#tes:skyrim

[chickenparm]

gooplight, goopkeep, goopboss

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #tes:skyrim #shitpost

[ozanthium]

Guess who’s been dragged back into playing Skyrim again

#skyrim #dragon #TES #Odahviing #wyvern #fantasy #fanart #TES:Skyrim #digital art #art #drawing #game #video game #the elder scrolls #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #CSP

[gwilin-stay-winnin]

AO3 Twenty Questions

tagged by @ladytanithia. a big thank you, as always!

tagging @inkoherentwriting, @azures-grace and YOU, dear reader

(copy/paste for the questions below the cut)

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

Four, not counting the work I published as a reference list for my OCs.

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

84,627

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

Just TES:Skyrim for the moment. Sadly, I haven't been able to play any of the other games just yet.

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

I'm dying for Among the Many Lost Souls to surpass Sought and Found. It was my first venture into longform writing and it shows. Bleh.

5 – Do you respond to comments?

Almost always. If I don't respond, it's usually because I tried my darndest and couldn't think of a constructive or meaningful response.

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The one I'm writing right now :3c (Among the Many Lost Souls). I'm putting Gwilin through the wringer and then I'm gonna hang him out to dry.

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sought and Found, I suppose.

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

No, I don't. I lowkey wish I did. Firstly, because haters can be remarkably perceptive, and, secondly, because I am as interested in what makes someone scrunch up their nose or click away from my fic as I am about hearing people's thoughts on what was well-executed about them. I think my stuff is too niche to really draw a lot of negative attention (right now, at least).

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Always, my man! I consider it my moral duty to make my characters fuck nasty. Why? BECAUSE IT'S HOT DUHHH

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

People who write crossovers scare me so bad. I can barely limp my way through having to structure a plot around already-existing lore and making sure everything that happens in the story is congruent with in-universe rules, meanwhile there are people out there writing Skyrim x The Walking Dead crossovers. It's cocobananas.

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know. I don't really give a fuck if people steal my shit. Fighting with someone over authorship of a work that is principally riding on the coattails of an existing IP, which can't even be monetized, mind you, feels like a real 'race to the bottom' situation to me. I'm well aware of the quality of my work and I'm proud to have the drive to constantly better my skills. That's all that matters.

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope. Though I did start translating Sought and Found into Spanish, I dropped it when I started writing Among the Many Lost Souls. In any case, I would be so, so touched if someone decided to translate a fic of mine.

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

Also nope. Never tried collaborative writing outside of an academic setting. Totally open to it, though!

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

Uh, I'm not real big on shipping existing characters. I mostly just think about my OCs, or my friend's OCs, with each other. Aside from Gwilin x [pretty much every other NPC in Skyrim], I think thoughts about @abstractredd's guys, Hedgrod and Athrar, quite often.

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Fic-related WIP? Just one. I wanted to write another romance fic (like Sought and Found) featuring a netch farmer who's a cowboy-type character. Sexy Dunmer with a southwestern accent. Brokeback Mountain: Morrowind Edition. You get the picture.

I might still finish it, but I'm reluctant to even touch it because I haven't played Morrowind, and would have to do a real deep-dive into everything related to Dunmer in TES lore to write it. I know a lot already, but I never feel like I know enough, y'know?

16 – What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I'm good at setting a scene and painting a picture. This is, I think, a new ability I acquired in the past year or so. I've also been told my smut-writing abilities are pretty good, which is always nice to hear :) If I had to list what I consider to be my own strengths, I'd add that I've gotten a lot better at cutting the fat out of my writing (especially from dialogue tags and in describing facial expressions and body language).

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue is a bitch a half for me to write. It's probably the thing I most obsessively tweak before publishing. I think my dialogue tends to fall short.

Pacing is another issue. I often criticize, in other fic author's works, that they present an interesting image or idea and then leave me hungry because they don't elaborate on it, but I am the biggest culprit of this if I don't constantly remind myself that, yes, people want to hear more about this or that. They want you to mystify it, justify it, make it sexy, make it like a puzzle for them to solve. You can't just leave it cut-and-dry, much as my autism compels to do because "It's quite literally saying the same thing". Like, that's great, bestie, but you have to elaborate! Say the same thing just make it sound cooler than it is!

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

This is cool. I don't mind busting out Google Translate to enjoy a fic. That mouse-hovering feature that lets you add alternative text to a fic on ao3 is super useful for this sort of thing.

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

My first, and only other, fandom: My Little Pony. I was 12.

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

I love them all for different reasons, BUT Among the Many Souls has blood and sex and drama in it, so yeah. It's in the lead.

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

5 – Do you respond to comments?

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16 – What are your writing strengths?

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

#tes #tes fic #ao3 #tag game

[literally-a-waffle-fry]

So, next year for my birthday, me and my brother are going to an Anime con. I am wondering if I should cosplay Pyro from TF2 or Cicero from TES:Skyrim.

#cicero #skyrim #team fortress 2 #tf2 pyro #please help me decide

[starrygender]

hihi theresss some genders you can coin at your free time for fun! "hyperfixation-on-tes:skyrim edition"!

i hope you're doing great :D /g

gender related to spriggans (the ones from skyrim of course!)

gender related to burnt spriggans

gender related to spriggan matron

gender related to spriggan earth mother

(spriggans are g e n d e r)

gender related to wispmothers

gender related to wisp wrappings (THAT'S. GENDER. OK.)

that's it!! you can deny any of these (or all) that's totally fine!! and there's no need to speedrun any of these, take your time

that's basically low-priority req so yeah :]

-dumpling anon 🥟

tespriggan — tespriggaburnt —tespriggamatron — tespriggearthmother

for when your gender is related to spriggans, burnt spriggans, spriggan matrons, and spriggan earth mothers respectively from the elder scrolls: skyrim

teswispmotherin (i found two variants so heres flags for both)

for when your gender is related to wispmothers from the elder scrolls: skyrim

teswispwrappin

for when your gender is related to wisp wrappings from the elder scrolls: skyrim

hope i got everything right, ive never played skyrim :]

#dumpling anon 🥟 #tespriggan #tespriggaburnt #tespriggamatron #tespriggearthmother #teswispmotherin #teswispwrappin #skyrim #tes #tes skyrim #skyrim tes #spriggan #wispmother #wisp wrappings #genda #new genda #genda coin #flag coin #mogai #xenogender #mogai gender

[the-jade-goblin]

An Alchemist and a Vampire Walk into Oblivion... (TES:Skyrim fic)

Once the gloomy mirage faded and the world came into view again, Relaia blinked and looked around, squinting at their new surroundings.

She'd never been in a plane of Oblivion before, but somehow it wasn't at all what she expected. Just some weird tunnel that looked like it could easily fit into Morrowind and not look out of place.

But a new, unknown plant caught her eye, and she stumbled over to it, eager to take a sample. She pulled out a silver dagger and made to cut off a branch of the strange, spindly tree, when it suddenly sprang to life and smacked her in the head!

Shouting, she stumbled back, falling onto her ass in the process.

"Relaia! Hey, are you okay?" Serana's hands came to rest on her shoulders to steady the Dunmer as she got unsteadily to her feet.

Relaia nodded. "I wasn't expecting it to fight back."

Swiftly, she approached it again, except this time she dodged as the branch came swatting down, and grabbed it, slicing it off with her dagger and jumping out of the way as the rest of the plant tried to attack her.

