Summary: Sam and the reader are each gifted something after saving a group of housewives on a hunt, and Sam’s gift is exponentially more... enthusiastic than the reader’s.
A/N: This is completely unedited, so please excuse any mistakes. If you see any glaring ones, please feel free to (politely) send me an ask or a message so I can go in and fix it. The gifs that inspired this fic can be found at the end because I thought they were too cute to not include. Also, feedback makes the world go round and makes my blog a lot more enjoyable for everyone! Please reblog this fic with your thoughts or send me an ask or a message to tell me what you think. Enjoy!
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this happy,” you said as you leaned against the dresser. The knobs dug into the small of your back and your shoulders but you ignored them as Sam looked up at you with a wide smile.
“I just can’t believe this is real,” he replied.
Bones jumped up on his hind legs, pushing himself slightly off the floor as he tried to regain Sam’s full attention. He succeeded and you couldn’t help but laugh at the way Sam raised the pitch of his voice to talk to his new—or rather, old—furry friend.
“You know, when the witch said she’d brought back someone dear to your heart, I figured we’d come back to the motel to find Bobby or something.”
Sam glanced up at you again, his smile undimmed. “I didn’t think it would be Bones either, but honestly…”
Smiling, you moved away from the dresser to see if your phone had regained some battery. It had died on the way back from the abandoned winery where the coven had been holding its meetings. Thankfully, you hadn’t needed it to call for help. The coven was more domestic than anything you’d ever encountered on a hunt; the witches mostly used their magic to bring dead houseplants back to life, get the smell out of laundry they’d forgotten in the washer, and thaw meat that they’d taken out of the freezer an hour or two too late. You’d been in the midst of trying to figure out how to ask them to stick with what they knew when the real troublemakers had shown up, figurative guns blazing, in an attempt to harm the housewives who were in almost too deep.
You and Sam had eradicated the bad witches with relative ease and the handful of women had been so grateful to you that they’d put their collective energies together to give you each a gift. They’d given you something you’d thought long gone—a box of photos from your childhood—and they’d promised Sam something “dear to his heart”.
After unlocking your phone, you quietly placed an order for a few pizzas, knowing that Sam was probably starving after the busy day you’d had. You were about to press the submit button when something bumped against your leg.
“I think he likes you,” Sam said, and you looked down to find Bones sitting at your feet. He was giving you a heart-warming doggy smile and his tail was going a mile a minute. It was almost comical how hard he was trying to sit despite the fact that his butt was wiggling right along with his tail.
You chuckled and crouched down to run your hand over Bones’ back. “Hey buddy! Are you hungry too? Is that why you came over here?” you cooed. Your voice jumped up an octave, just like Sam’s had, but Bones responded quickly and was up in your face as he tried to get as much of your attention and touch as possible.
Sam laughed too, standing up and stretching his arms above his head while he watched. He was clearly enjoying having Bones around and in the back of your mind, you sent up a silent prayer that this wasn’t a temporary thing. If Bones was ripped away from him, it would be a heartbreaking loss. Sam had already suffered so much and you wanted to ensure as much as you could that when he wasn’t on a hunt, he was happy and comfortable.
“You want some pepperoni, Bones? Huh?”
The dog yipped in response and you grinned, then stood. You quickly placed the order on your phone while Bones tried to get more attention from Sam.
“Pizza should be here in about an hour,” you said, and Sam nodded. “So what do we do now? Think Dean’ll be okay with Bones being at the bunker? And in the Impala, for that matter?”
Sam shrugged. Bones was standing on the bed now so that Sam could pet him without having to sit down or bend over.
“Okay, well maybe we should pick up supplies before we get back,” you suggested. “That way, Dean can’t say it would be easy to get rid of him. And we should probably make an appointment with the vet in town, too…”
You pulled out your phone again, but as you were starting to research the veterinarian offices in Lebanon, you felt Sam’s eyes on you. Slowly, you glanced up from your phone and met his gaze.
“Nothing,” Sam answered, shaking his head with a smile. “I’m just happy.”
“Okay… Weirdo.” You went back to the website. After another minute or two, you still felt Sam’s eyes on you and you sighed, dropping your hand down to your side so you could fully look at him. “What? Why are you staring at me, Sam?” The question came out with a laugh and Sam’s smile widened.
“I don’t know. I’m just… happy. I’m happy that you’re okay with this,” he said.
“Why wouldn’t I be? You love him and I think having a dog would be great.”
"Well I knew you liked dogs, but the last time we talked about getting one, you said that you didn’t think it would be a great idea. What changed?”
Shrugging, you tucked your phone in your pocket and went over to them, making sure to start petting Bones immediately so you wouldn’t get licked in the face again. You pointedly avoided making eye contact with Sam, instead focusing on the retriever who was practically vibrating with happiness at all the attention he was getting from the two of you.
