as you opened it, digging through your bag you drew out a pair of knee length sweats you glanced at him, “You don’t mind if I change out of my jeans?”

He shook his head, “Not at all, get comfortable. Mind if I change too?”

“No.” Your eyes dropped back to your bag as your knuckled hit something solid that you didn’t pack as he went to check his bag, drawing out the small box your mouth dropped open at the box of condoms with note attached ‘Have some fun, don’t you dare come home without his number at least’ scribbled across the small heart shaped page taped to the front, you quickly shoved it back in your bag in one of the empty side pouches before finding your pants and heading into the bathroom to quickly change as you heard another quiet groan from Thranduil followed by him mumbling his Son’s name. Walking out of the bathroom you spotted him rubbing his face before turning back to you with a forced smile as you giggled and asked, “Did he fill your bag with sand or something?”

A curt laugh escaping him as he sat heavily on the foot of the bed making you bounce up at the contact, “No, he took my pajamas, left my work clothes and sweaters at least.”

You giggled again grabbing your bag to add your folded jeans and pulling out a large pair of sweats and tossing them into his lap, “You can borrow mine.”

His eyebrows pressed together giving you a curious smirk as he stood eyeing the pants that were even a bit long for him, “These are yours?”

You leaned back adjusting your neon green socks that had slid from your ankles down your heels, “Mhmm, I like to roll them up, they’re thick comfy kind, only had that size.”

He nodded with a quiet chuckle, “Thank you, again, I’ll change.” Heading for the bathroom and shutting the door behind him giving you a moment to pull out your phone charger, blanket and pillow before setting your bag on the table along the wall and moving your shoes over there as well before moving your blanket to the side along the wall so he could be closer to the door. Stepping out with his newly folded jeans in the long sweats he’d had to fold up around his ankles so he wouldn’t trip, he added his belongings to his bag then grabbed his blanket and pillow along with his charger as well adding them to his apparent side before sitting down and glancing at you as you giggled again, “What?” His eyes dropping to the fuzzy mural blanket with a Giant Elk across it and chuckling while shaking his head before smirking at you, “It was a gift.”

You nodded your head with a mock serious expression, “And I suppose the stuffed Elk was thrown in as part of some sales deal?” A large smile sliding across your face through another set of giggles as he cuckled again and went to collect the stuffed animal and returned handing it to you before sitting down and leaning back against the headboard at your side, “The first trip I had to leave Legolas behind he couldn’t stop crying, each night since he was born, we have this family song, passed down through the generations, and obviously our crest has an Elk.” He chuckled with his cheeks turning slightly pink at the story while he pulled his hair from behind him laying it over his chest on his left side sliding his finger through it as he continued, “And there’s a bit where the Elk, had to dance, and he wanted to make me feel better about leaving so he ordered me to take his Elk while he kept my old Elk so we could sing it together at night and it would be like we were still together.”

He glanced back at you smiling wider and turning redder as he caught your adoring smile before he rubbed his face in hopes of calming it, “That is adorable! Does it have a name?” Holding the Elk up with one hand and sitting it in your open palm before straightening the bowtie around its neck before sitting it in the center of his chest.

His hands curled around the small creature with another chuckle, “Bobo.” Chuckling again through your next giggle, “It was supposed to be Boris, but he preferred Bobo.”

“And yours?”

Biting his lip as he drew in a breath before glancing at you through his large embarrassed smile, “Kiwi.” You clapped your hands over your mouth at the laugh that escaped you, the loud full laughter with a squeak chasing it widening his smile and causing him to roll on his side to face you as you laid back on your back laughing through your hands, “I’ll have you know my parents wanted it to be Kincaid, expecting an infant to say that is insane, I chose a much easier name.”

Your laughter now nearly muffled completely at your pressing your pillow over your face as he laughed louder watching adoringly as you slowly pulled out of your laughter to glance at him again with another forced serious face with a few chuckles breaking through, “It’s a very lovely name and tradition.” Pulling off the bed heading for your bag and pulling out a small stuffed otter making his smile widen again as he curled Bobo to his chest resting his head against his palm before saying, “Your turn, spill it.”

You giggled rolling your eyes and laying out on your stomach crossing your ankles swinging them back and forth gently while you held your otter out for him to inspect, he cradled it carefully eyeing the handmade superhero costume on it with a growing smile, “My Grandfather made it for me when he got custody, he didn’t sing or dance, but he did save the universe from just about every villain ever.”

“And the name?”

“Obo the obstinate.”

A round of laughs came from him before he replied, “Now That, is an adorable name.”

You rolled your eyes keeping your smile, “I’ll have you know he handled what Mighty Mouse couldn’t, no one could stop him.”

He shifted forward wishing to curl around you at the sudden flash of sadness in your eyes before you glanced at the door as a knock sounded on it before going to answer it, setting the animals down he joined you with his wallet paying as you collected the food, thanking the delivery man and set it on the bed while he returned to join you. Both claiming your food he offered you the remote to choose the channel and you both settled on the random action movie that was already halfway through over the countless infomercials and foreign soap opera.

“Thank you again, for, helping me out, today.” Glancing at you with a sincere smile.

You smiled back, “Least I could do, why would Legolas cancel your room, sounds like something my Cousin would do.”

“Probably something to force me to speak with you, to induce your pity perhaps.”

A set of giggles escaped you, “And the clothes on top of that he’s really determined to make something happen, leaving you without a room or clothes.”

“Seems he’s determined to spend the next two years locked in his room.”

You giggled again, “At least he didn’t shove condoms in your bag before you left.”

He glanced at you with a curious gaze, “Please tell me that’s your sarcasm again, he wouldn’t dare assume anything like that would happen first when we barely spoke past work.”

You turned sitting up and leaning over grabbing your bag and pulling it in your lap, pulling out the box and showing it to him allowing him to read the note before shoving it back in your bag, “Apparently we’re supposed to be having a three day long orgy or something.” Leaving him in another slight state of shock.

Sliding to the edge of the bed and putting it back before reclaiming your spot and your food as he let out a nervous laugh, “Your Cousin really thought that would happen?”

You glanced at him after swallowing your mouthful, “She spent nearly an hour trying to convince me to get you into bed.” His eyebrows rose and was about to say something when there was another knock on the door and you went to check the door before walking back with a smirk and whispering, “Can I ask you a favor?” He rolled to his side as he heard the man on the other side of the door loudly calling your name.

He sat up setting his food on the table at his side, “Need me to get rid of him?”

Your smirk grew, “Sort of.” He stood with a curious grin, “I’m gonna need your shirt though.”

“My shirt?” You nodded with a smirk causing him to release a deep breath before jerking his shirt off from the back of his neck and laying it over your shoulder with a slightly serious expression as you fought to keep breathing and pausing as you held out your hand.

“I’m not taking off the pants.” You shot him a playful glare climbing on the bed as he turned to glance at you curiously before you ruffled up his hair driving him to chuckle again quietly before your hands reached out to roll the band of his briefs down and slide the sweats down a bit his eyes carefully watching your fingers as he wet his lips trying to keep his breathing steady, until he gently swatted your hand away, “Roll them down any more and I might as well be naked. I’ll get rid of him.” You giggled through a turn, your eyes traced over his muscular frame as he went to answer the door, silencing the three men who were each clutching six packs with falling smiles at his shirtless appearance as he eyed them sternly, “Can I help you?”

Dave, the one closest to the shirtless Thranduil said, “Wondered if she was thirsty.”

Thranduil smirked at the group, “Nope, we’re all set, see you in the morning.” Closing and re-locking the door and returning to the bed offering you a smile as he collected his shirt from you after correcting his briefs and sweats again before settling on the bed again as he pulled his shirt on again and swallowed again as you slid closer and ran your fingers through his hair to fix it making him chuckle again.