"We just walk into some unknown plane of Oblivion, and your first thought is to tackle a killer plant?"

Relaia looked back at Serana, victory in her grin as she snapped the branch she took into small pieces to stuff into her satchel.

"Think of the alchemical properties it could have! I should gather more for proper study before we leave."

Serana sighed, shaking her head as Relaia approached another strange plant.

This yellow flower emitted a noxious gas upon being approached, making Relaia cough profusely before taking some petals off to place in her satchel.

"You are going to get yourself killed one day," Serana said. "You alchemists are foolhardy."

"Well," Relaia approached another wacky-branch and cast a frost spell to prevent it from attacking her as she sampled its branches. "No pain, no gain. And come on Serana, aren't you the least bit curious about these strange plants?"

"I suppose I am...a little." Serana admitted. "Not enough to die for it though. Let's move on, and do what we came to do."

Relaia sighed. "Oh fine, if you insist. But don't blame me if we could have discovered a cure for lycanthropy or something if only you let me dig around in Oblivion for a few more minutes and the Jarl of Whiterun gets eaten by a rogue Companion and people find out it's all your fault -"

"Okay, okay!" Serana shoved Relaia away with a laugh. "Go dig around for a bit then, just make it quick. I'd rather be out in the sun than this place."

Relaia grinned in triumph. She held her breath, and approached the weird flowers again. Serana just shook her head.

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #the elder scrolls v #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #tes #tes v skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #my oc #Dragonborn #serana

[queenaeducan]

tagged by @mxkelsifer

Rules: We would like to ask you to recommend us 3 of YOUR fics: 1 that is "most popular" and 2 that are "hidden gems”!

Most popular

That Mercy that you to others show, show that Mercy to me*

Solas & f!Cadash, with f!Cadash/Blackwall and companion!Lavellan/Solas discussed and central to the fic’s theme

Solas seeks wisdom in an Inquisitor Cadash who chose to forgive Blackwall.

Hidden Gems

Prayers of the Father

Miranda Lawson & Thane, with Miranda & Oriana and Thane & Kolyat central to the fic’s themes

Thane meditates alone after witnessing Miranda and her sister reunite, the similarities (and differences) between their circumstances not escaping him. On the Normandy, however, he is not a man alone, and being a member of a crew means accepting help from unconventional places.

Tales of Fen’Harel

Solo Solas fic

There are always two sides to every legend. A series of original legends about Fen'Harel.

* technically my most popular fic by far is a TES:Skyrim fic based on the Interesting NPCs mod but this was the most popular fic in like my modern era

tagging: @gaysolavellan, @rosella-writes, @dreadfutures, @siennamain, @effelants, @blueheaded, @ anyone else who wants to do this!

#tas talks #my writing #i need to write more fen'harel legends

[merlinsilber]

DAs requested by @creepkinginc, I’ll jump in on this. comfort movie-

The Perks of Being a Wallflower, saw it when I was 13 and my whole life changed.

comfort food-

Chili con carne and sushi < 3

comfort clothing-

black sweatpants and a black t-shirt with a cringy print from the men’s section and hoop earrings

comfort song-

“Tommy-Gun” by Royal Republic to lift the mood and “Somewhere Only We Know” by Keane to ponder

comfort book-

Percy Jackson. Always and forever.

comfort game-

Tough one, Guild Wars 2, TES:Skyrim and Witcher 1 are pretty high up the list I WAS JUST INFORMED THERE IS ANOTHER PART- last song-

“Pa Pa Power” by Dead Man’s Bones

last show-

“Kleo”, a short series about an unhinged woman seeking revenge in the midst of the German unification & “Love Like The Galaxy”, a historical-romance C-Drama

currently watching-

Shameless (on popular demand)

currently reading-

my friend’s character studies uwu

current obsession-

sad anime soundtracks & citrus flavored stuff

@creepkinginc am I the call-out bestie uwu?

[ralofofriverwoods]

I redesigned them🤙

The dark elf is sarath/Sara dellum(cerebellum) and he’s a solo assassin. He did work with the morag tong for a little while but they went down the drain by the time tes:Skyrim happens, so he branched off. He would join the dark brotherhood but he is still under the impression that they’re fully dead thanks to commander maro, and he also thinks they’re kind of annoying. Not for any particular reason, he just doesn’t like em.

The orc is mako lograk, and he collects herbs and other ingredients(especially rare/hard to get ones) for the alchemists of Skyrim, hagraven or otherwise. He also collects the hides of fresh ‘roadkill’ and hostile animals he encounters on his journeys. He’d join the companions but they’re kind of known for being glorified mercenaries that smell like wet dog, so he’d rather only have one of those traits(smelling like a wet dog)

The argonian’s name is Lurks-in-darkness, and studies the daedra and their artifacts. She masquerades as a blacksmith in morthal, and collects and stores things in her shoppes basement, away from prying eyes. She’s found a few ways to circumvent getting bound to a daedra when becoming a champion of them, and chats with falion quite a bit about such theories.

These were my first ever Skyrim ocs(save farlian) and they deserved a redesign, so they got one! Sara had the least changed, with just the face paint and the clothes being altered to something a little more fitting of a dark elf+the morag tong. He also got a bit of a hue change, now being mostly reds that actually look good together. He was supposed to be a little more bug-y but it’s all covered by clothing so it’s not shown.

Mako got curly brown hair, Fancier eyes and tusks, scales, and much better looking body hair(and a more fitting physique). I made some headcannons for different mer looks a while back ghat I never posted, and i always liked the thought of orcs being a little bit more boar like in terms of fur. And then scales are just cool so why not? Makes them a little more interesting. Idk it could be skin discoloration as well, that would also be rad as fuck

LD got the biggest redesign by far, as her main colors are all switched around. She also got a feathered tail! Big w for her. I also changed up the foot wrap style, because the way morrowind did the models for the beast races has taken my heart 100%. I also themed the tongue/colors to be a little more reminiscent of a poisonous snake, with the tongue of a cotton mouth and the vibrant colors of just about any poisonous creature.

#farlian does art #skyrim #artists of tumblr #digital art #oc #original character #oc reference #these guys were made like. almost exactly a year ago #like last year nov 11 #it’s crazy to see how much my art has changed already bcos the og references were #underwhelming to say the least #but it’s all better now :)

[captainfrenzyfries]

theres no defending neloth he's unapologetically a total asshole and it's refreshing and i love him for it

#nick valentine is pure end of my favorite character spectrum and neloth is the total fuckin opposite #what is my taste in characters someone explain this to me #skyrim #the elder scrolls v: skyrim #tes:skyrim #the elder scrolls #neloth #captainfrenzyfries

[hurgablurg]

if i ever get the chance to make an elder scrolls game Im adding all the khajiiti furstocks as playable races, with their own stat distributions and everything

im talking: housecat, lynx, monkey-cat, slightly larger monkey-cat, goblin-cat, larger goblin-cat, bosmer, catboy, catman, infinitesimally larger catman, catman with human feet, substantially larger catman with human feet, tiger, big tiger, diego ice age, and diego ice age in his 50′s.

