Lost in fandoms

Your small shared home is filled with soft sounds of music, coming from a small radio in the kitchen. It's your first shore leave as Mrs. McCoy and you are focused on making it the time of your life. Your dining room is more crowded than usually – both your and Bones' parents are sitting there, sharing awkward stories of your husband and your youth. You hear a quiet groan behind your back and look over your shoulder. Your husband, now with flushed cheeks and his brown hair plastered on his forehead, rolls your eyes and shoots you an annoyed look: “We should have invited them for lunch only. Not before lunch.” 

“Come on, give them some time.” 

“They are roasting us in there, Y/N/N.” 

You approach him, wrapping your arms softly around him and leaning your head on his firm back. He covers your small hands with his and you can hear him let out a content sigh. 

“Is there something I shouldn't hear? Hm?” 

You can almost see him rolling his eyes as his chest rumbles with quiet chuckle. He gently unwraps your arms from around him and turns around. You are now face to face and you can't help but to wonder how did you end up with him. 

Those smart, intelligent eyes with a mischievous spark that was long forgotten, those perfect lips, now curved into a small smile,... everything on him. 

“Is there something in your past I shouldn't know about?” 

“Not that I can remember,” you grin and quickly step on your tiptoes to peck his lips quickly. 

He crooks his brow slightly: “Not that you can remember?” 

“Hey, I am old, I don't remember every detail of my life.” 

“Yeah. Right. You are old.” 

With a small giggle, you kiss him again, this time your lips lingering on his for a bit longer. You can feel him soften as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You pull apart, hardly separating from him, and he gently pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear before planting a soft peck on your forehead. A soft hum leaves his lips and you close your eyes, completely giving in the moment. 

“Y/N/N, is everything okay in there?” your mother's voice reaches the two of you and your abruptly pull apart. 

“Yes! We...we will be joining you soon, the food is almost prepared.” 

You look at Bones, who nods in the direction of a pot in front of him. It smells like heaven and you are thankful a man you married can also cook. He has insisted on preparing this dish today, as it is his late grandmother's recipe. 

“It smells wonderful, Bones.” 

“It will get cold if we don't hurry.”  

Finally getting around to respond to this. So 5 things that make me happy: 

- rainy days with a cup of tea and good book

- sitting by the fireplace

- classes (I actually enjoy university a lot)

- family and friends

A little something for @randomfandomimagine . Hope you will like it! :D

It was probably the worst kept top secret that the Career districts trained their tributes. But the secret itself had even deeper, darker secrets no one was not allowed to know about. There was one, buried deep beneath the Academy foundations, the one that, at least for a bit, opened the eyes of those involved.

Seven years before Clove and Cato were sent to the Arena, a terrible accident happened during the training. Cato, then aged only nine, but already skilled with a spear and a sword, was training with a girl from his group, same age as he was. She was tall, almost as tall as he was, and was the best hand-to-hand combatant in her age group. Many people, including the mentors and the trainers, believed she would one day dominate the Games if chosen to represent her district. She was also Cato's close friend – the two of them spent a lot of time hanging out and talking after the trainings. Well, she was one of the elitists of the district. As a daughter of the district's mayor, she was used to getting what she wanted. But that fateful night, everything went south. It was not Cato's intention to harm her, but the sword in his hands was too heavy for him. One second, he was training with her and in the next moment he watched in horror as his sword cut through her skin, flesh, cutting a hole through her torso. He watched as her eyes widened in horror and realisation what he had done. And there was nothing it could be done. One thing that haunted him for nights and days to come was holding her in his arms as she took her last breath. Cato's guilt-filled family, something highly unusual to see in District 2 where children were being raised as emotionless killing machines, threatened the Capitol to expose their secret, to expose why an innocent life was lost. Even the mayor threatened to expose the real reason for his daughter's death. And both families paid the price – the mayor lost another kid, who was forced to go in the arena and no one was allowed to volunteer for him. His son has just turned 12 and everyone knew, despite good training and special diet, did not have what it would take to win the Games. He placed third that year, better than anyone expected. Which didn't ease the pain of the mayor's family. Losing two children in less than a year, too much even for the toughest of the toughest. However, Cato's family paid a high price too. Since Cato was too young to participate in the Games, they went after his younger sister. 