“Honestly? I don’t know,” you answered. “I guess it’s because I don’t want you to have to give him up, you know? I like to see you happy, and Bones makes you happy. He makes me happy, too,” you added, knowing that Sam would call you out on it if you didn’t.
Sam hummed in response, and the two of you continued to pet Bones in silence, only occasionally laughing or talking to the dog when it felt right.
An hour later, you were setting up the pizza while Sam took Bones outside for a break. The dog had come with his own collar—thank you, witches!—but he’d had to find a rope in the trunk of the Impala to use as a leash.
“It smells good!” Sam said as he opened the door and stepped inside. You glanced over at him with a smile, then laughed when you saw Bones pulling at the makeshift leash to get nearer to the table. When Sam dropped it, he made a beeline for the pizzas and you had to quickly shove him back down onto all four legs so that your dinner didn’t come with a side of dog hair.
“Whoa, buddy! Easy, calm down! You’ll get your dinner soon enough!”
Sam was grinning from ear to ear and you grinned back, feeling the contagious joy bubble up inside of you.
“Pepperoni?” he asked, and you nodded, grabbing the little container full of slices they’d included and holding it out for him. Bones tracked the movement intently and you laughed again as Sam grabbed it and pulled off the lid.
Instantly, Bones was sitting down, his tail wagging as he stared up at Sam.
“Well, at least he knows to sit,” you laughed. Sam laughed too, and soon the three of you were chowing down on your respective dinners.
We’re like a little family, you thought as you settled down beside Sam against the headboard. You’d both torn the top of the pizza boxes off so that the box was easier to hold in your lap, and he’d turned on a mindless movie while you’d made sure Bones had water.
“Here’s to happy endings,” Sam said, holding out his beer.
You clinked yours against it with a smile, then a quiet chuckle. “And here’s to witches, which is something I’d never thought I’d say!”
(Gifs are by @frodo-sam can be found here. I couldn’t find them in the tumblr gif search or I would have included them that way, sorry!)
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Hello! If you’re still taking TMA prompts, what about a scenario where Jon needs a little further observation/just needs some assistance until he regains his strength once he’s released from hospital, and Martin takes responsibility (because thinking about doting Martin makes me soft) 🥺 Thanks!
HELLO FRIEND THIS HAS TAKEN ME SO LONG AND I AM SO SORRY!!!!! but i hope you like this because it’s gonna be multiple chapters now!!! I got on a roll and wrote this whole first chapter in a fit of passion
featuring...Martin with Tourette’s! Hooray! :D
Set immediately after the episode where Jon wakes up from the coma, Georgie leaves, and Basira is soon to follow.
Soon after Basira returns with the water, it all falls apart.
“What did you mean, you ‘feel more real?’ What does that mean, Jon?” she demands, slamming the plastic cup of water on the tray hard enough for it so slosh over the edge. “What did you do?”
Perhaps it’s the post-statement, post-coma bit of euphoria; perhaps it’s the overwhelming hurt of hearing Georgie wish him dead—but Jon cannot quite stifle the laugh that bubbles up in his chest. Cannot quite swallow what he’s sure would be damp filling up the corners of his eyes, were he not still so dehydrated that he has nothing left to spare.
He has little left to spare of anything, it seems, after he spares a glance down his emaciated form.
“I d-don’t—I didn’t do anything, Basira. I wouldn’t—wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Bullshit,” she barks, crossing her arms and leering over him—reminding him so much of Daisy, it sends a familiar chill up his spine. “What. Did. You. Do.”
“I—please, Basira. Trust me.”
“I-I didn’t. Didn’t do anything, I swear. If I did, I don’t—don’t remember.”
It’s the truth, it’s god’s honest truth, but it’s not enough. Of course it wouldn’t be—it’s Jon, after all. Jon’s word had never been enough for her.
“You know what?” she spits, sharp eyes meeting his after a few small moments away. “Georgie was right. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You shouldn’t be here.”
Shouldn’t be here shouldn’t be here
Old, terrible wounds he had hoped were long dead begin to fester once again in his mind. He had always considered Basira a friend, but now…now perhaps, it would hurt even worse if she were.
A slamming door, and he’s back in the present. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, he Knows Basira will not be returning—and is not going to get a nurse, either. No, Basira…Basira will no longer be part of this. Will no longer be part of him, as all of Jon’s friends come to be, eventually.
She was my friend.
What else is there to do but sit, quiet and still, waiting on the world to turn again? Surely it had stopped. There is no window in this place—nothing to tell him the time at all. Perhaps they thought he hadn’t needed it, because he was never going to wake up. No one to disorient if there’s nobody there.