“So, what’re you going to do with the $500?”

His eyebrows rose turning to look at you as you sat back against the headboard again, “What $500?”

Your smirk grew, “The prize the guys at the office set up for the first guy to get in my pants. You hadn’t heard about it, thought everyone had.”

He grumbled stretching out along his stomach grabbing his pillow and curling it under his chin while keeping his eyes locked on you, “Sometimes I really can’t stand them.”

You smirked at him stretching your legs out, “I’ve heard worse, they mostly leave me alone, just talk amongst themselves.”

He grumbled again, “Your birthday’s in a week right?” You nodded and he shot you a smirk, Day after your birthday are you busy?”

“No, why?”

“Cuz I’m going to take you shopping.”

Your eyebrows rose as your smirk grew, “Really, and why is that?”

He chuckled at your reaction, “So you can pick your present. If they are foolish enough to actually pay up it’s all yours, just pick where you want to spend it.”

“I’ve never gotten close to spending that much on myself.”

His smile grew, “Good, if it bothers you consider it an absurdly extravagant gift from me as thanks for all this.” You rolled your eyes, “And I won’t take no for an answer, we’re going shopping. Or at least having a nice dinner, or 10.”

Your smirk came back, “Careful there people might actually think you’re talking about a date.”

He chuckled, “Oh we’re going on a date.” Your eyebrows rose again, “Your Cousin and Legolas set it up remember.” Making both of you laugh again, your conversation carried on for a bit longer until you both got ready for bed and fell asleep with an invisible barrier between you at Thranduil’s insistence, something that didn’t carry over into his dreams as you both woke with him curled tightly around you, apologizing profusely through your giggles when he woke, only to wake the next two days once again claiming you as his pillow.

Pt 2

#Thranduil x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

[cumberficsandmore-blog]

Spelling Fights

Word Count: 1,816

Authors: Deka & Ale

Warning: None, just fluffiness

Pairing: Benedict Cumberbatch x Wife!Reader

Summary: The little fight between an American and a British couple

Credits to this video for the awesome interview: https://youtu.be/eX2M6Lf8WKc

“So, the interview is tonight at eight, right?” I asked, standing behind the scenes of The Hobbit, Ben had just finished his scene as Smaug with the sensors and the tech stuff.

“Yes, but don’t get nervous. You’ll be fine” Benedict smirked, mocking me.

Oh, seriously Benny? He started the game, not knowing I was going to win again. This little game consisted in making fun of each other because of our nationalities, that cute british bastard.

“Of course I’ll be fine” I responded with my head high, I was too proud to quit now.

“But don’t forget that we’re in England. I’m worried people won’t understand what you’re saying, that’s all” He said.

“I can speak properly and I’m sure everyone will get my words, darling” I added with a british accent.

“But I can speak sexier” He winked at me.

“I’m afraid you don’t. ‘Football’, really? Soccer says almost everyone”.

“Everyone is only America? C’mon. At least I don’t say ‘math’, the right way to say it is Maths, you uncultured woman”

I was quiet for a moment, “FREEDOM” I shouted, and the fight began.

Two hours after the little chat with Benedict, we were at home having lunch before getting prepared for the interview. We looked at each other giggling, both of us knew what was going to happen, and we were prepared for the battle. At the beginning it all started as a joke, but now was a whole new rivalry. Ben was chosing a few cookies to eat and I was making some tea, it was a relaxing silence but then my dear husband started screaming.

“That is not how you make tea!” He cried out trying to sound attacked.

“Oh my God, are you serious? We’re not having that conversation again. I highly recommend you to leave the kitchen or…”.

He kissed my cheek interrupting and I smiled wildly.

“I love you, you know that? But maybe we should change tasks. Let me take care of this and you pick the cookies. Deal?”.

I sighed dramatically.

“Yes, we better”.

“Yeah, you can’t just squish the tea bag with the spoon. That’s wrong, love”

“Sorry Mr. Britishguy Sillyname”

He laughed and so did I.

Now we were waiting for someone to tell us to enter the room where the interview was held, everyone took turns, first was Richard Armitage, then Martin and Benedict and I were the last ones. As an actress I was in a lot of movies with Ben. Directors and writers had told us that we have an unique chemistry, but I didn’t appear in The Hobbit trilogy. I joined the crew as a make-up artist and helped with the script, as a big fan of Tolkien I couldn’t miss that opportunity for anything in the world.

“They’re taking a lot of time, aren’t they?” Benedict said, I couldn’t tell if he was worried or excited.

“Is there anything you know about this interview that I don’t?” I asked calmly, “you’re into something, right?”

“Me? Nah. Oh, wait, do you smell that?”.

“Smell what?”.

“Fear”.

I rolled my eyes.

“Okay Smaug the Almighty Destructor of Villages, what have you done?”

“Nothing, I swear!”

He stroked gently my waist.

“Mr. and Mrs Cumberbatch, it’s your turn” announced a blonde woman who happened to be the interviewer.

Before doing so we greeted Martin and talked with him a few seconds. Then, Benedict held the door for me to walk in, so british of him. The purest gentleman.

“Good evening, and thanks a lot for attending me, it’s an honor to have you both here”.

I smiled at her and he shaked her hand.

“My name is Meriah Doty. So, firstly, how are you today?”.

“Great, yeah. Great indeed, although it’s brass monkeys out there”.

Damn.

“It means it’s cold outside” He whispered.

I could see in his smiley face he was forcing himself not to laugh.

“You don’t say!” I answered sarcastically.

Meriah cleared her throat and started to ask Benedict some questions fans sent her via Twitter and Facebook. I was getting a bit bored but then an interesting question popped up.

“So, @CumbercookieLove34 asked: how is it to work with your wife? Is it any competition between you two?”

I crossed my arms, paying full attention now.

“Competition?”.

He pretended to be searching for an answer.

“I wouldn’t name it a competition, but he’s always insulting me. Not in a bad way, you know? But… he’s very silly most of the time, ‘cause I’m the only American in the crew, with Lee Pace of course, but he’s as glorious as Thranduil so Benedict kind of forgives him somehow” I said suddenly.

“The thing is,” Ben started, ”she can’t manage my britishness and she’s mad because she only speaks a simplified version of English” he played the victim.

“Watch your mouth Buttercup Cumberpatch” and I rolled my eyes for what seemed the 10000th time. Meriah laughed again, ”See?” I turned around to face her, “I’m so tired”.

Ben patted my back and gave me that Puppy Eye’s Look, he really knows how to do that look and make you feel guilty.

“You can’t really imagine how is living with him. Complains about the tea and when I send him a text sometimes I spell words with only an ‘O’ instead of ‘OU’ and it drives him crazy, for instance, but he truly does everything he can just to irritate me” I said releasing a sigh. Meriah laughed again, really this girl is just supposed to laugh? “But then he’s a complete sweetheart and his polite self takes control so he says sorry all the time” I chuckled.

Benedict laughs uncontrollably.

“But hey, we love each other after all, so don’t worry, we’re gonna stick together until the end” I said looking straight to the camera.

“‘Gonna’” He repeated.

“Yep” I stated marking the ‘p’.

“Well, you guys are definitely the cutest couple of all time. We’re playing a game now. I searched photos of the cast and you’re going to guess who are they just by looking at their feet” The interviewer said excitedly.

“This is gonna be so much fun” I said already laughing, oh my God, I turned into Meriah.

“So, this is the first one” she showed us a picture of a person with his face and body covered.

“Ugh, whoever that is they got some weird looking feet” I commented.