Y/N. She is three years younger than Cato and follows her brother everywhere she can. And he cares for her, cares for her more than he could ever imagine he would care for anyone. Or at least, did. He was devastated when, one morning, through their parents' pleads, weeping and shouting, he realised she was gone. The peacekeepers dragged her out, dragged away from her crying mother, cursing father and shocked Cato. She tried to hold on her mother's skirt for her dear life, but to no avail. That day was the last day Cato has ever seen his sister or heard from her. 

 *** 

You were taken far away from your home, far away form your brother, your family and your friends. Dropped in the middle of the poorest district in the Panem, with no food, water, clothes or anyone to turn for help to. Shivering from cold and shock, you stumble through the narrow, dark and damp streets of District 12, mud on the streets absorbing your steps. You can still remember the look on your brother's face when the peacekeepers take you away. His promise he would never forget you, how he called your name, howling like a wounded animal. His last promise he would, one day, find you and bring you back, thay he would make the Capitol pay for it. You stumble further down the streets, dragging your heavy feet after you. Finally, you catch a glimpse of a house, which looks like it won't collapse any second now. Letting out a sigh of relief, you hurry towards the porch, stumbling and tripping over your own feet. Before you can reach it, your legs give up and you collapse in the mud.

Sometime later, you wake up. You don't know if you have been out minutes, hours, days, or even weeks. Everything seems so surreal to you and you are sure you are still in District 2, tucked in your bed, safe, warm and sound. 

“Hey, you are awake,“ a voice you don't recognise says above you. You squint your eyes, trying to sharpen your focus. Still, all you can see is a young blonde-haired boy looking at you. His features are still blurry, but you can clearly see his jaw is square, determined. 

“Where am I?” your voice is groggy, quiet. 

“Welcome to District 12. Can I ask...who are you?” 

“I-I am Y/N. Who are you?“ 

“My name's Peeta. And this is my parents' bakery.” 

“Can I get some water, please?” He nods his head and leaves your side. You hear the sound of water dripping from the faucet and it sounds nothing like in District 2. There, you remember, the water was pouring from the faucets, not dripping. Then you hear quiet footsteps as Peeta returns with water. 

“Sorry, water supplies seem to be a bit lower again.” 

“Thank you,” you gladly accept the glass and drink like your life depends on it. 

“Feeling better? How did you even get here?” 

“Do you know everyone in the district?” 

“Not really. But I have never seen you around...” 

“I avoid crowds, usually...” you feel bad for lying. But you don't want to tell him you are from one of the richest, most privileged districts. He could refuse to help you. You risk with a small smile. After a few seconds, he returns you a shy smile. 

Moscow, Soviet Union, February of 1984 

 Four years after the Red Machine was given a lesson and taught they are not unbreakable, the time of the Olympics is finally here. A shot for the Red Machine to seek their revenge, to show they still rule the world of hockey. Your father, a known sports reporter, took you with him to a press conference, held just before the departure of the team to Sarajevo. And you will never forget the expressions on the players' faces; those, who competed in Lake Placid in 1980 – Zinetula Bilyaletdinov, Viecheslav Fetisov, Alexei Kasatonov, Sergei Makarov, Vladimir Myshkin, Vasili Pervukhin, Aleksandr Skvortsov, Sergei Starikov and Vladislav Tretiak – seem to be focused on bringing the gold back to the Soviet Union. Despite being relieved four years ago someone else won the gold, they were still not over a group of young Americans read their game and handed it back to them, handing them their defeat as well. And snatching the gold out of their reach. And then, there were the newcomers – guys who are heading towards their first olympic adventure – Nikolai Drozdetsky, Alexander Geramisov, Andrei Khomutov, Vladimir Kovin, Aleksandr Kozhevnikov, Igor Larionov, Sergei Shepelev, Igor Stelnov, Viktor Tyumenev and Mikhail Vasiliev. 

Later that day, you sit on the couch, reading and enjoying winter paradise with a hot tea in your hands. You have always loved Russian winters – cold, merciless, yet hauntingly beautiful and full of optimisim. To you, they were a perfect representation of your country – at first cold and distant, harsh and hard to survive, but beautiful in its own way nonetheless. You are wrapped in a warm blanket and frankly, don't need anything else. You feel perfectly content in your little cocoon, sipping hot tea and reading Остров Крым (Ostrov Krym/ The Island of Crimea), a 1979 novel by Vasily Pavlovich Aksyonov, enjoying the sound of snow slowly covering the frozen ground outside. When someone knocks on the door, you intentionally ignore it – it’s probably for your father or your mother, certainly not for you. 