“No, please—he should—“
Scratching, a scratching at the back of his mind. A blurry picture, faded and torn, knitting together slowly with stitches formed from static and a searing pain behind his eyes.
“—he should have a window.”
Martin. It’s Martin, eyes soft and warm and loving and…despairing. The picture grows and grows and grows until—
“No, please,” Martin begs as he enters the new room they’ve just wheeled Jon’s body into, glancing around with distress, left hand banging rhythmically against his thigh. “He should—he should have a window, in case he wakes up—he’ll be disorientated, please.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, if—"
“No! I’ll not—I’ll not sit here, and let this happen—"
Thrown physically back by the weight of the memory, Jon finds himself lying back dizzily against his pillows, head pounding, heart pounding even louder with the knowledge that Martin was here, he cared, he was here he was here—
And then he looks to the left, and finds a copy of The Lord of the Rings. His copy, to be exact—it must have been taken from his flat, it’s so worn and loved and read and reread and reread. Reaching out to touch it with a shaking, far-too-thin hand, he presses his fingertips against the cracked spine and Sees—
Martin, reading it to him.
“‘I wonder,” said Frodo, “But I don’t know. And that’s the way of a real tale. Take any one that you’re fond of. You may know, or guess, what kind of a tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending, but the people in it don’t know. And you don’t want them to.’”
Taking a pause from the passage, Martin quirks up a little half smile, a sad whisper of a thing, before taking Jon’s hand in one of his own—using the other to remove his glasses, as he begins to weep in silence.
Aching, aching, aching is Jon’s chest—down through the depths of his soul, if indeed, he could still be said to have one. It is no longer a decision—he must phone Martin. If enough of him is still there to be phoned.
He hits the call button on his bedside remote and waits.
“Mr. Sims?” calls a nurse tentatively from the door, face still ashen from the shock of seeing him awake, and half-sitting back against his pillows. “I’ve got a phone for you.”
“Ah, thank you,” Jon breathes at once, reaching out a still-shaking arm to take it from her before she turns to hang another bag of saline on the pole to his right, hooking it up carefully to his line as she continues to speak.
“We—erm, just so you don’t waste your time, we tried your emergency contact many times with no response. A…Stoker, I believe is their last name?”
Any wind he had managed to pick back up in his sails is pushed right out of his chest with the devastation of these words.
“Mr. Sims? You alright?” she asks, looking moments away from poking or prodding him again—something he can’t bear, not with his skin crawling like this.
“F-fine, fine,” he assures, silently begging his hands to stop shaking. “Fine, thank you. For the phone.”
“You’re—you’re welcome. Erm,” she stammers, stumbling over herself in her hurry to back out of the door. “Ring if you need something.”
And then she’s gone, and he’s left alone again.
Alone alone always alone
He’s got to keep going; got to tear his mind forcibly away from his private anguish—and turns to what he desperately hopes will not become a new, unbearable grief. Punching in a number he feels he has no right to Know, he presses the phone against his ear and rings Martin.
Until he gets a notice that the voicemail box is full.
Stomach jolting, he realizes that Basira could have been wrong, that he could be in trouble, that he could be—
No no no
He rings again, waiting with bated breath, utterly motionless.
He wants to tear it all down, to burn through every wall that separates him from Seeing him—
He rings one more time.
“Look, you’ve got the wrong number,” comes the irritated voice on the other end of the line after the third ring—and Jon will never be sure that it’s not the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.
“…Martin,” is all he can say, all he can feel as he collapses back onto his pillows, lips upturning in a smile he never thought would grace his expression again.
A pause, long and frozen, like an inhaled breath that refuses to be let out.
The disbelief, the shuddering hope is so clear in his tone that Jon at last feels his eyes pooling with the tears that had so often refused to come.
“It’s me,” he whispers, like a prayer—begging to be believed.
Loud clattering resonates from the other end of the line as the phone is dropped—or perhaps thrown. A more common tic for Martin when he feels something very strongly.
Whatever feeling it may have been that brought it on, Jon is grateful to observe the humanity of it—tears slipping down his face at last as he sees Martin in his mind’s eye, collecting his phone with the massively thick case around it, checking it for cracks as he does every time, though the screen protector has never once been without cracks—
Jon finds himself weeping, laughing, gasping—so very fond.
I missed you I missed you
I miss you
“Hello? You still there?” Martin gasps, voice a bit wild, a bit desperate.
“Still here,” he assures, wiping his face with a heavy sniff.
“Listen, this—" he begins, voice forcibly hardened, though Jon can hear the shakiness beneath. “This better not be a—a fucking prank, or—"
“I-It’s not. Martin, it’s not. I promise.”
I’m still here.