Like, imagine playing an alfiq and dealing with the gameplay limitation of not having hands, but also being able to do magic really fucking well, or playing an ohmes-raht with every conceivable anime weeaboo mod to turn a deep and mythic fantasy setting into a degenerate isekai with a catboy as the main character (only acceptable isekai idea), or playing a senche and not having hands again but being a big tiger so it doesn’t matter, or playing an ohmes and not receiving the benefits of an actual wood elf while just kinda being a short person with pointy ears and the ability to have kittens, or... like, play a cathay again because you’ve only played skyrim and are blind to the wonders of the Lunar Lattice.

Whats the point of all the cool world building if the players can’t use the significantly larger character model of a senche to clip through walls in a dungeon?

#The Elder Scrolls #TES #tes:skyrim #skyrim #khajiit #furstock

[the-marvel-ous-hobbit]

To Slay A Dragon: Ch. 5

Summary: A short stay in Rivendell.

Word count: ~6800

A/N: Happy holidays! Thank you for all the support so far :)

part four ||

The staircase takes us on a long, winding path down into the valley. At the bottom, a stone bridge spans the gorge. It’s barely wide enough for two human-sized people to walk side by side, and a quick glance over the edge sends my stomach into panicked flips. If anyone were to ever choose to attack Rivendell, they would have an extremely difficult time.

Gandalf leads the way across the bridge with long, confident strides. The Dwarves follow more cautiously, and I take a couple of deep breaths before forcing my feet onwards. Bilbo walks close to my side, though his head whips back and forth so rapidly my heart trips over itself.

Through the intricate archways bracketing the bridge, I glimpse the elegant white buildings I saw from above nestled amongst a vast array of trees, shrubs and flowers I can’t even begin to name. It’s unlike anything I have seen before in my life—such ancient, serene beauty could never be found between the surly mountains and weary cities of Skyrim. 

With each careful step, a stillness seeps into my body through my boots, easing the vertigo-induced nausea. The warmth in my chest floods to my fingers and toes, chasing away the residual tension left from the encounter with the Orcs.

For the first time since beginning this journey, I feel almost at peace.

The bridge leads us into a large, circular courtyard. A waterfall gushes over the cliff behind it, a soothing background roar in the stillness of the evening. The Dwarves drift about the space, their heads tipped back and eyes open wide. Thorin remains still, his brow furrowed and arms crossed as his company swirls about him like a current around an anchor. Bilbo hasn’t stopped smiling since we emerged from the passage, his green eyes alight with unrestrained joy.

“Mithrandir.”

A figure dressed in dark purple robes descends a staircase across the courtyard. Gandalf turns, as though they had called him by name.

“Ah!” He beams. “Lindir.”

Lindir echoes Gandalf’s smile, extending a hand in greeting. His skin is pale and ageless, his features a contrast of sharp angles and smooth planes. A silver circlet glitters across his brow, and the tips of his pointed ears peek out beneath a sleek curtain of dark hair cascading down his back.

I pat my own short hair, wincing at how matted and filthy it feels beneath my fingers, and how ragged the ends are from being sheared with a knife. Though we may be distantly related, I could never hope to look so refined and effortlessly beautiful as this Elf. I can’t recall ever feeling self-conscious about my looks—I’ve never had the time or energy—but now the scar on my face seems to mock me. 

The Dwarves’ irritation is tangible enough to raise the hairs on my arms as Lindir speaks to Gandalf in a language I assume is Elvish. The Wizard casts a look in our direction before replying in the common tongue. 

“I must speak with Lord Elrond.” 

Lindir’s placid expression doesn’t change. “My Lord Elrond is not here.”

The air shifts again as the Dwarves shuffle and mutter. Thorin glares at Gandalf hard enough to set his robes on fire.

“Not here?” Gandalf repeats. “Where is he?”

The jarring blast of a hunting horn echoes somewhere behind us. A dozen horses thunder towards us, barely slowing as they cross the bridge.

“Close ranks!” 

Solid bodies crush close, knocking the breath from my lungs. I barely have time to draw the Blade before the horses enclose us in a rotating wall of steaming bodies. The usually comforting smell of sweat and sweet hay fills my nose.  Clattering hooves and rattling armour drown out the Dwarves’ agitated shouts.

The Elves whose faces are uncovered by helmets gaze down their perfect noses at us, unfazed by the weapons pointed in their direction. They draw to a halt as one and silence descends, broken only by the Dwarves’ heavy breathing. I lift my chin to stare at the nearest Elf. He regards me with a faintly quirked brow. I scowl harder.

“Gandalf!”

I’d almost forgotten the Wizard was there—I can barely see him past the wall of horse and metal penning us in like farm animals. Gandalf greets the rider of a beautiful black stallion with a smile that I suspect is partly amusement at our expense.

“Lord Elrond!”

The Dwarves grumble again as Gandalf steps forward to speak to Lord Elrond in Elvish. Even in Gandalf’s gruff voice, the words seem to dance in the air between them like music. Bilbo stands on his toes in a vain attempt to see over Dwalin’s head.

Lord Elrond dismounts and embraces Gandalf. He moves with a purposeful, fluid grace that holds my attention captive. He shares Lindir’s pale skin, ageless face and flowing dark hair, but his features are strong and broad where Lindir’s are fine and delicate. The circle of silver across his brow sparkles in the dying light. 

“Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders,” Lord Elrond says in the common tongue, passing a sheathed sword to Lindir. His voice is deep and smooth, each word precisely formed. “Something or someone has drawn them near.”

“Ah, that may have been us.”

At Gandalf’s gesture, the Elf-lord turns to survey us. His gaze snags briefly on me, sending a jolt down my spine, before coming to rest on Thorin. Thorin takes a few steps forward, followed closely by Dwalin. The others surge to fill the gaps, flanking them on every side. 

Elrond inclines his head slightly. “Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.”

Thorin lifts his chin. “I do not believe we have met.”

“You have your Grandfather’s bearing,” Lord Elrond says, and it almost sounds like a compliment. “I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”

“Indeed? He made no mention of you.”

I gaze up at the pale pink sky, inhaling deeply through my nose. If Thorin ruins my hopes of a bath, I’m going to murder him. Treasure be damned.

Elrond keeps his dark, steady gaze on Thorin’s face as he says something in Elvish. The words are like the whisper of a breeze through the boughs of an ancient oak, and though I don’t understand them, something within me responds. The dragon lays its head down and listens.

“What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?”

A ruckus breaks out, shattering my brief moment of calm. Gandalf cuts in quickly before the Dwarves can actually start a brawl right there in the courtyard.

“No Master Gloin, he’s offering you food.”

Whilst the Dwarves huddle together to discuss the implications of accepting the offer, Bilbo glances at me with an expression that perfectly mirrors my earlier thoughts of homicide. I don’t see what possible need there is to talk about it—if I don’t eat something soon I won’t be responsible for my actions.

Luckily, the Dwarves don’t take long to reach a decision.

“In that case, lead on.”

*

To my immense gratitude, we are escorted to a large, open-air pavilion with a perfect view of the sunset. Three tables occupy the centre of the mosaic-tiled floor—a circular one at Elf height, and two at a more comfortable level for Dwarves and Hobbits, separated by a small walkway with an empty pedestal in the middle. Elves dressed in flowing white float around the space like dandelion seeds carrying trays and covered platters. Along the open edge overlooking a vertical drop into the valley, a string orchestra plays a gentle, soothing tune.