You hear your father stomp down the stairs, grumbling under his breath: “Черт возьми, я работаю. Почему ты не можешь открыть дверь? (Chert voz’mi, ya rabotayu. Pochemu ty ne mozhesh’ otkryt’ dver’?/Damn it, I am working. Why can’t you open the door?)” 

“Прости папа. Но это наверное для тебя. (Prosti papa. No eto navernoye dlya tebya./Sorry, dad. But it’s probably for you.)” 

Still mumbling something under his breath, he opens the door. You are surprised when everything falls quiet and the time seems to stop. 

“Папа, кто это? (Papa, kto eto?/ Dad, who is it?)” 

“Почему ты не видишь это для себя? (Pochemu ty ne vidish’ eto dlya sebya?/ Why don’t you see it for yourself?)” 

“Если это снова Петра, меня здесь нет. (Yesli eto snova Petra, menya zdes’ net./ If it’s Petra again, I am not here.)” 

“Слава Богу, я не Петра тогда. (Slava Bogu, ya ne Petra togda./ Thank God I am not Petra then.)” 

You recognize his voice. And you close the book, put your cup of tea on a coffee table, and run to the door. There you see Sergei Fedorov, leaning on the doorframe, welcoming you with one of those damn devilish smirks that make most of the girls swoon. 

“Серёжа! (Seryozha!)” 

You run over to hug him, nearly knocking him off balance. He chuckles, patting your back as he engulfs you into a bear, bone-cracking hug. 

“Не ломай меня. (Ne lomay menya./Don’t break me.)” 

“Замолчи. (Zamolchi./Shut up.)” 

He chuckles again, his chest rumbling with heart laughter. You could stay in his arms forever, but you forget you are not alone. Your father is also there and he is starting to believe this young hockey player is being too friendly with his precious daughter. 

He clears his throat: “Сергей, как мы можем ты помочь? (Sergei, kak my mozhem tebe pomoch’?/ Sergei, how can we help you?)“ 

“Я думал, что зайду. (Ya dumal, chto zaydu./ I thought I would stop by.)” 

His eyes land on you and linger on your face for a bit too long. You feel yourself blushing and you look away, unable to keep the gaze locked with him. 

“Я собирался кататься на коньках. Ты хотис присоединиться ко мне? (Ya sobiralsya katat’sya na kon’kakh. Ty khotis prisoyedinit’sya ko mne?/ I was going to go skating. Do you want to join me?)” 

“Кататься на льду? С тобой? (Katat’sya na l’du? S toboy?/Ice skating? With you?)” 

“да. (Da./Yes.)” 

You glance at your dad. He doesn’t seem too happy with the idea of his daughter going out with a hockey player, but your family has known Sergei’s family for generations. Sergei and you practically grew up together. 

“Иди с Сергеем. Повеселись. И Сергей, я хочу ее дома безопасно. (Idi s Sergeyem. Poveselis’. I Sergey, ya khochu yeye doma bezopasno./ Go with Sergei. Have some fun. And Sergey, I want her home safely.)” 

“Не нужно беспокоиться, сэр. (Ne nuzhno bespokoit’sya, ser,/ No need to worry, sir.)” 

Here you will find other writings, which are not related to hockey. Since I am have just started, there will not be as many of them :) 

STAR TREK (Only TOS/AOS so far)

* Leonard “Bones” McCoy

- A Hand in Need (part 1, part 2, part 3)

HOBBIT & LOTR

LORD OF THE RINGS

* Eomér 

- It Has Been So Long

THE HOBBIT

* Fíli

- Heart-to-Heart

*Kíli

- Our Future

*Bard 

- A Bowman in A Shining Armour

THE HUNGER GAMES

* Peeta Mellark

Warnings: foul language (kinda), drunks hitting on a character

Life in Esgaroth was not the easiest, nor the greatest. A small mistake in your most rebellious years turned out to be a life-changer. He was an older guy, attractive, clever, was a great worker, with a good sense of humor. Of course, every woman, from a teen to an almost elder lady, was fawning over him. And somehow you caught his attention. One thing led to another and nine months later you gave birth to beautiful twins – Runa and Osmond. Your greatest treasure. 

As a single mother, you consider yourself lucky you were given a chance to work in the most popular tavern in the town. Most popular for a simple reason – it is the first tavern the merchants see when they sail into the town. So it is not surprising the place is always buzzing. Much to your dismay, usually with drunk sailors and merchants, awfully persistent when it comes to hitting on women. You can't really say you hate your job, after all, it is your source of income and it is enough to keep your little family alive and healthy, but you really dislike your job. There are early mornings and nights, depending on your working hours, when you drag yourself back to your small home, your legs and backside purple from all the pinching and grabbing you receive on daily basis. You tried to talk to your boss, but he only sees customers' satisfaction. And not how his workers feel. It doesn't really surprise he is one of the mayor's closest friends.