“Martin Freeman” Benedict said without thinking twice. The interviewer giggled.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, how could you… how ca… Wait what? Do you have a foot fetish for Martin? Oh my God I knew it!” I fangirled in front of camera, “just so you know, people…” (I paused to create a little of dramatism) “I ship Johnlock”.

Both Benedict and Meriah laughed so hard that I swear I heard a snort.

“That’s actually quite right. I took her to the Sherlock Set once and every time we finished a scene with strong content, like the one in the pool or when I jumped… well, you know, spoilers. The point is that she always clapped and hugged Martin and I, and I remember perfectly she said ‘You two are so shippable’. Oh, was that too long? I’m sorry I just wanted to tell the story” He giggled shyly while blushing.

“Oh, and by the way, sorry Martin, you have wonderful feet” I smiled.

“You two are so cute, guys” Meriah complimented. “So, the second one is… this!” She showed us another picture.

“Mmm… James Nesbitt?” I guessed.

“Peter Jackson” Benedict said. No hesitation.

“Yeah! Point for Benedict!” Meriah told us.

“What?! I swear this guy has a foot fetish” I tried to mask my bad loser mood.

“I’m so good at this” He said proudly.

“Okay, so this one is a bit difficult but the black and white is the key” The interviewer said revealing the photo.

It was pretty obvious that it was taken a lot of years ago.

“Mmm...”

“Richard?” Ben inquired.

“Ian McKellen!” I literally shouted, I was sure it was him.

“Correct! You’re good Y/N” Meriah greeted me.

“In your face Buttercup!” I did a short but intense party dance in the chair, “I guessed it and you didn’t!” Ben just watched me as he smiled sweetly. “Maybe the feet are overexposed”

“Yeah, I don’t know why Ian McKellen’s feet are overexposed” He said in his Sherlock kind of voice, “that was rude…”

The three of us laughed.

“The next one,” Meriah said “is this one!” She showed us a photo of two people jumping in the air.

“Mmmm…” I started thinking, “one is Benedict, I know it, but the oth…”

“Me and Jonny Lee Miller” He said quickly, “Jonny Lee Miller and I” He corrected himself.

“Amazing! And Martin Freeman corrected me because his face was plastered in Johnny Lee Miller’s…, my bad” Meriah said.

“Yeah, that’s bullshit. Who did that?” He went to grab the photo.

“I thought it was him, I found it like that on the internet” She explained. “Okay, next and last one”.

“Oh Lord” I exclaimed. Benedict stretched out in his chair and approached the lady with the photograph.

“Richard… Armitage?” He wondered, confused.

“I… don’t know…  Stephen Hunter?”

The interviewer showed us the whole picture.

“Evangeline, oh my God” Benedict covered his mouth, surprised, “Oh my God” He laughed really hard, “Fuck” He kept laughing, covering his eyes with the palm of the hand.

“Well, that" I pointed at him with my finger ”is definitely rude”

I was super tired so I decided to sit in the back of the car so I could lay down and fall asleep more easily, but instead of that, I was staring at Benedict’s side profile.

“You’re beautiful” he declared suddenly.

He kept his eyes on the road but I noticed he was grinning.

“You are beautiful too, and I love your accent” I said sternly and he smiled sweetly, “and I also love your otter face”

He tried not to laugh too much so he couldn’t get distracted.

“You have the otter face… otter face.” He tried to make a good insult and failed.

“You sure it’s me who has that face? Your cumberbitches and probably the rest of the multiverse says it’s you who owns that title, my love”

“It’s cumbercollective” He sighed and rolled his eyes, copying me.

“We all know it is and will always be cumberbitches, get over it Buttercup”

“Not gonna happen”.

“Gonna? It seems like I’m who rules the relationship”.

“You’ve always ruled the relationship”

“I’m glad you’re day by day recognizing facts. Today’s been ‘gonna’, I’m curious about what’s gonna “I laughed hard when I said that” be tomorrow”.

“Oh, shut up”

That night, as we did since the very first time we shared a bed, we slept cuddling, then in the morning our innocent little verbal war continued.

#benedict cumberbatch #fanfiction #fanfictio #cumberbitch #cumbercollective #cumbercookies #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch imagine #benedict cumberbatch fic #ben cumberbatch #ben cumberbatch x reader #ben cumberbatch imagine #ben cumberbatch fic #sherlock #khan noonien singh #bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader #khan x reader

[shockcity]

Bagginshield #10 - teaching each other something

Rating: M Summary: for the 30 day OTP challenge. Arthedain did not fall, and now Arnor calls upon their hobbit subjects to help make peace with the dwarrow of Ered Luin – which is how young Bilbo Baggins finds himself married to a prince. AU - Arranged Marriage. Part I

Note: soooooooo this is in two parts and fills two fills! The second part should be up soon. Hope this makes up for how long it’s been since I posted :((( right. Couple of things: It’s TA 2923. Some people have not died yet. Bilbo has just come of age, so he’s 33 in hobbit years which is about 21 in human years. Thorin is around 177 and is say….in his late thirties. I’m also using Aragorn’s age from the movies, so he’s 27 here. The divergence begins when Arthedain survives the Battle of Fornost, and so the hobbits remain under the jurisdiction of the Arthedain King. Doesn’t change much, only that hobbits are a bit more worldly and political, and some of the monarchical culture of Arthedain has been adopted by the Shire. If you have questions let me know, but i advise you just to enjoy the ride lol

The Old Took is a friend of his, and so delivering unfortunate news to him is an especially sorry task for poor Gandalf. He sits, cramped and miserable, in a chair made for the hobbits of Arthedain, never feeling more like one of the Big Folk than he does now (having made himself unwelcome in both areas of size and respectable company). But it cannot be undone, and politics are politics.

“And whom would you suggest I throw to the wolves, Gandalf?” says Gerontius, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. “There is no one of equal standing.”

Gandalf hesitates, but he knows that speaking truths now would not be helpful. The Old Took is aware of where this will lead anyway, but does not want to say it as much as he does not want Gandalf to say it, and so they remained silent for a time.

As the fire crackles merrily and their tea grows cold, Gandalf puffs at his pipe morosely, thinking of who Gerontius might try to persuade instead. There is Fortinbras of course, though Gandalf is fairly sure that he is attached to the Clayhanger girl. Then Adalgrim, perhaps, though it is important to note that that particular relationship would never work (Grim is not the most… sensible of hobbits). Flambard or Sigismond however….

He looks up to find Gerontius watching him. “No,” says the Old Took. “Flambard is not that way, and Sigismond has just fallen in love.”

Gandalf sighs. “Is it a great love?”

Gerontius shakes his head, looking defeated. “One never knows.”

They stare at each other. There is a frown sitting heavily on the hobbit’s face, and his eyes are bathed in shadow. Looking at his friend, Gandalf feels the noose grow tighter.

“Bella will never forgive me,” the Thain says into the quiet. “He’s my favorite, you know, and there are quite a lot of them to choose from.”

Gandalf smiles, but it is fleeting. “They are equals, to be sure.”

“No,” Gerontius relights his pipe and sits back in his chair. “No, they are not. This dwarf, prince or not, simply cannot compare.”

There is nothing else to be said after that, and resignedly, they agree to go to Hobbiton together tomorrow. They also agree that neither of them wants to break the news. It is Adamanta that does it, in the end, and perhaps that is best.

Lessons take place from second breakfast to afternoon tea, and they are purposely grueling, given Bilbo’s tendency to drift off into daydreams. He thinks of his old ambitions and interests, so callously set aside at his father’s behest. It has never been more apparent than now that he is a hobbit of means and respectability, and so has little choice in where his life must go from here.

It is September the twenty-third, and two days ago, Bilbo came of age.