The company—minus Thorin, who has disappeared somewhere with Gandalf and Lord Elrond—crowd around the two low tables. I fold myself onto the cushions beside Bilbo and inspect the spread, which consists of bowls brimming with salad, platters of colourful vegetables and mountains of fruit arranged like works of art. Crystal jugs brim with rich plum wine—the smell alone is enough to make me giddy.

I resist the temptation to fill my glass only when Fili flops down beside me, close enough to jostle my elbow. He grins and winks at me, but barely breaks the animated conversation he’s having with Dori, who sits down beside his youngest brother.

Ori’s picks up a lettuce leaf, wrinkling his nose at it, and Dori instantly turns into a mother hen.

“Try it,” he urges. “Just a mouthful.”

Ori looks at the lettuce as though it has personally insulted him. “I don’t like green food.”

The air fills with grumbling as I reach for the nearest plate of vegetables. I’m in no position to deny a free meal. I catch Fili’s raised eyebrow and shove the platter at him a bit too quickly. He grins again, his rough fingers brushing mine as he takes it. 

What is it about this fair-haired Dwarf prince that gets me so rattled?

Movement beyond the tables and circling Elves distracts me from the unbearable proximity of Fili’s knee to my thigh: Gandalf and Lord Elrond weave through the orchestra towards the high table, their profiles outlined in gold and pink from the west. Our host has changed out of his armour into a flowing robe of gold satin that shimmers in the soft light. Beside him, Gandalf looks every bit the vagabond he was mistaken for on the night we first met.

“Kind of you to invite us,” Gandalf says as they pass between our tables. “I’m not really dressed for dinner.”

“You never are,” our host replies with a smile.

Thorin follows several paces behind wearing his usual scowl—I think I would be alarmed if he smiled. His passage doesn’t go unnoticed—the Dwarves all but stop what they’re doing to watch him pass. His eyes flit between them all, quite obviously skipping over me and Bilbo, and he gives a slight nod before trudging after Gandalf and Elrond to the high table. I squash down the prickle of annoyance at the blatant shun and concentrate on my food, keeping my eyes on my plate in case my expression gives anything away.

After several weeks of travelling with them, the Dwarves’ attitude towards me seems to be shifting. I wasn’t sure of it before, since I always made an effort to keep my distance whilst we were on the road, but now that we’re all in close proximity it’s clear that some of their suspicion has been replaced by obvious curiosity. Some of them still take great pains to ignore me—namely Dwalin and the older ones—but the itch of probing eyes on my skin is incredibly distracting.

I look up once during the meal to find Ori openly staring at me. Dori’s elbow shatters the beat of discomfort before I can decide whether to try for a smile. He gives me a look that douses my insides with cold water, and I drop my gaze back to my plate.

Suspicion has been my shadow ever since I can remember, but its constant company is no easier to bear. Even if I have no intention of forming relationships with these Dwarves, it might be nice to actually have a conversation with one of them.

How soft I’m getting in my old age.

A flash of light draws my attention to the high table. Lord Elrond has a sword balanced across his palms and is inspecting the blade with great interest. With some effort, I tune out the music and the Dwarves’ noise—apparently Kili has just said something uproariously funny—and focus on his voice.

“This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver,” he says with a note of fascination as he holds the sword up towards the sun. “A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin.” He passes the sword to Thorin with a slight nod. “May it serve you well.”

Thorin sits ramrod straight in his chair, feet dangling absurdly above the ground and shoulders like granite beneath his mane of dark hair. He’s poised for a fight, as though he expects Elrond to launch across the table and throttle him at any second. It must be hard for him to be surrounded by the people who abandoned him in his hour of need—that’s the sort of betrayal you don’t just get over.

Elrond turns his attention to Gandalf, and I stomp down on that sympathetic thought process before it can go any further.

“And this is Glamdring, the Foe-hammer,” Elrond says as Gandalf offers up his blade for evaluation. “Sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the Goblin wars of the First Age.”

Bilbo shifts beside me, pulling my attention away from Elrond’s explanation of the Goblin wars. He draws his dagger partially from its sheath, inspecting it beneath the table. Something tightens in my abdomen—I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable seeing a blade in Bilbo’s hand.

“I wouldn’t bother, laddie,” Balin says from Bilbo’s other side, “Swords are named for their great deeds they do in war.”

“What are you saying?” Bilbo asks. “My sword hasn’t seen battle?”

Bushy white brows draw together over a red nose. “I’m not actually sure it is a sword,” Balin tells him. “More of a letter-opener, really.”

Bilbo hurriedly sheathes the dagger. Despite myself, I frown at Balin over Bilbo’s head. Though  it’s a little concerning that Bilbo seems to be growing more interested in the dagger, I still hate the disappointment he’s trying so hard to keep off his face. I think about patting his arm, nudging his shoulder, anything to bridge the distance and bring him some semblance of comfort. But my hands remain in my lap, and the moment passes.

“How did you come by these?” Elrond asks, passing Glamdring back to Gandalf.

“We found them in a Troll-hoard on the Great East road,” Gandalf tells him with a mouth full of bread, waving the goblet held precariously in his right hand. “Shortly before we were ambushed by Orcs.”

“And what were you doing on the Great East road?”

Thorin’s chair scrapes back as Gandalf snaps his fat mouth shut. All eyes follow him as he strides past us. A few of the Dwarves exchange glances, but Thorin’s unpredictable moods aren’t enough to distract them from their food.

Elrond watches us across the courtyard. “Thirteen Dwarves, an Elf and a Halfling.” He catches my eye and I freeze under the weight of his gaze. He regards me with faint curiosity, his head tipped slightly to one side as though I’m another artefact to inspect. “Strange travelling companions, Gandalf.”

“These are descendants of the house of Durin.” Gandalf gestures at the Dwarves, defending them more readily than I would have guessed given the events of the past few days alone. “They’re noble, decent folk—“

Nori stashes something inside his jacket that looks suspiciously like a salt cellar.

“And they’re surprisingly cultured—“

Bombur shoves a handful of lettuce into his mouth and chews with his mouth open.

“They’ve got a deep love of the arts—”

“Change the tune, why don’t you?” Nori complains at the nearest harpist. “I feel like I’m at a funeral!”

“Did somebody die?” Oin squints at his ear trumpet.

Bofur slams his hands on the table, upsetting the nearby crockery. “Alright, lads!” He turns to me and tips his hat. “And lass, of course. There’s only one thing for it!”

Bilbo flinches beside me as Bofur climbs onto the pedestal between the tables and launches  into a rousing tune. The Dwarves immediately join in, prompting a bewildered stare from our host and a resigned eye-roll from Gandalf. I snatch my plate and goblet from the line of fire and settle back to watch the carnage.

Food flies around the courtyard, splattering against spotless white pillars and statues like paint. The expression on Lindir’s face makes me choke on a mouthful of apple—clearly this is his first experience of Dwarven table manners. I settle back on the cushions, cheered by the song and Lindir’s wrinkled nose. Gandalf takes another swig of wine.

*

After dinner, the Dwarves settle in for the night in a modest but cosy set of rooms with an open balcony that overlooks the lower portion of the valley. I choose a corner and tuck myself into it, aching and exhausted. The Dwarves still seem full of energy, laughing and throwing things at one another in their usual boisterous way. I take out the Blade and a cloth, tucking my legs close and bending over my work, trying in vain to block out their noise.

Over the laughter and shouts, a murmured conversation pulls my attention away from the Blade. Gandalf, Balin and Bilbo stand in a small cluster away from the group. After a brief discussion, the three of them set off into the still night. I wait a few seconds, then tuck the Blade back into my belt and follow.