Ever since your boyfriend succumbed to his injuries in your care, you cannot distinguish hot from cold, bright from dark, pain from...well, pain. You can still see him, laying there motionless, while you were too scared, too weak to help him. But deep in your mind, you know you can't forever dwell in your pain forever, so, also to keep your mind off his passing, you return to your duty two days later. 

On the morning of your first shift after your absence, you barely drag yourself in the Medbay. You look around yourself and it hits you it's too peaceful. Too vacant. Too quiet. 

 “Nurse Y/L/N?” a voice to your left asks, making you turn in the direction of where it came from. Leaning on the doorframe of the CMO's office is Doctor McCoy, his brows knitted into an expression of worry. He tilts his head to the side: “I believe it's not time for your shift yet? I approved you a week-long leave.” 

 “I-I wanted to come back.” 

He takes a few steps closer, but still maintains a respectful distance: “Darling, you need to rest.” 

You shake your head, still avoiding his gaze: “I have to work, Sir.” 

 “You are incapable...” 

 “Do not tell me what I am capable or incapable of! I have to work to keep myself distracted!” you finally look at him, your eyes filling with tears. It was your anger that made you raise your voice, but the tears are not the angry ones. Which becomes clear as you collapse on the floor, hugging your knees and sobbing. Sobbing, gasping for air and wiping your cheeks, eventhough the tears seem to be frozen in your eyes. 

You don't hear his approaching footsteps. Until he wraps his arms around you, gently pulling you on your feet. 

 “Come on, let's get you to bed.” 

 “N-No, I have to...” you hiccup and your words get caught in another avalanche of sobs. But you are too weak to oppose him and he has his arm wrapped tightly around you. 

 “You have to rest.” 

He helps you on one of the biobeds and only when you are safely wrapped in a blanket cocoon, he takes a good look at you. He notices dark bags under your eyes, your red and puffy cheeks, runny nose, traces of tears marking their way down your cheeks and neck. Strands of hair, sticking to your forehead. He gently touches your forehead: “Dear God, you are burning. Have you even slept in those two days?” 

His question is rhetoric and he doesn't expect you to answer. Mumbling under his breath, he takes a hypospray and presses it against your neck. 

 “It will only sting for a second.” 

 “W-What is i-it?” 

 “Something to help you sleep.” 

 You open your mouth to say something, but close it before a sound can make its way past your lips. Darkness covers your eyes and your mind is completely empty, like a void.

First Bones fic! Hope it is readable :D Also, a warning: death of a loved one. Part 2 hopefully coming soon :D. Feel free to reblog if you like it:) 

Every time your fiancé boards heavily armed shuttle, your heartbreaks. After dating for almost ten years and being engaged for a year, with your wedding approaching quickly, it is a bit difficult for you to imagine losing him. But you know he does something he has always wanted to – putting his life on the line in order to protect his home and those who are dear to him.

On a fateful day, your heart is even heavier than ever before when he pulls you into his warm, safe embrace, kissing the top of your head. His lips linger there for a second and you hear him inhale the fresh scent of your hair. It seems he is having trouble to let you go, to board that shuttle and head into the unknown, which is something that has seldom happened. Almost never. Which makes you feel even more uneasy. Being raised in a military family, with his ancestors having made their names throughout history with their heroism, he is shy when it comes to showing his emotions. You are usually the affectionate one, while he is the one to greet the world with a mask of a hardened soldier. Not that it bothers you, you know he loves you whether he is keen on showing that or not.

“When does your shore leave end?”

“Tomorrow morning. When are you coming back?” He sighs: “We will probably have to stay at the base for a few months. Perhaps a year. It depends on the threat.”

“Can you tell me more about this threat?” you kiss his chin. He chuckles and gently caresses your hair: “You know I can't. It's...”

“Confidential. I know.”

“You just had to try your luck, right?” You shrug and playfully jab his side: “You know me.”

“I do,” his eyes soften when your gazes meet. Your heart flutters with pure, selfish adoration for the man, embracing you. Then he presses a quick kiss on your lips: “I have to go.”

“Let me know when you reach the base.”

“And you better let me know when you board the Enterprise.”