His father had waited only twelve hours after Bilbo’s birthday to sit him down and say:

“Bilbo, you are not just any hobbit. You are a gentlehobbit. You are the grandson of the Shire’s Thain, the Baggins family heir, and a respected patron and landlord. One day, I shall die – no, do not fuss, I’m healthy yet – but die I shall, and when I do, my boy, I want to be sure that our family’s reputation is well in hand. That is to say, it is time to further your lessons.”

Bilbo, who is gnawing on his lip and growing more and more despondent, says:  "But I’ve been training to be a Bounder! I won’t have time for lessons.“

“You will,” says Bungo, solemnly. “Because you simply cannot be a Bounder.”

Life before his coming of age consists of practicing his archery and patrolling (though not in areas known to be very dangerous – he is only a trainee, after all) the boundaries of the Shire. He and Adalgrim had wanted to finish their training in a year’s time, before joining the Dúnedain as scouts and marksmen. This was Bilbo’s dream, but now, here – his father is telling him that it is simply not possible, and Bilbo is heartbroken.

He does not pay as much attention to his lessons as he should, in consequence. He does not want to learn about public speaking, both Shire and Arthedain histories, and boring old accounting and landholdings. He does not care that he is wealthy or born into privilege.

“You mustn’t sulk, Bilbo, you are very lucky you know,” says Strider. He has come to see if Bilbo would patrol with him (they prefer journeying together, most days), but is instead regaled with the details of Bilbo’s most horrid news.

“But I want to help!” the hobbit insists. “The roads grow more and more dangerous as time passes, and those dwarves will hardly make peace with us, no matter what Lord Elrond says!”

“Bilbo,” Strider begins calmly, putting his hands on the hobbit’s shoulders (he is very tall, and so he obligingly gets down on one knee). “You are an excellent Bounder, and one of the best scouts I have ever trained. Though your calling may be a little bit different than you once thought, it does not mean that you cannot help the Shire. If anything, you are in a better position to make a difference than any other hobbit here.”

“But I’m not even grandfather’s heir! Why do they insist on treating me like I’m special?”

“I imagine that it’s because you are special,” Strider theorizes, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Or the only one suited for the job, given how well I know your family.”

It is true that Bilbo’s cousins are very…well…hobbit-y. When not obligated to, they generally stay away from Big Folk Business, partially from fear and disgust, and for some, outright hatred. Adalgrim is remarkably tolerant, but is not in any way tactful enough to be around anyone respectable, Hobbit or not. Flambard despises all races (even his own) and Sigismond is afraid of his own shadow.

Besides Fortinbras, none of the others are in the least bit suitable, and so have not been trained in Arthedain politics, various languages, and Elvish etiquette. He also supposes that his added interest in these things has unwittingly signed him up for a lifetime of boredom and misery. To top it off, the title on his father’s side as Lord and gentlehobbit had essentially marked him as Respectable for life, regardless of his grandfather’s status. It really isn’t any wonder that Bilbo cannot run off, bow and arrow in hand, to save all of Arda.

Still, it hurts.

Strider goes away having not made Bilbo any happier, and he tromps back to Bag End with a heavy heart. Lessons tomorrow and lessons the next day, he thinks with a sigh. I must simply resign myself to this unhappy existence.

But when Bilbo slouches up to his little green door it suddenly opens, and before him stands his grandmother.

“Come, darling,” Adamanta says, holding out a hand to him. “We must speak.”

Thorin gazes solemnly at the expanse of his father’s halls, sweat running down his face and into his collar. He is tall for a dwarf, and rather plain by dwarrow standards, but he cuts a striking figure perched on the stone mezzanine. He briefly worries that his size and demeanor will intimidate his hobbit husband, and tries to smile in a comforting manner. It comes out as a grimace no matter how much he practices.

“Have you no objections?” Thrain had questioned him concernedly. “It is a great burden I must ask of you.”

“We cannot starve again,” Thorin had told him. “If I must be married to prevent it – then of course I will be married. I only ask that he is of my own gender and reasonably pleasant.”

He stands and watches his dwarrow now; his people who have come through so very much since the dragon came. Thorin considers it no great trial to marry a hobbit (no matter how cruel he finds them) if it means his dwarrow will not go through another winter of starvation. Marrying into the Thain’s family will ensure that the hobbits think twice before cutting off the food supply again.

The brigands are on Thorin’s mind as he retreats from the balcony and back into his forge; they and the orcs consume his waking hours with worry and rage. He is to go out again, five days from now, to meet his sister and Balin at Emyn Beraid; his betrothed is to meet him there, before they are to be married.

The hobbits (and all of Arnor) believe that the plague on the Great East Road is the fault of Thorin’s kin. Azanulbizar had inflamed Azog and his hordes, this was true, and there are dwarrow among the brigands, he is sorry to say – but this is not the fault of his people, whose population had dwindled steadily over the years as their supply of food grew sparse at the whim of the halflings. Thrain tells Thorin that it has to do with politics, and perhaps straight and honest loyalty to the Arthedain King. But there is politics and loyalty and then there is cruelty. The war between the Blue Mountains and Arnor has been over for three decades now, but still there are those that hold on tightly to their petty grudges.

Thorin is not among them. He saves his anger for the orcs, for Smaug, and for Thranduil. That is not to say that he likes the races of Arnor, nor that he wishes to marry into their society.

“He cares only for duty,” Dís had said to their father before she had left for the outpost. “Not for his own happiness.”

But Thorin does not have the time or luxury to worry for his own happiness. Thorin is a prince of a captured kingdom, a servant of his father’s throne, and a trusted representative of his people.

His desires do not matter.

Thorin will marry a hobbit of the Shire, and ensure his people the peace they so desperately need. It is a small sacrifice, all things considered.

Emyn Beraid is the last bit of civilization before the road turns brittle and dark. Ered Luin looms on the horizon, its peaks split by the winding Lhûn and the Grey Havens. To the south lies the Westmarch, and the iron settlements, whose dwarrow are seldom seen. The Shire lies to the east of Emyn Beraid, and the hobbits must travel from Tuckborough to the Far Downs, and then to the tower hills, where the rangers meet the Thain and his party with food and refreshment.

The elves of Rivendell arrive next, followed by the Arthedain representative. Last is Thorin himself, who comes with a party of only three, and is therefore vastly outnumbered. He is made to feel excluded when among them, and they reference only King Thrain and seem to not think much of his son. The wedding, when spoken of, is treated as an afterthought.

Yet for all they seem to despise Thorin, they rather adore his husband-to-be. The Dúnedain hover protectively, and even the perpetually gloomy Arthedain representative looks enchanted. Elrond too, seems especially fond, and the entire hobbit coalition glares murderously at the dwarrow in a truly impressive show of aggression, given their small size and penchant for expensive waistcoats.

Thorin, himself, has a mixed reaction to his betrothed.

His first thought is that he is small, which though not his cleverest observation, is a notable one nonetheless. He surmises that just as he is tall for his people, this hobbit must be short for a halfling (what he does not know is that Bilbo’s height is quite ideal, even though he is far too scraggy to be considered perfect). Thorin’s second thought is that he could definitely do worse (Bilbo would be furious to hear this, so it is good that Thorin did not say it out loud).

His third thought is forgotten due to his bemusement, for he is boldly approached by his betrothed and without the humiliating wailing that he had initially expected.

“Hello!” the tiny creature greets him. “I’m to marry you! I think.”

It is…impossible not to be charmed by the hobbit, who introduces himself as Bilbo, and then proceeds to name all of his hobbit party and how he is related to them (which takes a while). Thorin finds that he does not wish to interrupt, for the halfling’s voice is pleasant (though rather wobbly, at first, with nerves) and his eyes are whimsically bright and clever.

He stares without really listening after a while, and so his cheeks turn red when he realizes that Bilbo has asked him something. “Pardon me,” says Thorin. “What did you say?”