“…how?” he asks, voice still sharp, and Jon hardly supposes he can blame him.
It’s a lie, you do know, you’re lying you’re lying
“—I don’t know. Something…something brought me back,” he stammers, tongue tripping over the acridity of the untruth in his mouth.
It’s a lie and you know it.
“And you’re alright?” comes Martin’s trusting voice from the shoddy speaker.
Of course, running fingers through his hair that had grown so long, so wild, he braces himself for another half-truth.
“Relatively—relatively speaking,” he sighs.
“What does that mean?”
Too weak—he finds himself too weak to answer, cannot bear to say the words that will let him ask for help. Never could manage it, really.
“Do you want me to come get you?” Martin asks, because of course Martin knows him, knows the way Jon’s mind works, however maladapted it may be.
“Yes,” he murmurs in response, tears beginning to run again at the prospect of seeing Martin, his Martin, here in this lightless room that reminds him so terribly much of the Archives.
“Be there soon.”
With a click, the warmth of his voice is gone—but well-replaced by the promise of his presence.
Martin never breaks a promise.
Jon allows the security of it to set him adrift on the tides of sleep.
anonymous request from the beginning of this month. This took forever because I’ve never written a full au like this before and I kept changing my mind about things! anyway, here’s the fellowship in a university setting with Legolas and Elrohir together! can be read on ao3 here
(no real warnings. there’s some alcohol consumption. Elrohir struggles with depression.)
chapter one: conclusion is the worst paragraph
Elrohir wakes up still feeling tired. It’s cloudy outside, so the room is dark, and he doesn’t know what time it is. He reaches for his phone, worried about sleeping through his alarm, before remembering that he has a day off and didn’t set an alarm. It’s noon, which is fine. He rolls out of bed and opens the curtains.
The sky is dark, and the rain comes down in streaks over the window. The world is just the colours of the brick houses and trees outside his window.
‘Ugh, I don’t wanna finish this essay,’ Legolas grumbles. He’s been awake for a few hours, finishing an essay for theatre class. He lays his head on his desk. ‘I hate it.’
‘So take a break,’ Elrohir says. He pours a glass of cold green tea.
‘It’s due tonight,’ Legolas complains.
‘Boo.’ Elrohir pulls his hair up into a ponytail and goes into the bathroom to wash up.
Legolas is staring out the window when he comes back.
‘I’m never going to finish it,’ Legolas whines. ‘And I’m going to fail...’
Elrohir gets out cold pizza for lunch. He leans against the counter, looking across the small space of their studio apartment at the rain. He hopes that it will keep up pouring like this. The sound of it is comforting.
‘You don’t even care,’ Legolas says.
‘I care.’ Elrohir checks his phone.
‘Evil!’ Legolas cries.
‘So dramatic,’ Elrohir says.
‘I’m not dramatic, you’re dramatic.’ Legolas flips his hair.
‘Maybe we’re both dramatic.’ Elrohir drops down on the bed. He flings one leg over the other.
‘Ugh, I hate it.’ Legolas glares at his laptop.
‘Then don’t write it.’
‘It’s almost done anyway,’ Legolas grumbles. ‘I just have to take out all the swearing.’
‘Please submit it with the swearing!’
‘You don’t even love me.’ Legolas shakes his head.
‘Of course not.’
‘Conclusion is the worst paragraph,’ Legolas says a few minutes later. He pops a gummy bear in his mouth.
‘Just summarise what you said.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Legolas says. ‘You always know what you say. I just write what I’m feeling.’
‘I feel sorry for your teacher,’ Elrohir remarks.
‘Okay, I’m saving a clean copy. Come check it for me?’
Elrohir bends over Legolas and wraps his arms around his shoulders. He smells the clean scent of his strawberry face wash as he presses his face to Legolas’s cheek.
‘Mmm. You really do just write whatever you’re feeling.’
‘I’m too pretty for school.’ Legolas feeds Elrohir a gummy bear.
Elrohir laughs lightly. He smells his cheek, his hair.
‘It looks okay. Just make sure you send this copy and not the angry one.’
‘He deserves the other one though,’ Legolas mutters. ‘Making me write essays...’
‘I’m sending it in!’ Legolas sings. ‘I don’t care if it’s due on midnight and I could edit it because I am done! I am done! And I never want to see it again!’
‘Mhm.’ Elrohir kisses the corner of his lips. He takes his glass and makes his way around the room, watering the plants that need to be watered. The fig tree reaches up to the ceiling. Its leaves brush against the glow in the dark stars stuck along the ceiling. Elrohir sings gently to the plants as he waters them.
Legolas smiles over his shoulder at him.
‘You’re in a good mood again,’ Elrohir says.
‘Because I’m done,’ Legolas says. ‘And I don’t have to write that essay ever again!’