On the evening of your departure, you receive another message from your boyfriend, telling you he might not be able to message you for a while, that the threat is closing in and the whole station is ready for the attack. With a lump in your throat, you leave your comm on your bed before heading to the Medbay. As the whole ship is getting ready for the take-off, you skim over the notes before the departure and glance around now your empty working place. You know quite soon there will be first patients, most likely clumsy ensigns. And your boss, Doctor McCoy will be grumpy again.

“How long do you think it will take before he becomes his grumpy self?”

“You mean, even grumpier-than-usual-grumpy-doctor self? Probably less than a minute. As soon as the first ensign stumbles in.”

“Do you remember us as ensigns?” Aurora, your best friend chuckles. You graduated from the Academy together and been serving on the Enterprise ever since. You two even shared your dorm room back in your Academy days (well, on a paper, in reality, you spent more time at your boyfriend's place and she at her fiancé's place) and you shared the quarters on the Enterprise. You even worked the same shifts and maybe that was one of the reasons Doctor McCoy finished shifts when the two of you were working together, more exhausted and irritated than ever.

“Don't remind me. We spent more time confined to biobeds than actually working.”

“Poor Nurse Chapel had to cover our shifts too. But I thought McCoy would lock us out of the Medbay.”

“Me too. I think we were pretty unbearable back then.”

“And look at us now.”

You are standing in front of the mirror with your dress hanging from it. At the foot of the mirror, there are your wedding boots. You stand there, knowing the time of the wedding is approaching quickly, but you can't bring yourself to getting dressed. It seems you have only now grasped the reality. That being your wedding with an heir to the throne. After years and years of courting, you finally succumbed to the Prince's charms. And now you are getting married to him. You can imagine him, waiting for you, tugging on his braid nervously. And you find yourself hesitating. It's not that you don't love him, not at all. It's the fear that is stopping you from putting on your wedding attire and meeting your husband-to-be at the wedding altar. It's the fear of getting wed in a royal and well-respected family. The fear of everything that could go wrong. The fear of not living up to their expectations. And the worst of all, the fear of the Prince realizing you are not good enough for him. Despite his most solemn promises you were the best for him and that your fears will never come true, you feared that. You have some royal blood flowing through your veins, but you feared he would seek his beloved among those with pure blood. And that fear is numbing you. You glance at your dress again. Suddenly it doesn't seem breathtaking enough. It strikes you as a dress of someone trying too hard to impress the others. You touch the fabric – it feels too coarse and cheap. At that moment you realize what you have to do. You have to find Fíli and break off the wedding before both of you make the worst mistake of your lives.

That night was the last time you saw your ex husband-to-be. You remember shadows of hurt, confusion and anger in his eyes as you showed up in front of his chambers. You were right, he was already wearing his formal attire. That only made it harder for you. And you still remember how cold his voice got when he asked you again, whether you were sure about your decision. Saying yes has never been more difficult and you could almost hear your heartbreaking. 

And now, years later, he is here. He was invited to the wedding by your husband-to-be. Along with his uncle and younger brother. Needless to say, when you saw him, you immediately thought you were dreaming. Then you caught his gaze and that's when your thoughts started spiraling out of control. You watched him as he excuses himself from the conversation he was having with the other guest. 

“I never thought I would see you again.” 

“Nor did I... What are you doing here?” 

“I was invited. I believe you were too?” 

“No. It's...it is my wedding.” 

He raises his brow in surprise: “I never imagined I would see you getting wed. What has changed?” 

You bow your head and focus on your feet. You have never imagined you would ever have to see him again and you never thought what would be appropriate to say. You want to say you are sorry, but you know it will sound cliche and worn out. “I cannot find words to express how sorry I am.” 

His lips curve into a small sad smile: “Do not apologize. After all, you are getting married now, is not that so? Here is your happy ending you have always wished for.” 

“Fíli,” you sigh and almost touch his arm before stopping yourself. After walking away from your relationship, you lost your right to do that. “I am happy for you.” 

“I am happy to see you here,” you whisper. He pats your shoulder before rejoining his uncle and his brother, who, going by their expressions, recognize you.