A spark of frustration alights in Bilbo’s eyes. “I inquired about your company,” he repeats. “You’ve only the one.”

“And Dís and Balin, whom I believe you have met.”

“Oh yes! Balin certainly knows his literature; we’ve had a few riveting conversations already. And Dís is just lovely!”

Thorin disagrees but does not say so.

“Still, that is only four relations to see you wed. Are you sure you don’t want to invite more?”

Haltingly, Thorin tells him that the rest of his family are all busy back in the Halls, and cannot come. He doesn’t have the heart to say to this little hobbit that the wedding is only another addition to a long list of concessions in the treaty. That it is not to be celebrated…but endured.

They feast that night, and mean to go to bed early (the wedding is in the morning, and they leave to return to the Halls shortly thereafter), but Thorin finds that he cannot sleep. Dís cannot either, and so she comes to visit him.

“Brother,” she says. “This is not what I wanted for you.”

He thinks that she also means that this is not what our mother wanted, either.

“It must be done,” he tells her. He has said this many times since he agreed to the marriage.

They sit beside the fire in a small room with a draft. Emyn Beraid is not an inn, but a fortress, and yet there are probably better rooms left empty that were not given to the dwarrow out of spite.

“If it must be done,” Dís repeats his words with a sigh, chewing on her pipe and gazing at him with dark eyes. “Then I suppose I should warn you that the hobbit is quite the handful.”

There is a small twitch at the corner of Thorin’s mouth. “Is he that bad, sister? If so, you must promise not to kill him before we are married.”

Dís huffs. “Bad? No. He is a tiny ball of mischief. He reminds me of Vili. Utterly useless but absurdly charming.”

“Useless? I’ve been told he is quite clever.”

“Oh, yes, that he is.” She grins at him a little. “He likes his books and poetry – and there’s no need to make that face, Balin will satisfy his craving for that sort of talk – but however clever he is, he does not know of what dangers lie before him. Nor of the severe lack of luxury in our Halls, which I believe he is not prepared to account for.”

Thorin has deduced the same, as the hobbit’s clothes are thin and fancy, and not made for their dusty, dirty home. He wonders what else Bilbo will bring with him, that will prove only a burden in so simple a place as Ered Luin.

“As spoiled as he may be,” Dís concludes, rising from her chair with a yawn. “I do believe he’ll make a fine companion for you.”

“I do hope so,” Thorin says, and then repeats into the quiet, once Dís has gone, “please let her be right.”

They are married after breakfast. Bilbo is bleary-eyed but dressed and groomed finely. Thorin has been up since before dawn. Elrond reads the service.

They break bread together, and drink of the same cup, and Thorin taps his forehead to Bilbo’s, hurting his back since he must lean so far down. The hobbit twines flowers in his hair, and Thorin gives Bilbo his first bead.

When all is done, Thorin is married to a halfling from the Shire, and Bilbo is tied to a prince from a forgotten kingdom. But most important – the treaty is signed, and there is peace between the races of Ered Luin and Arnor.

Gandalf, who had refused to come to the wedding in protest, shows up two hours before he and Thorin leave for the Halls. He glares down at Bilbo and stomps his staff in frustration.

“I thought you might have run away.”

Bilbo glares back. “You mean you’d hoped. You’re such a troublemaker.”

“Imagine you saying that to me, Bilbo Baggins! Well. You have not run away and that is that. Tell me of your husband.”

Bilbo, busy adjusting his saddle and saddle bags for their journey, gives the wizard an impatient look. “You’ve met Thorin before.”

“Yes but I should like to know what you think.”

He sighs and runs a hand through Myrtle’s mane. She snuffles at his pockets for the apples he has there, and so he gives her one. “He is very serious,” Bilbo finally says. “Overly dutiful, one might say.”

Gandalf seems amused. “One might.”

“I was just…so glad to not be stuck in the Shire…counting coffers and hosting tea parties, that I suppose I assumed that he would be…happy too.”

The wizard hums thoughtfully. “Thorin is a leader. He thinks of his people, before he thinks of himself. He is a good dwarf, Bilbo. I trust him with you.”

Bilbo smiles softly. “Well, if you think – ”

“But I do not trust you with him.”

He gasps, and then grows hot. “What do you mean by that? I won’t trouble him!”

“Won’t you?”

“Not at all!” Bilbo stomps his foot and Myrtle whinnies a bit. “I know this is important. I know that my family did not believe me when I said I wanted to help, but I do, Gandalf. I do want to help. It’s why I wanted to be a Bounder! And I am not as silly as the others think. I won’t be a hindrance to anyone, not you or Elrond or Strider or anyone. And especially not Thorin, who I must live with now, if you’ll remember!”

“Calm yourself,” Gandalf finally cuts him off. “You are hysterical. I only meant this: Thorin is a good dwarf, and I trust that he will not hurt you. I do not trust, however, that you will do what is best for him in regards to his happiness. You must be patient with him, and kind. Dwarrow are not treated as they should be in Arnor. You must also teach him to think of other things besides duty. To put it simply, you must teach him to be more like you.”

Bilbo thinks on this, gnawing on his lip. “I…yes. I think I can do that.”

“You must also let Thorin teach you how to be more like him,” Gandalf says, giving Bilbo a stern look. “Wanting to help is all fine and good, Bilbo Baggins, but succeeding at it is another thing entirely.”

Bilbo says goodbye to his family an hour before their departure. He figures that this is enough time for them to cry a little and give him their many hugs and kisses. It is not enough time, though, because Bilbo is going far away and it has only just hit them.

Consequently, he keeps Thorin waiting.

The only hobbit that does not cry is Gerontius. “I would ask your forgiveness, but I cannot even forgive myself,” the Thain says, holding Bilbo close.

“You mustn’t fret so, grandfather,” Bilbo tells him. “I’m alright.”

“If you are not, we will come fetch you,” says Aunt Mirabella, and then louder, “and see how these dwarves make do without the charity of hobbits!”

Bilbo shushes her, though he knows that Thorin’s party has overheard. His last goodbyes are tame compared to the wailing his aunts, uncles, and cousins do, and these are his parents, who are likely to miss him the most.

His father, ever proper, does not blubber. But it is a close run thing.

“Be well, my Bilbo,” he says wetly. “Mind your manners, and keep on with your lessons. I expect a letter once a week.”

“The post isn’t as fast as that, dad,” Bilbo laughs. “But I shall write as much as I can. You have my word.”

When Bungo has said all that he can without falling to pieces, Bilbo turns to his mother. Her eyes are filled with tears, but she straightens her back and manages to keep them in.

“Bilbo,” she starts, clearing her throat. “What will I do with you gone?”

Bilbo smiles. “Take care of dad?”

Belladonna sighs. “If I must,” she says. “I love you, so much. And I will miss you every hour of every day. Please be safe. Please be happy.”

He kisses her cheeks and promises her that he will, but she does not look reassured. She gazes past Bilbo’s head at Thorin’s party, who wait awkwardly by their ponies. When she turns her eyes back on Bilbo, they are compassionate and concerned.

“You must be kind to them, my boy,” she tells him, to his surprise. “It is the least that they deserve.”

Bilbo has lived his entire life hearing about the greediness and unreasonableness of dwarves. He has not heard that he should be nice to them. But this is his mother’s request, and Bilbo will meet it out of loyalty if nothing else.

It is his last goodbye, and when he is done they are soon perched upon their ponies and journeying away from Emyn Beraid – a solemn group of hobbits seeing him off with tears in their eyes.

But Bilbo is not so miserable as all that.

“Dalin, right?” he persists, despite the impressive scowl on the face of the dwarf in question.