Along the path, which winds gently uphill from the guest house, a figure awaits the trio in the semi-darkness. Thorin’s eyes glitter in the silver light of the lanterns illuminating the walkways. He glances briefly at Bilbo, but the darkness and distance disguise his expression. Ultimately he says nothing, and joins the others as they continue along the path.

None of them speak as they walk, impeding my progress as I struggle to keep my footsteps silent. Sneaking around has never been my forte, despite Brynjolf’s efforts to teach me the skills coveted by the Thieves Guild. Eventually he was forced to admit that stealth just isn’t something I’m capable of, and I’m much better suited to charging at things head-on.

By some miracle, Gandalf and the others remain unaware of my pursuit until they reach their destination: a large, dome-shaped building atop the hill which, upon entering, reveals itself to be some kind of museum. Elrond’s extensive knowledge of those swords suddenly makes sense—there are artefacts of all kinds on display, from paintings to full suits of armour. Though many of them bear signs of age, every single one is polished and free from any dust. The room is open and airy, free of the must and damp synonymous with old things.

Intrigued as I am by the collection, I almost don’t notice when Gandalf and the others come to a halt in the centre of a room with a large, circular hole in the ceiling. Shafts of moonlight spill into the room, providing ample light to see by and illuminating the regal figure of Lord Elrond. His dark eyes examine each of them in his quiet, probing way. I quickly duck behind a wall and a conveniently-placed and probably ancient vase, only daring to peek my head out once Elrond clears his throat to speak.

“I am pleased you have come,” he says. “How may I be of assistance?”    

Thorin doesn’t miss a beat. “Our business is no concern of Elves.”

Gandalf’s robes rustle, his staff scraping the floor as though sharing his annoyance. “For goodness sake, Thorin. Show him the map!”

Thorin folds his hands before him, shoulder’s straight and eyes fixed on Lord Elrond whilst Balin paces back and forth at his side. “It is the legacy of my people. It’s mine to protect. As are its secrets.”

Elrond watches Thorin with the endless patience granted by immortality. I’m reminded suddenly of the Greybeards—Lord Elrond exudes the same quiet power, the same level and faintly unnerving stare and soft, resonant speech. Though he has done nothing to even hint at a desire to harm us, I can’t help the uneasy feeling in my stomach that insists he would be more than capable.

“Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves,” Gandalf mutters. He gestures at Thorin with his staff. “Your pride will be your downfall. You stand in the presence of one of the few in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!”

Thorin’s eyes glow piercing blue in the moonlight. For a moment he seems about to refuse again, but instead he reaches slowly into his doublet and pulls out the map.

“Thorin, no!” Balin grips his arm, but Thorin doesn’t take his gaze off Elrond as he steps forward to hand over his precious map.

Elrond unfolds it, handling the parchment with careful precision. “Erebor.” His brows meet at a sharp angle over his nose as he looks at Thorin. “What is your interest in this map?”

Before Thorin can open his mouth, Gandalf steps in. “It’s mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artefact sometimes contains hidden text.”

I’m not sure who he thinks he’s fooling, but Elrond is already moving away towards the back of the room and a large stained glass window. Thorin shoots Gandalf a grateful look.

“You still read ancient Dwarvish, do you not?” Gandalf asks as Elrond angles the map inside the cascade of moonlight.

“Cirth ithil,” he murmurs.

“Moon runes? Of course.” Gandalf glances at Bilbo. “An easy thing to miss.”

“Well in this case, that is true,” Elrond says. “Moon runes can only be read by the light of the moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.”

That sounds unnecessarily complicated.

“Can you read them?” Thorin’s voice is unusually soft, a deep rumble that sends vibrations through the stone under my feet. 

Gesturing for them to follow, Elrond leads the way through the back of the hall to a narrow, rough-hewn passage in the rock. Water thunders in the distance, covering the sound of my boots on the tile as I creep after them.

Bilbo lags behind the others, pausing occasionally to take in some of the items in Elrond’s collection. He’s so close I could reach out and touch him. 

My toe catches on something solid, sending a stab of pain through my foot. I yelp, and Bilbo whirls, catching me before I can dive around a corner. His eyes and mouth open wide, and he glances over his shoulder towards the passage.

“What are you doing?” he hisses.

I shake my head, clutching my throbbing foot. “Nothing. I was just curious, that’s all.”

Gandalf’s voice echoes off the walls. “Bilbo?”

“Coming!” He offers me a hand and hoists me back into a crouch. A small smile eases the tension in my jaw as he releases my hand. “I won’t tell,” he says.

He turns to head through the hall. I steal after him, ducking behind a rocky protrusion as we emerge onto a wide ledge beneath a roaring waterfall. Bilbo angles himself in a way that conceals me from the others, but still allows me to see Elrond peering at the map.

“These runes were written on a mid-summer’s eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell.” Elrond lays the map gently on a stone slab near the water. “Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight.”

As if on cue, the crescent moon emerges from behind a cloud, its light spilling onto the ledge and across the map. Thorin sidles closer to the map, still keeping a healthy distance between himself and Elrond. Bilbo tries to lean around Gandalf, and I shift position as much as I dare. A faint blue glow emanates from the parchment that definitely wasn’t there before.

“‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks,” Elrond reads, following the words with a finger, “and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.’”

Bilbo looks at Balin. “Durin’s Day?”

“It is the start of the Dwarves’ new year,” Gandalf says. “When the last moon of Autumn and the first sun of Winter appear in the sky together.”

“This is ill news.” Thorin looks up at Balin, his troubled expression etched in silver. “Summer is passing, Durin’s Day will soon be upon us.”

Balin holds up a pacifying hand. “We still have time.”

“Time? For what?” Bilbo asks.

“To find the entrance,” Balin says. “We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened.”

I grimace as Elrond looks between Thorin and Balin. “So this is your purpose, to enter the mountain?” 

“What of it?” Thorin growls.

“There are some who would not deem it wise.” He holds out the map. Thorin snatches it from him, tucking it safely away.

“What do you mean?” Gandalf asks.

“You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-earth.” Elrond gives Gandalf a long look before departing, leaving the four of us to stare at Gandalf in bewilderment.

*

The next day, after waking early to the gentle sounds of birdsong, trickling water and thirteen snoring Dwarves, Bilbo and I break away from the others to wander through Rivendell’s halls and gardens. Bilbo seems determined to absorb as much of the Hidden Valley as possible before we move on, and I’m content to accompany him because it means spending less time around Thorin. We don’t talk much, both content to walk in amiable silence and occasionally point something out—an interesting painting or a flower Bilbo has never encountered before. I don’t know much about flowers and even less about paintings, but it cheers me a little to listen to Bilbo talk about his garden and modest art collection at Bag End. 

After returning from last night’s meeting under the pretence of a nighttime stroll, I overheard Thorin explaining our new time constraints to the others. He said very little beyond that, and spent the rest of the night in a moody silence, puffing away at a pipe. I expected him to declare we were to leave Rivendell immediately and continue on, but so far he has said nothing of the sort. It’s unclear how the Dwarves will spend their time here, but I’m willing to bet they’ll find a way to disrupt the peace.