***

Your bed feels too uncomfortable tonight. Your usually soft mattress feels as hard as a rock, making you toss and turn. The fact your wedding day is approaching at the speed of light is not working in your favor either. The wedding you have been planning for months, waking up in the middle of the night to make sure everything was in order. Some nights it wasn't about the wedding – well, at least not about planning the wedding. It was about someone you were about to be wed to many years ago. And after running into him, dreams of him got more frequent and even more detailed. There were times when you couldn't remember his features clearly, which changed that fatal day. And of course, once blurry images of the preparations for your previous wedding, come back, suffocating you like an avalanche of the things and memories you thought you had completely erased from your memory. And tonight, those images haunt your dreams. With a sigh, you get up. You see no use in forcing yourself to remain in bed and try to sleep, when clearly sleep will not come to you easily tonight. The only sound you hear is the echo of your footsteps as you rush through the hallways, chasing that fresh air outside the castle walls. Only your feet seem to have a mind of their own and you find yourself in front of the wooden door. You stare at it in confusion for a few moments, your heart beating faster and your breathing shaky. Then you knock on the door. 

He is not going to open. Why would he? 

To your surprise, he actually opens the door. A shadow of surprise flashes across his face as he sees you standing there, your silhouette illuminated only by the dim moonlight, coming through the windows behind your back. 

“Y/N?” his voice is hoarse, raspy. I have woken him up, the realization hits you and suddenly you feel like coming to him was a mistake. 

“Did I wake you?” 

“I don't need much sleep to function. But you already know that.” 

You follow his movement as his fingers tangle in his fair hair. He notices your eyes following him, but surprisingly, he doesn't say anything. 

“I know... I was wondering, uh, would you mind accompanying me?” 

“Where to?” 

“I need some air. And your company.” That last part rolled off your tongue before you could even think of possible consequences. Or his rejection. Which would, at the state you are in, possibly break your heart. He raises his brow again and you nervously start biting your lower lip, anticipating his rejection. “Sure. Only let me get dressed. The night seems to be colder.” 

“I will wait here.” 

“Don't run away this time,” he snickers quietly before closing the door. You hear his heavy footsteps through the wooden door, but it's his remark that echoes through your head. Don't run away this time. You know he probably didn't get over you being his runaway bride, but you didn't expect that after all those years, you would hear that from him. He has been always good at keeping his emotions in check and not letting his guards down. 

“You are still here,” he smiles, putting his hand on your shoulder, dragging you out of your day-dreaming. 

“I said I would be.” 

Hesitantly, he drapes his arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side. Your heart skips a beat. Being so close to him, despite how you parted ways, feels so right. Like you belong there. In his arms. By his side. A place you used to belong years ago and a place you will never call home again. The feeling of his arms around you should be so unfamiliar to you, yet it feels exactly the opposite. You don't know exactly how he feels about it, but there's a part of you, which doesn't want to know. It doesn't take long for the two of you to reach the balcony, overlooking your home. The city beneath is calm, serene, only a few lanterns here and there illuminating the narrow, paved streets. 

You take a deep breath, looking up the night sky. Then you glance at Fíli. He is looking at the city below, his eyes landing on you occasionally. It takes a few moments of relaxed silence before either of you speaks up. 

“A beautiful night, isn't it?” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“You must feel lucky, you will get to fall asleep every night, knowing the view is only a few steps away,” he whispers, sounding defeated for a second. 

You put your hand on his gently. He glances down at your intertwined fingers for a second, his expression unreadable. 

“Yeah. I suppose you are right.” 

He turns to you at the sound of your voice. “There is something bothering you, isn't it?” 

“It is. And I am glad you are here.” 

His expression darkens: “I am glad to hear you see me as your shoulder to cry on.” 

“I did not use the right words to express my thoughts. What I tried to say is...I don't wish to get wed without clearing things between us first.” 

“You walked away, Y/N/N. No explanation, no apology. You ran away from us. From me.” You bury your fingers into your hair, then cover your face with your palms: “I realize that. I realize that now. And there are no words to describe how much I regret that.” “I just want to know...why did you do it? Why did you run away?” You look up at him. His eyes are glimmering with tears, which he has been holding back all those years. He blinks, trying to conceal them and stop them from making their way down his cheeks. But his efforts don’t seem to end well for him. In the moonlight, you see traces of tears and glimmering of fresh tears, slipping from his eyes. 

“I wish I could answer that. The first answer that comes to my mind, won't explain anything...” 

“It will be better than nothing.” 

“I had so many doubts. I am not of royal blood. I knew the others were giving me side glances of disapproval and I was not good enough...” 

“Do not dare to finish that thought. My uncle and my mother both gave their blessings and about the question of being good enough... being with you made me enjoy life. Made me see all those small beautiful things I never bothered to seek. Y/N, you opened my eyes. And anyone could see that.” 