‘Yeah, let’s hope he passes you.’ Elrohir finishes watering the plants.
The light in the room changes as the rain lets up a little and the clouds shift. Elrohir leans against the wide windowsill and traces his fingers over the raindrops that slide down the pane.
‘I submitted it,’ Legolas announces. He springs up. ‘Do you want wine?’
It’s the middle of the day, but Legolas just finished his last essay for the semester, and neither of them have anywhere to go. Besides, it’s raining.
They drink the white wine while the rain comes down hard again and the record turns in the player. Legolas rests his head on Elrohir’s shoulder. He’s relaxed now, apparently not worried about the essay or the class any longer. Elrohir traces the freckles on Legolas’s arm, connecting constellations out of them.
‘The great bear,’ he says of one.
Legolas lifts Elrohir’s hand and kisses it.
‘I like how you see stars in everything.’
Elrohir presses his face against Legolas’s hair. He’s sad, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s the song, or the rain, or the heaviness of the wine on him when he’s still tired. Maybe it’s because this moment is so perfect, and he already misses it even though it isn’t over, because maybe it will never happen again, and even if it does, it will still be different.
‘Love you,’ he whispers.
Legolas gazes up at him, and he kisses him slowly while the rain swims against the glass making the silver light from behind the clouds flicker over the room, so soft it could already be a memory.
‘Don’t be sad,’ Legolas whispers. ‘Please, don’t be sad already.’
Elrohir touches his cheek. He traces the freckles there too. Legolas smiles. He’s life itself. He is filled with dreams and joy and the constant need to explore and learn.
‘I don’t know what you’re afraid of,’ Legolas says.
‘I don’t know either,’ Elrohir says. He can’t explain his mood. There’s a tightness in his chest, and it creeps up into his throat. He could cry. He could really cry here, on such a perfect afternoon, and he doesn’t even have a reason.
Legolas brushes his thumb under Elrohir’s eye. Elrohir smiles at him. He takes Legolas’s hand and kisses it, across his knuckles, across the back of his hand.
Legolas smiles, and he leans forward, and his eyes glow with the joy of life that he always manages to find, no matter what happens. Elrohir wishes he could be happy like him.
He is happy now, happy in that way that makes his heart beat a little faster because it’s like an adventure every day with Legolas. He kisses him, and the record skips but then plays on.
Legolas spends the weekend at Elrohir’s family house, like they usually do. Aragorn and Arwen are there also, along with some of their friends. It’s a pretty big house, and everyone is always welcome.
Sunday morning, Legolas gets up bright and early and goes to make everyone pancakes. Maybe Legolas is the most annoying person in the universe (if you ask Gimli on a bad day), but he makes good pancakes. He puts on his music and sings along as he goes about the kitchen.
Aragorn walks in, half asleep, brown waves a mess around his head. He points a finger at Legolas.
'Headphones. Use them.'
Legolas pauses in his pancake making. ‘What? Why?’
'No one else wants to be awake yet.'
‘I’m making food for you!’
'Leave the batter. And turn your music down.'
‘Fine!’ Legolas sings. He flashes a peace sign at Aragorn.
Aragorn rolls his eyes.
Legolas puts on headphones, and Aragorn goes back to bed.
When Elrohir wakes up, there is pancake batter in the fridge and ‘Y’ALL ARE BORING’ written on the whiteboard on the fridge.
Legolas is missing.
Underneath ‘Y’ALL ARE BORING’ is another note: went for a run :)
Elrohir stretches. Legolas is so cute and silly.
Celebrían comes in in her silk dressing gown, which is covered with flowers and little birds.
‘Good morning, Mum,’ Elrohir says. ‘Legolas made pancake batter.’
‘That’s sweet of him,’ Celebrían says. She kisses Elrohir. ‘Good morning, darling.’
She reads the note.
‘He has a lot of energy.’
Legolas skips in in a tank top and sweatpants.
'Morning,' Elrohir murmurs.
Legolas slides his shoes off and skips off to shower. Elrohir follows up the stairs after him.
Elrohir passes Aragorn’s room. Aragorn is doing push-ups with Frodo and Merry’s little Pippin on his back. Pippin waves at Elrohir. He’s still in high school, but he hangs out with them a lot.
‘Show off,’ Elrohir calls to Aragorn.
Legolas is already in the shower, singing of course. Elrohir goes in and leans against the sink. He yawns.
Legolas’s hair is all suddy.
‘Can I join you?’ Elrohir asks.
Legolas rinses his hair.
Elrohir gets in with him.
Elrohir smacks it gently.
‘You’re awful!’ Legolas chides, sounding not at all horrified.
Elrond is cooking the pancakes when they get downstairs.