Time passes oddly in the Last Homely House—days feel like weeks, and a few hours is no time at all. I lose track of how long we’ve been in the valley by the second or third day, when Bilbo and I take our exploration to the cluster of grand halls higher up the cliff that house Lord Elrond’s extensive collection of relics.

Upon entering the first building, something immediately catches my eye. Golden light—the light is always golden here, no matter the time of day—streams through an intricate window that resembles the roots of a tree and spills across a sword. The sharp edges glitter so bright I’m tempted to shield my eyes. Something about the way the light catches the blade doesn’t seem right. I step closer to the sword, and my breath catches.

The blade is splintered into six fragments, each a jagged shard of broken metal. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and doesn’t seem like it should be possible. My hand hovers above the shard still attached to the sword’s hilt, pulled by some invisible force that seems beyond my control. 

A jolt shoots up my arm and I snatch my hand back. This broken blade has been touched by evil. The chill in my veins is one I have experienced too many times before in the presence of Daedric princes, and there’s no mistaking it. A cold lump settles in my stomach at the thought that the same evil could exist here.

I look around for Bilbo and find him examining a painting across the room. It depicts a soldier—human, from the looks of him—brandishing a glowing sword against a huge, faceless figure shrouded in darkness. The sword is broken, with just the hilt and a jagged portion of the blade remaining.

Shuddering, I turn away from the sword and the painting. Bilbo remains transfixed, staring at the painting.

“Bilbo?”

He doesn’t move, and I follow his gaze to a band of gold around the shadow figure’s forefinger. It’s such a small detail that I didn’t notice it. I touch his shoulder and he jumps as though he had forgotten I was there at all.

“Are you alright?” I ask. His eyes are wide and he’s blinking rapidly, as though breaking free of a nightmare.

“I—yes. Yes, fine.” He offers me a smile that’s almost convincing, and we continue on our way, following the hallway out onto a balcony bathed in the golden afternoon.

The whole valley spreads out below us, serene and perfect. Bilbo sighs happily as a light breeze ruffles my hair and sends up a fresh burst of perfume from the flowers. I lean my elbows on the railing and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet air.

Aside from the brief moment of unease just now, my mind has never been so still. I didn’t even think I was capable of being so completely at peace with myself and my surroundings—the magic that blankets this valley is powerful indeed. Even with the distant, looming threat of the Durin’s Day deadline and whatever awaits us inside the mountain, it’s difficult to feel anything but calm.

Perhaps that’s why Thorin has been unusually subdued of late, and it’s been days since I daydreamed about his demise. 

In the midst of my contemplation, Lord Elrond steps out onto the balcony through the doorway behind us. His approach was so silent that it completely escaped my notice, or else I was too consumed by my own musings. For once, though, my initial instinct isn’t to reach for the Blade. Aside from its nightly cleaning, I haven’t even thought about it since we arrived.

Elrond stops on Bilbo’s other side, looking between us with his usual air of light curiosity. “Not with your companions?”

Bilbo looks up at me, then smiles ruefully at our host. “I shan’t be missed.”

“They’re probably glad to be rid of me.” The bitterness in my own voice makes me cringe. Bilbo sends me a pitying glance, and I clamp my back teeth together.

“The truth is that most of them don’t think I should even be on this journey,” Bilbo tells Elrond.

Doubly so for me. I don’t say the words, but somehow I sense the Elf-lord hears them anyway. I won’t be at all surprised if he can read minds. The urge to cower from him and his ancient, fathomless eyes seizes me by the shoulders, practically yelling in my face to hide. 

Bilbo’s shoulder presses against to my arm as Elrond looks down at him. “Indeed? I’ve heard that Hobbits are very resilient.”

A chuckle, but Elrond’s expression is perfectly serious. “Really?”

Elrond nods. The sun catches in the silver band across his forehead, and the delicate engravings etched into its surface. “I have also heard they are fond of the comforts of home.”

“I’ve heard that it is unwise to seek the counsel of Elves, for they will answer both ‘yes’ and ’no’.”

A second after speaking, Bilbo’s body goes very still against my arm. Elrond says nothing for a long moment, and Bilbo trembles ever so slightly under his gaze. Then, the Elf-lord smiles.

“You are more than welcome to stay here, if that is your wish.” He lays a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo manages to nod, and Elrond’s gaze finds mine. “You are unlike any Elf I have encountered in all my years. I sense the immense power in you. It is ancient, and beyond my understanding, but all magic can be used to accomplish great things.” 

The dragon within me stirs, raising its head to regard the Elf. The air between us shifts as something akin to an understanding forms between two eternal beings. Elrond’s head tilts, as though he also felt it.

“Seek to understand yourself, and your path will become clear. Though your homeland lies far from Middle-earth, we are still kin. You have a place here, should you choose it.” A strange light enters his eyes. “Though I sense your heart lies elsewhere.”    

I’ve forgotten how to breathe. My throat is so dry I can barely swallow. I feel as exposed as if I were standing atop the Throat of the World, my body and soul laid bare to the fierce wind.

Before I can drag up any kind of reply, Elrond walks away, leaving Bilbo and I to contemplate our futures.

*

Though we spend the rest of the day together, actively avoiding the Dwarves save for mealtimes, Bilbo and I exchange very few words. Around sunset, we stop to rest beside a still pond. Pink water lilies drift across the surface, and beneath them countless fish dart in and out of the shadows, iridescent scales flashing like tiny gemstones in the sun. I sit on a stone bench near the water’s edge to watch them. Bilbo wanders to a flowerbed along the border of the small garden and bends to examine the riot of coloured petals. The dreamy expression on his face hasn’t budged since Elrond extended the invitation for him to live in Rivendell.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise he’ll be happy staying here—certainly much happier than he could ever be in Thorin’s company. I almost wish he would accept the offer, even if that means continuing on without his steady companionship for the remainder of the journey to Erebor. At least here he’ll be safe, and he’ll feel like he belongs. I couldn’t wish for anything more for him.

As I watch the fish, Elrond’s words swirl around my head like a dog chasing its tail. What had he meant by saying my magic could accomplish great things? Aside from the inevitable encounter with the dragon waiting for us at the end of this journey, I plan never to use my magic again. That part of my life ended with Alduin. The only reason I agreed to go on this quest is the huge reward waiting in the vaults of Erebor.

It’s also the only reason Thorin Oakenshield still lives.

A shiver skitters across my shoulders. That moment of weakness in the Prancing Pony, when I decided not to end Thorin’s life as my contract demanded… Had Elrond somehow sensed all of that? Did he also notice the brewing regret and the thoughts of betrayal I’ve tried so hard to keep buried? If so, did he mean what he said as a warning?

I press my palms against my eyes, pushing out the brewing headache. The questions are never-ending, and the time I spend fretting over the answers is time wasted when I could be enjoying the evening’s peace.

Though no one has expressed the thought aloud, I could sense the restless energy amongst the Dwarves at dinner. They seem fully rested and ready to move on—perhaps as early as tomorrow. To spend these last few hours in Rivendell caught in my own turmoil would be a tremendous waste.

So I rise from the bench and cross over to Bilbo, crouching beside him on the springy grass. The perfume of the flowers is strong enough to make me dizzy, but I do my best to listen as Bilbo points out various clusters of plants with vibrant blue, orange and purple petals. When he’s finished, I straighten and offer him my elbow. It feels strange and silly, but my self-consciousness vanishes as Bilbo smiles and takes my arm.