“I heard whisperings around the castle and the kingdom...” 

“Show me anyone who would not be jealous of a breathtaking dwarfette, about to wed a royal.” “I was afraid you would find someone better.” 

“Your words are pure nonsense. And I must admit, I feel offended by your hinting I would that easily leave my betrothed and move on.” 

There is one thing that doesn't want to leave your mind, no matter how hard you try to push it away. You blurt out before you can stop yourself: “Have you moved on from us?” 

He looks away for a second, as he is trying to think of the right way to answer and potentially break your heart. But you know, no matter what he says, no matter how much his words will break your heart, it will never be as rough as your departure. 

“Never. After you left, the nights were too long and there was nothing to keep me away from thinking about it. And about what could have been.” 

“You never married?” 

“Never. But I can see you decided to give love another chance.” 

You blush and look down at your feet, an overwhelming sense of embarrassment overcoming you. “I did not mean to say that and I apologize.” “Don't apologize. You are right.” 

“If he makes you happy, it is not my call to hold it against you. I am happy for you, happy you found someone who apparently makes you happier than I did.” 

“He...he doesn't make me happier. But he is not of royal blood and I don't feel the others want my head on a silver platter for getting wed.” 

He is quiet for a second, clearly thinking about the meaning of your words. It takes a few tense moments of silence before he speaks up: “He doesn't make you happier, yet you are going to become his wife?” 

“That is also why I wanted to talk to you too... Fíli, you have been my best friend before we started. I could talk to you about everything...” 

“You are having second thoughts about this wedding?” 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. So you slowly nod your head. Yes, you are having second thoughts about this wedding and ever since that day when the Durins arrived at the castle, your second thoughts are even louder. 

“Then run away.” 

“I did it once...I can't do it again.” 

“Why not?” 

“It broke my heart the first time I did it. It broke your heart even more and I don't wish to break his heart too.” 

He caresses his beard, his eyes distant: “You are having second thoughts about the wedding, yet you want to marry him. Because you don't want to hurt him. You had second thoughts about our wedding too, I suppose, yet you had no trouble running away from our future. You had no issues hurting me.” 

“Believe me, if I could turn back time, I would never run away.” 

“Would you marry me?” 

“I would probably ask to postpone the wedding. And shared my fears and second thoughts with you.” 

After a moment of hesitation, he puts his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You feel his heartbeat and the tickling of his breath on your skin as he smiles gently: “You must know, I have forgiven you long ago. I was upset with you to the point I never imagined I would even be able to talk to you. But I will never forget the day you left. I knew there had to be something bothering you, but I never imagined you wouldn't share your fears with me.” 

“What was going through my mind at the time, was too silly to share with anyone. Now I know I should have. I should have told you...” 

“Yes, you should.” 

You look up at him and get that feeling in your stomach again when your eyes lock. The same feeling you used to get whenever you looked at him. He closes the distance between the two of you, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. There's a question in it and this time, you know the answer. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes to trying again with you. If you would agree.” 

“You are getting married. To another dwarf. In a few days. I believe it is too late for that.” 

You rest your forehead against his chest and mumble: “Maybe I could run away again. One last time.” 

“Absolutely no. If you wish to have another chance, you will find your husband-to-be, explain yourself and explain the situation. You will not run away and I will not wed you right away.” 

He shakes his head and continues: “Actually if you are sure you want this, you will cancel the wedding. Then we will wait for some time to pass. Only then we will start taking things slow.” 

“You cannot resist ultimatums, can you?” 

“No. I don't wish to break a relationship only to start courting to a dwarfette, who I was meant to marry, right away. And this time, we will be taking things slow, with wedding out of the question for some time.”

You spin around, avoiding the sharp edge of the blade. Despite your reflexes, the blade cuts through your armor, which only fuels your fire. With a loud shriek, you attack again, aiming for your opponent's ankles. With a loud thump and an ”ow”, he hits the ground. You put your knee on his chest and the edge of your blade on his throat: “I believe I won.”

“Because I let you,” he huffs. Before you can even think of a good, sassy response, his legs wraps around your waist, knocking you over. You let go of your sword, a mistake which would cost you the ultimate price if this was a real fight. With a knee pressing you down and no weapon in your hands, you are forced to admit the defeat. “Fine, fine, fine, you win.”

“I know. I always do,” he grins, his knee still pressing you down.