“Dwalin, laddy,” Balin chuckles. “My ever cheerful brother, as you can see.”

Dwalin scowls harder, and Bilbo glances at him slyly. “Can you use that axe, Master Dwalin? Or is it for decoration?”

Dís, at the head of the group, barks out a sudden laugh. Thorin seems confused though, from his place beside her.

“Dwalin is our weapons master,” he reveals. “He is more than capable. Tell me, hobbit, what weapon do you wield?”

Bilbo raises an eyebrow at the slight edge of antagonism in Thorin’s tone. “The bow, if you must know,” he answers. “And I’m fairly good with knives.”

“Truly?” Dís asks in disbelief. Bilbo is a bit offended at her surprise, but decides to let it go. “I did not know that hobbits did weapons training.”

“Some of them.”

“Are you any good?”

Bilbo shrugs. “I hit what I aim for, more or less.”

Thorin snorts.

The day continues on in this manner, with Bilbo’s well-meaning chatter distracting them, luckily without being overly obnoxious. Thorin can understand why Dís likes the hobbit, and sees as well his similarity to Vili in his mischievous but honest demeanor.

On the maps, the Great East Road ends at Emyn Beraid, but on foot it continues. The road becomes a treacherous, rocky forest with nothing to guide them but foliage and the elusive scent of water. Luckily, dwarrow have walked the path from the Lhûn to the southern mountains many times, and so they move on instinct now.

Thorin predicts that they will reach the river tomorrow night, if they keep to a steady pace. Bilbo is glad; the forest is dark and empty, and makes him feel very small. They set up camp in a practiced manner that leaves Bilbo sitting out rather awkwardly.

“Can I help?” he asks, fidgeting.

“Faster if we do it,” says Thorin, distracted.

Dís sends her brother a warning look that he does not see, and comes over to Bilbo. She is carrying a sack full of dried meats, and she goes through them with him companionably, letting him have first choice of salted strips of elk and steer.

They sit around the campfire and eat their meager portions, drinking a hot tea that Bilbo volunteered to make once the fire was going. Balin talks with Bilbo of their shared interests (which extends to Elvish poetry, much to everyone else’s disgust) until he seems to realize that they have excluded the rest of their group from the conversation.

Balin clears his throat. “…but no one knows the histories as quite as well as Thorin, isn’t that right?”

Thorin looks up, surprised. “I am proficient, but by no means an expert.”

“Don’t be so modest!” Dís pipes up, her expression gleeful. “When we were little he would go on and on and on about Durin this and Durin that, and ‘our esteemed ancestors’….It was awful.”

Dwalin nods sadly into his mug of tea, remembering little boring Thorin with his histories. They tease him a bit more until he stomps off to take first watch, and Bilbo climbs into his bedroll. He asks Dís to get him up when his shift comes around and she agrees.

No one wakes him, of course.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking watch,” says Bilbo to Dís, the next day. “I’ve taken watch before and no one has died or been carried off by orcs.”

Dís looks sorry to have done it, but there is impatience in Thorin’s posture and in his expression. Their ponies plod along as the rocky, flat terrain becomes a dry meadow, filled with small floating flies and long yellow grasses that make Bilbo sneeze.

“And when have you taken watch?” Dwalin asks, making fun but not unkindly.

“Many times with the Bounders.”

“The Bounders?” Thorin repeats.

“Yes, the Bounders. Our patrol. A hobbit patrol, that is. We work with the Dúnedain and are trained by them to scout, track, shoot, spar, and hunt, and so on and so forth.”

Dís turns around in her saddle to smile at him. “I had no idea you lot did all that! I thought the Arthedain King protected your people, and that you had no reason to worry so. But I’ve never seen a hobbit on the front lines….”

“Because we are very good!” Bilbo reveals, looking pleased. “And I imagine if you did spot us, it would be the last thing you ever saw.”

Balin clears his throat pointedly, and Bilbo falls silent. He has forgotten that it was only a few decades ago that Arnor was at war with the Blue Mountains. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Dís only shakes her head.

Thorin is silent as they cross the meadow. The scent of the ocean, cool and briny, comes in from the west.

They reach the Lhûn at dusk, as predicted. This time, Bilbo decides not to ask if he can help, and instead takes the initiative and begins to collect firewood. Thorin says nothing, but Bilbo can tell that he is surprised and just a little pleased.

The mood is much more cheerful around the campfire that night, being bolstered by the pleasant weather and their having a warm broth for dinner. Bilbo scrounges it up at the last minute, adding in any herbs and edible plants he sees growing around their campsite to a simple vegetable base. Dwalin balks at the idea of eating green food and green food only, but gobbles down his portion after he is finally persuaded to taste it.

With comfortably full stomachs the company falls into a heavy sleep, leaving a yawning Balin to first watch.

They are set upon by orcs at midnight.

In the chaos of the ensuing battle, Thorin simply has no time to look after each member of his party. He counts twelve orcs, all well-armed and ruthless. He dodges an axe to the face and downs an orc with a blade to the gut. He turns and faces another, but is almost run through when he is distracted by a distant howl.

“Wargs!” says Dís, her face grave as she slices the head off of another assailant.

“We must run!” Balin cries, and Thorin turns around and yells for them all to flee. They go.

They run as fast as they can through the forest, the orcs growling and snapping at their heels. Thorin bursts out of the woods and runs along the river, looking for a safe crossing. He knows that there is one, but finds that once he has gone off the path that he knows by heart, he is desperately turned around. Halting, he stands and pants, looking around and suddenly realizing that he is alone. His companions did not make it out.

With a wordless growl he unsheathes his sword, ready to tear off back the way he came. But before he can, he is hit over the head with something blunt and hard, and he falls to the ground – unconscious.

Thorin wakes to a hissed argument. His head is throbbing, and the ground beneath him is hard and cold. His arms ache; they are stretched behind him and tied tight with a bit of rope. He can smell dirt, sweat, and something burning.

“Nûphan! Ki-na lôkhi?” one of his captors curses. Thorin opens one eye and squints. It is a Man, and he is obviously agitated as he paces in front of the fire.

“Nê-yâdim.”

“Nêg-nad anHa niyô.” This one seems like the leader, for he manages to put paid to their argument with a few sharp words. He then continues to clean his sword meticulously, ignoring his nervous companions.

They are not paying any attention at all to Thorin, who is carefully feeling out the rope around his wrists for a weakness. It is slow going; he thinks that he recalls waking a few times before, and his head is tellingly muddled. How long have they kept him drugged? Where are his companions? For that matter, he thinks, where am I?

“Nê-yâdim. Agânun unâkhi!” says the second one suddenly.

Thorin manages to wiggle some room into his binds. He shuffles his hands up and down, attempting to squeeze them out of the ropes. Just as he thinks he’s got it, the leader stands up from the ground and throws his whetstone at his companion’s head.

“Bâ ki-bithahê!” he bellows. “Agannûlun ki-yadahê êphal, bâ ki nûphan!”

“Zirbîth. I have not gone, I’m afraid.”

The Men startle badly; the leader’s eyes go very wide, one of them raises their hands defensively, and the exceedingly nervous one stumbles over his own feet and falls to the ground. The voice comes from the forest around them, bodiless and frightening, and Thorin would be quite afraid too if it did not sound so familiar.

“I will make this simple. Let him go, and I won’t put an arrow through your eye.”

Judging by their expressions, two of them consider this a fair trade, but the leader instead raises his sword and bellows, “Ki-zagrahê ha!”

To which Bilbo says, “honestly!” with a long-suffering sigh.

A half a moment later there is an arrow in the leader’s eye – as promised.

“I have been following you for six days!” Bilbo tells him, panting as he cuts the rope around Thorin’s wrists. He then scrambles among the Men’s possessions for anything valuable.