‘Thank you for making the batter, Legolas,’ he says.
‘Mhm,’ Legolas says. ‘Aragorn doesn’t appreciate it though.’
‘I don’t appreciate you playing music when I’m trying to sleep,’ Aragorn says. ‘So there.’
‘Aragorn’s grumpy,’ Legolas says.
‘Grumpy when I’m tired,’ Aragorn says.
Elladan comes in wearing one of Elrond’s paint shirts. He wraps his arms around Legolas from behind. ‘He’s always tired.’
‘I’m stealing your boyfriend,’ Elladan tells Elrohir.
‘Go ahead, I need a break.’ Elrohir pours tea.
‘Ouch,’ says Arwen. She’s sitting on Aragorn’s lap, because of course she is. ‘That’s harsh.’
Gimli comes in, yawning, and Legolas ducks out of Elladan’s arms to give him a hug.
Celebrían wraps her arms around Elrohir and rests her chin on his shoulder.
‘Are you working today, Mum?’
‘No, because your grandfather isn’t.’ Celebrían tugs gently on Elrohir’s hair. ‘Cute.’
Elrohir shifts them so that he can put his chin on top of her head. He watches Legolas skip around the kitchen, passing plates to people to eat. He loves how happy he is. He wishes he could be that happy all the time. He catches Legolas’s eye and blows him a kiss with two fingers.
‘Okay, so what did I miss?’ Elrohir slides into the seat next to Legolas halfway through class.
‘Shh!’ Arwen whacks her brother gently.
Elrohir shrugs. He slides his backpack onto the floor next to the bag with his wet rubber boots. He’s late because he was in the book arts studio, making paper, and it took longer than he’d anticipated. You can’t just leave paper. Anyway, it’s not like he doesn’t know history already. It’s one of his father’s favourite subjects, and he hasn’t come across anything in this required class that he hasn’t learned before. He steals Legolas’s notes anyway. Nothing jumps out to him though.
Legolas pecks Elrohir on the cheek because they’re that couple.
Elrohir tries to concentrate on the class, but his mind keeps wandering. He’s not good at sitting still, and the fluorescent lights are too bright and hurt his head. There are too many people breathing to pay attention. He shifts, slouching lower in his seat, and wraps his moss green scarf around his head to dim some of the lights and noise. He prefers making paper or being out at sea, wading through the tides, or on a boat, observing the world there where it’s quieter. He wants to take a study abroad semester to the remotest place in the world he can.
He squeezes Legolas’s hand underneath the desk.
‘I have to go to the toilet.’
Elrohir doesn’t go to the toilet. He leaves the class and hurries down the stairs and out the building. He runs around the building twice and then hurries back up the stairs and into class. He takes his seat again and secures his scarf safely around his head. He sips water at regular intervals until it’s over and they can all go to lunch.
Gimli catches up with them on their way to lunch. He’s a graduate student, which he says makes him busier than all of them, but he seems to spend most of his time staring into space and sighing deeply. This is of course, working, Gimli has explained, as he is studying philosophy, and a lot of the work is thinking. Elrohir doesn’t quite believe him, but he also never disputes him, because Gimli’s second favourite hobby is arguing. Elrohir doesn’t know what his favourite hobby is, but Legolas says it changes, so he’s probably right.
Elladan runs up to them. He kisses both his siblings.
‘I only have ten minutes before my next class,’ he says, walking backwards to talk to them. ‘But I wanted to make sure that we’re on for tonight.’
‘Yeah, we’re coming to your place,’ Legolas says.
‘Okay, amazing, I love you, bye!’ Elladan runs off.
The others make their way down the hill and off campus, and cross the bridge to their favourite café.
The Long Haul|LOTR x Reader|Eomer x Reader - Part 2
A/N: Part 2 of maybe...4? 5? 4? 5? Not sure. Again, the last time I reader the books was like a decade ago, so please dont be upset with me when things arent canon.
Warnings: blackish magicy type stuff kinda, violence, and everything that entails, mentions of death.
Word count: 2200 +\- 100
You met with Lord Elrond and other members of his council, and a Hobbit named Frodo presented the one ring. Among the group of people at the meeting there were two people that you knew and trusted. Aragorn, and Gandalf the Grey. When they volunteered to be a part of the group to help destroy the ring, you immediately jumped to join as well, wanting to protect your friends.
You became rather close with all members of the group. Especially Legolas and Gimli. They, along with Aragorn and yourself had become separated from the rest of the group after the deaths of Gandalf and Boromir. You mourned for your friends, but knew that Merry and Pippin needed saving. So you let Frodo and Sam go while you four went after the Urukhai that captured the other two hobbits.