 We continue our walk well into the night. Golden sunlight fades and gives way to brilliant silver moonlight. The air turns pleasantly cool, and the birds hand over the evening chorus to cicadas and crickets.

Soft glowing lanterns light our path, and we meander along the walkways and up and down staircases that I have come to know by heart. We pass the balcony where the Dwarves are gathered, and the air fills with their discordant laughter. Though it clashes horribly with the serenity of the night, I can’t help but feel a certain fondness for their noise beneath the urge to cringe.   

As we crest a staircase, Bilbo pauses to admire the moon. I lean against the wall beside him, tracing the convex outline with my eyes. The moon never fails to bring me peace—she is one of the few constants in my life, and has stuck by me through every ordeal. Part of me insists it’s silly to feel such a connection with something like the moon, but lonely nights spent camping out in the wilderness with unknown dangers lurking just out of sight are always made slightly more bearable by her comforting presence.

“Bryn always loved the moon.”

I sense Bilbo shift to look at me. “Bryn?” he asks.

“Someone I knew. A long time ago.” The words spill out of me from some deep recess inside me, and I can’t look at Bilbo as I say them. I keep my eyes on the moon, and breathe through the bittersweet ache in my chest. “We used to sit for hours and just watch her together. Being with him like that…it was like a rare moment of stillness when the rest of the world was in chaos.” I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet night air. “Being here in Rivendell reminds me of that feeling.”

Bilbo doesn’t move closer or attempt to comfort me, but stands quietly beside me, his head tipped back as moonlight spills over us. 

 “Of course I was going to tell you. I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I think you can trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Bilbo shifts, turning to follow the direction of the familiar voice. A long stone bridge spans a large pond to the left of us, far enough away that the shadows obscure us from view. Gandalf and Elrond stride side by side across the bridge, deep in conversation.

“Do you?” Elrond’s tone is almost scolding. “That dragon has slept for sixty years. What will happen if your plan should fail? If you wake that beast?”

“What if we succeed?” Gandalf asks. “If the Dwarves take back the mountain our defences in the east will be strengthened.”

Defences? Against what? I glance at Bilbo, and the shadowy figure from the painting flashes in my mind. 

“It is a dangerous move, Gandalf.”

“It is also dangerous to do nothing! The throne of Erebor is Thorin’s birthright.”

During this exchange, another presence enters my awareness. The commanding aura it gives off is unmistakeable, and immediately sets my teeth on edge.

The culprit lurks behind us in the shadows, the moonlight catching the silver in his hair. Thorin doesn’t look at me or Bilbo, but keeps his gaze fixed on Gandalf and Elrond as they continue across the bridge. 

“Have you forgotten?” Elrond turns to face Gandalf, lowering his voice. “A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind. His father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?”

I peer at Thorin over my shoulder. Though nothing in his expression betrays his feelings, he raises his chin just a fraction, and cold fingers crawl across the back of my neck. 

“Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone,” Elrond continues as they begin walking again, heading towards a set of spiralling stairs that will take them out of our eyeline. “It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle-earth.”

“With or without our help, these Dwarves will march on the mountain,” Gandalf says. “They’re determined to reclaim their homeland. I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield feels that he is answerable to anyone.”

Their voices fade into silence as they vanish around a corner. Thorin remains still for a heartbeat, then turns and marches down the steps without acknowledging my or Bilbo’s presence. Without a word, he draws us after him like ripples in the wake of a ship.

We arrive to find the others already packed. They move quietly around the space, rolling up blankets and rechecking their bags. Balin gestures for us to do the same, urging us to hurry without uttering a word.

“What about Gandalf?” Bilbo asks in a hushed whisper as he knots the strings on his pack. “Isn’t he coming with us?”

Thorin speaks from the doorway. “He will meet us in the mountains when his business is done.” He looks around at his company, now on their feet and awaiting his orders. His eyes find me for a brief moment, and Elrond’s words replay in my mind: A strain of madness runs deep in that family.

Thorin’s gaze flits away, but the chill in my blood remains.

*

@bluelinkmp ; @moloko-tyan ; @inumorph ; @psychomanias

#the hobbit fic #dragonborn au #tes:skyrim #crossover fic #to slay a dragon

[gwilin-stay-winnin]

Gwilin AUs

I have multiple AUs (or 'gwilinverses') corresponding to different fics of mine. Below is a list of my current Gwilin AUs, each labeled in the following format: [blank] Gwilin Cinematic Universe. Under each universe is a list of the fics of mine that that Gwilin 'canonically' inhabits. So, for instance, if there is a Farmboy Gwilin Cinematic Universe, all the fics listed below it take place in the same universe (though perhaps at different times in history), in which the single, 'canonical' version of Gwilin is the Gwilin that is a farm boy.

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Farmboy Gwilin Cinematic Universe (FGCU)

Sought and Found

It's a Far Cry from Cheydinhal

This universe's gwilin was raised in a farm in Kvatch (Cyrodiil). He is 46 years old and the second youngest of twelve siblings. His mother died when he was young. He's outgoing, friendly, and a little inhibited, but very clever. He loves art and history, is a decent hunter, and drinks a lot. Moved to Skyrim after his father's death. Has lived in Ivarstead for about ten years at the beginning of the events in TES:Skyrim.

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Vampire Gwilin Cinematic Universe (VGCU)

Among the Many Lost Souls

This gwilin was born and raised in Ivarstead, just like his three younger sisters. His parents moved back to Falinesti (Valenwood) to take care of his extended family when he was 30. He chose to remain in Skyrim.

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–

Peat Bog Gwilin Cinematic Universe (PBGCU)

• [untitled fic on ao3]

Why 'Peat Bog'? Because this Gwilin lives in Morthal. He was adopted by a Nord family after the Thalmor's incursion into Valenwood, and subsequent extraction of its resources, resulted in him being separated from his parents, like many other Bosmer children. He did not know this was the case for many years, and had a relatively happy childhood, which he mostly spent traipsing through the swampy marshes of Drajkmyr. Of note is the rather fey friend he made when he was 12, wise beyond his years, who later disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

[padomaicocean]

Free to Good Home - Part 2

Tsiyuzi has been alone on the streets of Riften since her parents passed away. Luckily for her, some members of a local crime syndicate have hearts of gold.

I forgot to post this here, also avaible on AO3

Part 1

Brynjolf carried Yuzi into the pub, the door banging shut behind them. Several pairs of eyes turned to look at them curiously. Yuzi met all of them carefully before hiding her face.

Within the bar sat a Redguard woman, a blond Imperial, a bald man, a Nordic barkeep, a large Imperial man and, and a pair of Dunmer. They wall watched with great interest as Brynjolf continued towards the bar, setting the Khajiit down on a stool by the counter. Yuzi looked around nervously, locking eyes with the Dunmer who studied her carefully. She quickly turned away looking up at Brynjolf. He smiled, giving her a pat on the head.

"Vekel. Can I get something for the lass to eat?" He leaned on to the bar, speaking to the other Nord.

Vekel met his eyes with raised brows, shrugging his shoulders as he turned to grab some bread and cheese for her. "I assume it's going on your tab?"

Brynjolf grinned. "Aye. Thanks." He stood up and looked down at Yuzi. "You just sit here and eat, alright? I need to ask a favour of someone."