Thorin has no idea what’s happening.

“I almost lost the trail when they entered the hills, but they were awfully clumsy the faster they ran!”

“Bilbo,” Thorin says, stopping the hobbit with a hand on his arm. “Where are we? What has happened? Where is Dís? Dwalin? Balin?”

Forebodingly, the hobbit refuses to meet Thorin’s eyes. “We were split up,” he relays. “The last I saw Dwalin, he was running after you. Balin and Dís told me to flee, so I went into the forest. They stayed behind. I do not know what has become of them.”

Thorin squeezes his eyes shut. Though he knows that his family is perfectly capable of protecting themselves, his fear for them is instinctual and unstoppable. “Why come after me, then?” he asks, voice hollow.

Bilbo frowns at him, very unimpressed. “You’re my husband,” he points out. “And I don’t much want to be a widower. I’d like to actually get to know you first.”

He can’t help but smile a bit. “But where are we? The hills, you said? Emyn Beraid?”

Bilbo shakes his head, going back to collecting his captor’s provisions. “Emyn Uial. We are across the lake now.”

“What! So far!”

“Yes,” Bilbo squints at him. “You need water. Have they kept you drugged this entire time? How horrible!”

Thorin drinks of Bilbo’s flask, and they gather what they can and go to find a new campsite a good distance away from the bodies. Bilbo, conscious of Thorin’s headache, thankfully does not chatter.

They find a comfortable clearing in between two great oak trees, and set about moving debris out of the way for their bed rolls and a fire (though it is mostly Bilbo who does this, as Thorin is still very weak from his ordeal).

There is a stream close by and to the east, and Bilbo goes there to collect water to boil. He makes Thorin a hot peppermint tea, and it seeps into his nose and down his throat like an elixir. He forces Thorin to chew on Elvish lembas bread, though he puts up very little fight once he realizes that he is absolutely famished. By the time Bilbo has finished coddling him, night is coming on, and his head is clearer than it’s been in what feels like ages.

“You spoke their language,” Thorin says, asking without asking.

Bilbo nods. “Yes, a bit. It was Adûnaic, and they were Forodwaith, but not from the wastes. Their dialect was strange. I would have asked them but they were criminals. Awfully fast too, but not very stealthy. My legs have been hurting for days! In any case, they were taking you east, for reasons I could not surmise, and it does indeed look as though you were the target, I’m sorry to say. Have you an enemy that would go to such lengths?”

“I have many enemies,” Thorin answers absently. He thinks of the elves, and of the Arthedain. Then he thinks of the treaty that they have only just signed, and whether or not this unfortunate setback has started up another war (it’s as awful a thought as it is a realistic one).

“You should sleep,” Bilbo says, moving to guide Thorin into a bed roll.

Once cozy, he brushes Thorin’s hair out of his eyes, and gives the dwarf more water, before patting his face gently with a wet cloth. “Rest,” whispers the hobbit. “I’ll keep watch.”

Though Thorin’s head is much improved in the morning, their dire circumstances have not changed at all. They are far from Ered Luin, and unsure as to what has become of their companions. Bilbo tries to remain cheerful, so as to boost Thorin’s dark mood, perhaps, but Thorin is still very tired and weak. He’s rather short with the hobbit, in consequence.

They set out in the afternoon, and after Bilbo sleeps for a few hours. Thorin points them toward Lake Evendim, where they hope to find news waiting for them at Annúminas.

“I do hope my family isn’t worried,” Bilbo fusses. “And that our company has made it out alright.”

Thorin shakes his head. “I’m sure that they are safe. They are all warriors, and Durin’s folk besides.”

“Yes, of course.” Bilbo smiles. “Then I suppose I must pray that our allies do not think we are dead! What a mess that would be.”

Thorin makes a noise of agreement. “I doubt my people could live through another food shortage,” he says candidly. He is more tired, or more distracted with worry than he thought, for normally he would never say such a thing.

Bilbo frowns up at him, keeping pace with Thorin as they trudge through the woods.

“What do you mean by a food shortage?” he asks, with an edge of defensiveness.

Thorin stares, taken aback. “Twelve years ago there was a terrible winter. Many of my people starved to death.”

“Yes, the Fell winter. We struggled too. But you meant to insinuate that we would hold out on you? That we would stop the supplies?”

As confused as Thorin is, he finds that he is growing impatient with Bilbo now. He doesn’t know what game the hobbit is playing.

“After that winter, provisions were cut,” he explains. “And they become more meager by the year. It is Arnor’s way of fighting without axe or sword.” It is a coward’s way, he thinks, but does not say.

“But we would never do that!” Bilbo shakes his head vehemently. “That’s…but…the children…?”

Thorin’s jaw clenches. He remains silent.

“No, that isn’t right,” Bilbo denies, so distressed that he comes to a halt. “Hobbits aren’t cruel like that!”

“But they do despise dwarrow,” he says sharply.

“No…not…no.”  

Thorin thinks that this young hobbit is very naïve, but that perhaps it can’t be helped. He was born into privilege, and sheltered by the prejudices of his people. Bilbo has never starved, or worried overmuch for his family. He has never gone out into the world and found himself an outcast, separated by his appearance and the false reputation perpetuated by their friends and enemies alike. He is not dwarrow, and so does not need to think of these things.

“We’ll break here,” he tells the confused and now melancholy hobbit. They set up a little camp and rest their feet. Bilbo says nothing, and a pall of misery hangs over them for the rest of the afternoon.

That night, Bilbo comes running into their camp with a dead squirrel wrapped in his coat. “Look! I’ve got us dinner!” he says, spirits evidently lifted.

The corner of Thorin’s mouth twitches. “So you have. Can you dress it, or shall I?”

Bilbo stares down at his prize. “You’d best do it,” he decides, stepping forward and depositing the animal into Thorin’s lap. “Strider hadn’t yet taught me how to hunt before I left. I’m very surprised I managed to shoot it, honestly.”

“Strider?”

“Oh! He’s a ranger,” he explains. Bilbo is off then; telling Thorin all about this Strider fellow, who seems to be a great friend of the hobbit’s. He listens as he skins the squirrel, growing more and more surprised at what he hears.

“You were one of these Bounders, then?” Thorin asks, curious.

“Well, no,” Bilbo admits reluctantly. “I hadn’t finished my training before…well, before the wedding.”

Thorin feels a spike of guilt at that, but brushes it off. “You’re an excellent bowman,” he tells the hobbit now, albeit a bit awkwardly. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Oh.” Bilbo flushes, quickly busying his hands with preparing a broth to warm over the fire. “I…thank you. And of course. Any…time.”

Thorin hums, amused. “In fact you have very much surprised me with your skill, halfling. I would not have thought your kind were suited for the wild.”

“Well, there certainly aren’t a lot of us Bounders,” Bilbo confesses. “What with the king and the Dúnedain watching out for us. But there are a few, mostly Tooks, mind, that are quite fond of adventures.”

He suddenly falls silent and looks at his feet. “They are not as I thought, however.”

Thorin frowns. “What isn’t?”

“Adventures,” Bilbo repeats. He sets their cooking pan on the fire, his expression a bit lost. “I am not so fond of them now.”

“It is hard, in the wild,” Thorin agrees, cupping the now clean meat and dropping it into the pot. The broth steams invitingly.

Bilbo remains slouched on the ground for a time, letting Thorin take over the stirring. He leaves him to his silence, but then startles when he hears Bilbo sniff.

He is crying.

“Why, what, you – ” says Thorin, already beginning to panic.

“I did not know what it was like! I do not know what to feel.” Bilbo wipes at his eyes. “I have never killed anyone before, or run off into the woods after kidnappers and criminals, or tried to rescue anyone ever! I just did it, and now I think about it and I feel positively ill.”