The next time you saw Eomer, you didn’t realize it was him until it was too late. You were too far off to get to him before he left. A group of men on horses traveled passed your group. Aragorn signaled for you to stay back and attack from afar should the situation call for it.
You were so far away, perched on a rock that when Eomer took off his helmet you didn’t have a good view of his face, and only recognized him by his voice towards the end of the conversation between him and Aragorn. You only recognized him went he went to get back on his horse and he and his men rode north.
The disappointment that flooded you was insurmountable. You secretly dreamed of seeing him again. Of feeling his lips on yours again. Even though you knew he was a lord and had no business being with someone like you. You still dreamed of such things.
Aragorn had returned from battle, bloodied and bruised, but also, with news of impending doom. You followed Gandalf to the stables. You knew he planned to ride north to try to find Eomer and his men. But even though he was a wizard, the chances of him finding Eomer and convincing him to come were small, given how Eomer had described a white wizard - no doubt Sauraman - Eomer probably wouldn’t believe a word out of Gandalf’s mouth. But perhaps if he saw you there, and you vouched for Gandalf? Maybe then Eomer would believe and they would reach Helm’s Deep in time. Gandalf agreed and in a moment you were behind him on Shadowfax.
“Eomer, we must ride south to Helm’s Deep to aid your Uncle.” Gandalf said.
“And why would I believe the cunning white wizard who sends men to attack the lands of Rohan?” Eomer asked aggressively.
Then you leaped from the back of Gandalf’s horse. You immediately saw Eomer’s face change from defensive to surprised and then to hurt. The look confused you. What had you done...or not done since your last meeting.
“If you don’t believe him then believe me, Eomer.” You declared as you started closer to him. Eomer dismounted from his horse and took off his helmet. He started walking towards you with a foul glare in his eye. It stabbed you in the heart to see him look at you this way. Though perhaps it was better that he come to dislike you and leave you be than for the two of you to catch feelings for one another. You tried to push these thoughts aside. It was better in the long run and there were more pressing matters to attend to.
“Your Uncle is well again, Eomer. Grima has been expelled from Rohan. And ten thousand orcs march towards Helm’s Deep and your defenseless people. Don’t tell me you would leave them to this horrible fate?” Your voice grew quieter as you became closer to Eomer, so that only he could hear.
“I tried to find you.” Eomer said coldly as he reached you. Is that why he was so cruelly looking at you?
“I-I’ve been away.” You said as if it wasn’t obvious.”I’ve been on an important mission.” You gazed apologetically at Eomer and he tried to judge whether or not you actually meant it. You weren’t sure what he had chosen. After a moment he turned around and started walking back towards his horse. Then he stopped and looked back at you and motioned for you to join him.
“Rohirrim!” He started to address his men. “We ride for Helm’s Deep, and to battle!” He said, putting on his helmet. You came to where he was and he got on his horse and held out his hand for you. You took it and he pulled you up to sit behind him.
“Why were you trying to find me?” You asked quietly during a break for the horses.
“Theodred. My cousin.” Eomer looked sadly at the ground. “He was wounded in a battle with orcs. I tried to find you so you might be able to heal him.” Then he looked up at you. His eyes were full of hurt and anger. “I could not find you.”
You sighed and gathered your thoughts before you replied. “I was called upon by Lord Elrond. The One Ring has been found.”
Eomer’s face shot up in surprise. A look of almost hope dawned his features. “Where is it?” he asked.
“It is being taken to Mordor to be destroyed.”
You had to pause to laugh a little. The whole thing being explained to someone else sounded ridiculous. Two hobbits against the world? Yikes. “Their names are Frodo and Sam.” You said deciding to save the whole hobbits bit for a later time. Then you were interrupted by one of Eomer’s men.
“My Lord. We should continue.” The man said. Eomer turned his head and nodded to the man before turning back to you.
“And you were accompanying them?” He asked getting up. You followed.
“Yes, but we were separated. I am with the three you found the other day. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli.”
“Why did I not see you there?”
“I was farther back on perch in case something went wrong.”
Before you got onto the horse again Eomer stopped you, turning towards you. He sighed and looked down at you. He sweetly ran the back of his hand against your hair. “I had missed you.” He said quietly under his breathe. The smile that erupted onto your face was embarrassingly large. You looked down to try to conceal the blush that crept onto your cheeks. Biting your lip you look back at him.
“I have missed you too.” You confessed. It was Eomer’s turn to smile and blush. The two of you grew closer and closer together until your lips were mere centimeters apart.
“Eomer! Y/n!” Gandalf got your attention from the other side of your horse. “We must leave at once if we are to make it!”
You and Eomer giggled at Gandalf’s timing. You pulled away and got on the horse and rode towards Helm’s Deep.