Yuzi slowly nodded watching him walk towards the blond woman. Yuzi turned back as a plate was placed in front of her. Vekel looked at her with mild interest, meeting her blue eyes. He gave her a soft smile and Yuzi slowly smiled back at him.

"Thank you for the food, sir!" She said earnestly, reaching out to eat the cheese and bread. Yuzi winced as her sore wrist twinged. She lowered her hand reaching out with the other to bring the cheese to her mouth.

Yuzi heard a curious hum from behind her but shrugged it off. She began to eat ravenously, quickly finishing the cheese and reaching for the bread.

"Slow down, kid. Food isn't going anywhere."

Yuzi lifted her head in surprise, meeting the eyes of the blond Imperial. She pulled out the stool sitting next to her. Yuzi slowly returned to munching on the bread, watching her new companion carefully.

"My name is Vex. Brynjolf tells me you're called Yuzi?" The woman smirks watching the kid nod along while eating, keeping her gaze fixed down at the food.

Vex studied the way the small Khajiit was eating. "Yuzi, is your hand bothering you?"

Pausing, the Khajiit turned to look at Vex then down at her other arm. She slowly nodded and Vex prompted her to hand her arm over. Yuzi set the food down and let Vex take hold of her arm gently, studying her wrist. The Imperial gave a hum, her brow furrowed.

Reaching into one of the pockets attached to her vest, Vex produced some ointment. Gently she rubbed Yuzi's wrist while she watched with interest, wincing slightly as the cold ointment met her skin under her fur. The woman gave a hum finally releasing her wrist.

"There. It's just a bruise but that should help the pain a bit." Vex smirked at the Khajiit who studied her wrist in wonder and then looked at Vex with a wide smile.

"Thank you!" She turned back to her food, peeking at Vex as if expecting her to step in and then began to eat again in earnest, eager to finish her meal.

By now most of the guild was watching closely, curious about the apparent stray Brynjolf adopted. Yuzi paid no mind, too focused on her first meal in days.

As she finished, Vex finally spoke again. "You smell like a skeever. Come on, let's get you cleaned up with some soap." She stood up reaching a hand out to Yuzi, who grabbed it gently, hopping off the stool. "Devlin. Don't follow us." The Imperial sent a glare towards the bald man at a far table, who rolled his eyes.

"I ain't got no interest peeping on you and the cat."

Vex sneered, "good, make it a habit." She looked to Yuzi and began to guide her back through the Cistern.

Yuzi looked back at the bar worriedly, quickly spotting Brynjolf speaking to the two Dunmer. He looked up and waved at her with a smile. Yuzi waves back, her worry not leaving her as Vex guided her out of sight.

Vex continued on taking her back to the ladder that led back to Riften. Yuzi looked at it warily and looked at the Imperial.

"Wait here." She wandered away to some of the beds, searching through a chest before producing a small satchel. She walked back over to Yuzi and gave her a nudge. "Up you go."

The Khajiit frowned looking up the ladder and then back at Vex.

"I'm not kicking you out. Now come on. You stink and need a bath like no one's business." Vex rolled her eyes, nudging her a little harder.

Yuzi shuffled forward grabbing the ladder and slowly began to haul herself up with careful steps. At the top she bonked her head and let out a whine, pushing the door she hit her head on up and open. She crawled out, dragging herself through the mud into the secret entrance.

Vex had quickly climbed after her and snorted at what she saw. "Good thing you're getting a bath since you're looking a little muddier somehow "

She reached and pulled the chain so the plate above them moved back. Taking Yuzi's hand she guided her out into the open air, slowly taking around to slip out the front gates of the city. She continued down the main road, guiding them past the farms towards a quiet, unpopulated part of the lake surrounding Riften.

Stopping on the shore, Vex set down her satchel and slowly stripped out of her clothes reaching for Yuzi. "Come now. Take your clothes off so we can get you clean."

Yuzi slowly pulled her dirty tunic and pants off, while Vex grabbed some soap and stepped into the cool water. Yuzi slowly wadded after her crouching into the water. Vex slowly began to scrub some soap on her hands and across Yuzi's face. Removing the muck and grime that had built up for the past few days.

Vex smiled softly as the grime was slowly but surely washed away. She continued rubbing soap through her hair. "You have a lot of hair you know… More than just the fur."

Yuzi blinked in surprise as Vex finished cleaning her off. "Okay dunk down to rinse. I brought some new clothes so let's change and head back. "

Yuzi nodded dunking under the water to rinse any left over soap off before following after Vex. She changed into the new clean clothes and shook her hair out. The Imperial laughed and pulled out a brush from the satchel.

"Alright. Come sit down here." Vex patted her lap as she sat on the beach. Yuzi padded over taking a seat on her lap, relaxing as Vex pulled the brush through her long, curly hair. Yuzi began to purr, fully content.

Vex smiled, brushing gently. She examined Yuzi's light flame point fur, and long brown hair with wonder. She never would've guessed that a grimey homeless kid would clean up like this.

As she finished, she took notice of Yuzi's continued purring but also the droopy eyes. She gave a snort. "Up you go kid. You still gotta walk back."

Yuzi nodded slowly, standing up and reaching for Vex's hand as she was guided back into Riften. They slipped in just as easily, making their way back to the Thieves Den with no issues.

Brynjolf was waiting for them as they descended the ladder. The two Dunmer chatted with him while he waited. He turned as Vex hopped down the ladder and snagged Yuzi as she got closer, looking like she was about to pass out and tumble down.

"Sorry, Dubhyn, Ribyna. I'll put the little one to bed. We can continue later." He nodded stepping over to Vex. He studied the orange Khajiit and smiled. "Well. Looks like someone is ready to sleep."

Yuzi gave a slow nod, reaching her arms up at Brynjolf. He blinked in surprise before smiling and scooping her up into his arms. He carried her over to one of the cots, lying her out and pulling the blanket under her chin.

Yuzi blinked up at him drowsily. "Thank you…" she mumbled, yawning and closing her eyes.

Brynjolf smiled, brushing hair off her forehead. "No need, lass." He patted her head with a firm gentle hand. "I put your things in the chest at the end of your bed okay? Sleep well."

Yuzi nodded again, barely awake anymore as she drifted out to sleep comfortably and safely for the first time in days.

Brynjolf smiled down at her, slowly rising to his feet and walking away to take care of business regarding the Guild's newest member.

#my writing #tes #tes:skyrim #oc: Tsiyuzi #tes fanfiction #completed fic

[starryocean]

I can’t believe that they set up the fact that Ulfric was actually a Thalmor plant and the civil war was socially engineered by the Thalmor and then never did anything with that plot line

#david says boring stuff #skyrim #tes:skyrim #im talking about Elenwen’s dossier on ulfric here #from diplomatic immunity #theres sooooo much potential there but they did NOTHING with it #you cant even go to one of the generals and be like ‘yo check this out’ and show it to them #makes me so mad #i really wanna see something come of this SO BAD #but its never gonna happen :( #wheres the fanfic where it does??? somebody blease tell me....

[kingnoct]

━ This city has a long history of madness and murder. The Wolf Queen... Pelagius... The death of High King Torygg... And now, public executions. My books tell the stories. Have no doubt - as pretty as its streets are, as jovial as the bards may be... darkness is drawn to Solitude.

#this is so tacky im sorry i havent made anything in forever #also solitude??? beautiful #tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #tes:skyrim #bethesda #dailyvideogames #gamingedit #mine #mygif