Thorin has sat with warriors on these days before, and has said those comforting words that work, for a time, to drive back the horror. But he does not know how to speak to this creature; they are so very different, and what would have worked for dwarrow might be terribly inadequate for hobbits.

So Thorin does what he has seen many of the tiny creatures do when one of them is upset (or often for no reason at all). He puts down the ladle and slides closer to Bilbo, reaching out to draw him into an embrace.

Though startled at first, Bilbo quickly sinks into his arms. They sit, for awhile, saying nothing.

There are no good words for this, anyway.

On their third day of traveling, Bilbo suddenly stops and turns to glare at Thorin – arms akimbo.

“Where are we?” he demands to know. “We should have reached the lake by now!”

Thorin is…not entirely sure, but he knows he has been going west, at least.

“We must be…close,” he hedges.

Bilbo is not fooled for a moment. “Thorin, are we lost?”

“Um.”

This answer does not satisfy the hobbit at all. “You must be joking!”

“Well, you’re the one that followed me!”

“Because I thought you knew where you were going!” yells Bilbo. “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have a sense of direction!?”

“I do have one!”

“Oh? Where is it? Or have you lost that as well?”

It is in the midst of their first fight that there is a sudden bellowing, and they both immediately fall silent. Thorin hears the sound again and drags Bilbo toward the nearest tree.

“Wargs,” he explains.

“Excellent timing! Perhaps they’ll give us direct– hey!” He scrambles onto a branch when Thorin effortlessly lifts him up. “Don’t pick me up!”

“Go up the tree!”

“Why aren’t you climbing?”

“I will stay down here and defend us.”

“Oh, no you won’t!” Bilbo hops back down to the ground, much to Thorin’s frustration. They can both hear growls now, coming closer. “You first!”

“No. Get back up there.”

“You get up there! Staying down here is stupid!”

Thorin wants badly to explode into a rage, but they mustn’t make much noise and so their argument involves a lot of heated whispering.

“You are an infuriating creature,” he says, finally conceding. Bilbo looks smug until Thorin picks him up and slings him under one arm before ascending.

“Oi!”

About half way up the tree, the Wargs come into view. They sniff around the clearing where Bilbo and Thorin once stood. Up above, they hold their breath as one of the animals tracks their scent to the base of the tree.

An orc calls to the Warg from the darkness of the wood, and the beast comes on command. The rolling dissonance of the black speech envelopes the clearing, and Bilbo can’t help but shudder.

Then the orc is in view, and Thorin gasps. “No.”

“What? What’s happened?” he whispers, looking at his companion worriedly.

But Thorin says nothing, and they wait in fear until the orc pack is gone. Then they do not come down for another half hour, just to be sure.

He turns to Thorin once they are safe. “Thorin, who was that?”

The dwarf looks away, gazing off – lost in memories that Bilbo cannot see. “Azog,” he answers, finally. “It is…likely, that our misfortune is his doing.”

“Azog the defiler?” he asks, quietly. “But…he’s supposed to be dead.”

“Yes.”

Bilbo bit his lip. “So, he’s the one who’s after you, you think?”

“He said my name.” Thorin nods, but when he sees Bilbo’s confused frown he explains. “Oakenshield. It is what I am called, by our people.”

“Oakenshield,” Bilbo repeats, sounding it out. “Will you tell me the story?”

Thorin looks down at the hobbit, sighing. “Yes. But not now. Azog said something else, in Khûzdul this time – I heard him say Carn Dûm.”

Bilbo gasps. “But that’s in Angmar! It’s been abandoned for hundreds of years.”

“I don’t think so. It is entirely possible that there are Gundabad orcs in the ruins of the red fortress. They go where there is darkness, and spread like a pestilence. Perhaps Azog has bred an army there as well as in Khazad Dûm.” He pauses. “We should scout it out.”

Bilbo frowns. “Thorin,” he ventures cautiously, as if fearing for his sanity. “There are more things than orcs in Carn Dûm. There are rumors….”

“I have heard them too, from the clans in the North Downs. But the Witch-king is gone, Bilbo, however his shadow persists. We must see if Azog has truly gathered his army there.”

“And then what?” the hobbit exclaims, frustrated. “Storm the bloody fortress? A dwarf and a hobbit against all of Angmar? That is not wise! We cannot afford to make a mistake here. Thorin, Arnor is in trouble.”

“And I seek only to help it.”

“No,” Bilbo says, shaking his head. “It is foolish. It is suicide. We need to go to Arthedain. We need reinforcements. Please, Thorin.”

Thorin clenches his jaw, looking in the direction that Azog has gone. “Alright,” he says. “But we must make haste. I do not know what the defiler intends, but whatever his goal, I will not let him succeed.”

They sleep less, and eat as they go. Adrenaline has given them the endurance to keep on when exhaustion would normally fell them. Even Bilbo, as unused to extensive exercise as he is, finds that his breath is strong and his steps are sure; his body seeming to be fueled by raw fear and determination.

In the times that they do stop, Thorin tells Bilbo of Azanulbizar, which turns out much different than what his history books had made him believe. Thorin’s heroics, for one, had been entirely left out. On these nights they often plan their course by the stars, something that Bilbo is (thankfully) good at.

By the morning of their fifth day of traveling, they begin to smell a difference in the air; it is the wet, clear scent of a body of water. Soon Lake Evendim emerges between two trees, its surface a deep and quiet blue.

“We’ll meet with the king and ask for news of our friends,” says Bilbo, laying out his plans as they walk along the shore. “And I am sorry, but Ered Luin will have to wait, it seems. We will need to go back to the downs with scouts, preferably a hundred of them – ”

“Bilbo, be quiet.”

Thorin has halted them, and stands completely silent and still. Bilbo frowns, but then he hears it too.

It is impossible to ignore. It rattles the bones and runs cold steel up the spine. Wild fear overtakes Bilbo, dredged up from the base part of him which knows instinctively that this is the sound of death.

“Run,” Thorin tells him, and then grabs his hand.

They fly around the lake, looking for some sort of shelter – anything. In the distance, they see only the tops of Annúminas, its spiraling fortress too far away to provide sanctuary.

The cry comes again.

“Thorin!” Bilbo yelps, when the dwarf decides to veer back into the forest. “Stay near the water! They don’t like it!”

“Then we swim!”

“I can’t!” Bilbo chokes, eyes wide. “Thorin, I can’t swim!”

There is nowhere to go. A loud screech makes Bilbo look back at the Nazgûl. There are two of them, neither of which are the Witch-king, thankfully. Not that these are much better. Bilbo has only heard about them from Strider, and knows not how to fight them. He does know that the lake is their only chance, though, and so he tugs on Thorin’s arm as they run.

“Go,” he says, panting. “I’ll draw them away. Go into the lake. Can you swim as far as Annúminas? I’ll follow on land.”

To his surprise, Thorin only glares at him. “Never,“ he snarls. ”Nungbâha! “

“That sounds mean.”

The Nazgûl ride quickly, and Thorin knows now that they have no hope of escaping. He thinks that their fate will be gruesome, and that they will probably be captured and tortured for information before they are killed. He sees this happen to Bilbo in his mind’s eye and simply cannot countenance it.

Making his decision, Thorin stops, draws his kidnapper’s sword, and turns around. Bilbo halts as well, looking to Thorin with the same solemn resignation. He nods, takes out his bow, and slots in an arrow.

Then they face what comes for them, side by side.

Go to Part II

#30 day otp challenge #bagginshield #hobbit fic #p1 #p2 soon #there's action in this one #my fav to write #and hover translations or there should be #Tolkien pick and choose #sorry professor