You were just on the other side of Helm’s Deep. You could hear the clattering and clanking of swords and the grunting of men, elf, and orc who fought. You grew nervous.
“Y/n,” Eomer started to say to you as Gandalf gave a rousing speech to the men. “You should stay behind. Its not safe for a lady.”
“Then I guess its a good thing I’m not a lady.” You said with a hint of amusement in your tone. Then Gandalf came towards you.
“Get ready Y/n. We will need your help if we are to win this.” He stated. You jumped off of the horse and walk a way in front of the men.
You knew exactly what you could do to help them. But it would mean using your black magic. And if you were to use that, it would much easier for your father to sense where you were. But you supposed you would have to use it sooner or later. And sooner or later your father was going to figure out where you are. It would be worth it if you could do anything to help stop Sauran and Sauraman.
“Funnel the horses through my sigil.” You said before turning to look at Eomer again. He did not know of your lineage, but he was sure to learn in a moment. You were certain that once he saw how dark you actually were he would no longer want you. And while it hurt thinking that you would never feel his touch again, you knew that you would have to sacrifice some of the things you wanted if we were to win this war. And in your head you knew that it could never be between you two either because he was a Lord and you were from scum. You put all of this behind you and you focused on casting the dark spells you needed to.
“Avo alnej, startok.” You said as you held your arm up to the sky. In a tiny flash of lightning and a boom of thunder, a crow appeared and landed on your arm. Then you quickly grabbed it by the neck. In your other hand you unsheathed your dagger.
“May latob kibum maprog ulub.” Another spell left your lips, and you drove your knife into the crow’s belly and you drug it down. You put the knife away and then used the crow’s blood to draw a sigil on the ground. You made it large so that a few horses could go through at a time. When you were finished you stood just outside of the sigil and held crow up to the sky and the sigil you had drawn started to glow.
“Baj it zahal.” You declared with the crow held high. With your arms still in the air you looked at Eomer. He had a look of horror on his face. He watched you with offensive concern. It nearly killed you. At least you could do this for him. You looked to Gandalf and nodded.
“Everyone must go through this sigil. Both man and beast. Do it now!” He demanded and looked at Eomer. Eomer looked to his men and nodded, signaling that they should do as the wizard said. And so they did.
The battle had ended and not a Rohirrim was lost. Unfortunately the other people of Rohan had been massacred. At the end you immediately went to help the healers. After you were able to find all of the things you needed for a dark healing spell, and Gandalf and the King talked the people there into letting you cast a dark spell, you got to work readying a space for it.
“Would you ever have told me that you were a fell beast, or were you going to keep me under your spell?” Eomer’s angry voice resonated in the room you were preparing. You thought that something like this might happen. You were kind of hoping that maybe he would just shun you and not come yelling at you. No such luck. It took a second for you to process what had just happened.
“You never asked me what I am.” You replied bluntly. Why should he get to be made at you? It’s not like you lied to him. He never asked. “And I never put you under a spell.” You clarified with hostility.
He looked bewildered for a moment at your stony attitude before he set a glare at you, then shaking his head and leaving. Eomer closed the door loudly behind himself.
“It was all she ever knew. And she has been making up for her mistakes. Don’t be too hard on her.” Aragorn stated to Eomer as he made to go down the hallway. Eomer cocked his head in question. “She’s saved my life more times than I’d care to admit.” Aragorn added and then walked down the opposite direction from where Eomer was going.
Days later and the people of Rohan were leaving Helm’s Deep and making their way back to Edoras. You were walking beside a cart pulling people’s things. Eomer was walking as well having given his horse to help the elderly and sick. He caught your attention when he came up behind you.
“I owe you an apology.” His deep voice carried in the wind making you look back. You stopped and furrowed your eyebrows at him. “And I suppose if I had such a secret, I wouldn’t have shared it either.” You started walking again when he was beside you.
“I’m trying to be better.” You said smally. “I’m trying to make up for the things that I’ve done.”
“There is no need to explain.” Eomer said with an almost guilty face and his gaze glanced over to where Aragorn and Eowyn walked together. You sighed in a defeated manner and shook your head. Of course it was Aragorn who gave him details about you.
Shyly you looked back up to him, judging his sincerity.
“I am sorry for yelling at you.” He stated calmly. It made you smile a little. And then he smiled back at you, a small, sheepish smile. You were so enthralled with him that you hand’t notice him move his hand. So when you felt his skin on yours, and then the gentle squeeze of his fingers entwined with yours, it made you jump. And your jump made him chuckle.
When you didn’t pull away his smile grew. He said nothing. He raised your hand in his to his lips and he placed a soft kiss on your knuckles. You blushed while he put your hands back down. Just because you could never end up with him doesn’t mean that for now you can’t hold his hand for a little bit, right?