You pat it gently: “I don't doubt you are enjoying victoriously trapping your enemies with your knees, especially since your brother does it so much better, but I don't want to end up at the healers with broken ribs. Again. And again because of you.”

“Hey, don't blame me. You can't mount a horse without falling flat on your face.”

“That was a pony and it was irritated.” “You still fell of it.”

“I never wanted to mount it in a first place. You provoked me. So my broken ribs are on you, don't blame me now.”

“Whoa, easy there. Did I push you off? You did the falling with absolutely no help,” he grins. He finally removes his knee from your chest and stands up. With his head slightly tilted to the side, he stretches out his arm: “Come on.”

“How chivalrous of you,” you huff, but take his hand nonetheless. As soon as his long fingers wrap around your hand, you feel a rush of blood shoot into your head. After all this time, you are still not used to his gentle touches.

“Don't be a smartass. I could leave you laying in the dust and walk away.”

“Sure. I think that is one of the things you would never do.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I believe knowing you for almost my entire life has something to do with it.”

“Dwarves change, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes and look at him: “Yes. They do. But they don't change that much to just leave your betrothed in the dust.”

Mischievious grin appears on his face and a spark reaches his eyes when he looks at you. His dark hair is falling freely down his back, a few strands glued to his forehead. It never ceases to amaze you, how he can even see what is he doing or who is he fighting with with his hair always falling over his shoulders with no restraints. At the beginning of your relationship you actually tried braiding his hair into a braid. Unsuccessfully. Not only it was probably the most difficult thing you have ever attempted, with Kíli acting like a very impatient kid, whining, pouting, even trying to give you a silent treatment, you also realized his hair is too thick to have it tamed into a braid. Perhaps it could be contained with a few clips, not just one on the back of his head, holding only a few strands. But after enduring a torture of trying to help your hopelessly impatiend boyfriend, you have given up on any future attempts. Not to mention, his brother, Fíli, almost died of laughter when you tried to show off your handiwork. Mostly because by the time you got out of the bathroom, Kíli somehow managed to ruin your effort of the past hour and a half. Yes, that's how long it took with all of his nagging, pouting, shaking his head and actually acting worse than your baby brother.

Before you can move out of his way, knowing that smirk, he outstretches his hand and ruffes your already tousled hair. You swat his hand away and huff in annoyance. Your hair looks like a hot mess even without his help and his ruffling sure as hell is not helping you. Beside, having thick hair, it is a nightmare to comb it in the afternoon. Not that he doesn't know that. Oh no, he is fully aware of that and he knows how much you despise having your hair messed up, especially after trainings when it's all soaked and sticky, and that doesn't stop him from being annoying and ruffling your hair with indescribable pleasure.

“I will cut off your hand, dwarf, if you do it again.”

“I wouldn't bet your money on it, dwarf,” he is quick to find the answer. You let out exhausted sigh and roll your eyes: “I still wonder what I see in you?”

“Beside my irresistable charm and good looks?”

You crook your brow: “Modest, aren't we?”

“You asked me something. I replied to the best of my abilities.”

“I am sure it had to be so difficult for you to find the right answer.”

He shrugs and grins: “Not really.”

“Figured. Modesty is not your strongest trait, isn't it?”

“I am a prince. Of course not.”

You curve your lips into a grin: “Your brother is an heir to the throne, yet he is the most modest dwarf I have ever met.”

You see him pout. He always wants to live up to Fíli's reputation and the respect his older brother enjoys far and wide throughout the kingdom. And comparing him to his brother by mentioning Fíli is better at something always envokes the same reaction: silent treatment and pouting. Which, if it wasn't for silent treatment, would be a cute thing. One thing you would never admit is that you love his pouty lips.

“You don't mean that.”

He sounds so vulnerable, so much younger of his 77 years. You put your hand on his and squeeze it: “Maybe. But that doesn't change anything.”

“I will never live up to him.”

“I believe that's not the point. Even Thorin would not like that.” “What do you mean?”

“If we ask him, I am sure he would want you to be your own dwarf.”

“But Fíli...”

“Your brother is an heir to the throne. He has to show more maturity. And he is still the older one.”

Your words don't seem to comfort him. He seems to breathe a bit easier, but you can see he is still tense, overthinking your words and whether he will live up to his family's name one day.

You squeeze his hand again, getting his attention. When he turns to you, spark in his eyes is present, yet weaker than you are used to it. Seeing him like that breaks your heart a bit. He has always been the goofy one, the one to cheer you up. The one who never lost the spark in his eyes. And seeing him so unusually sad leads you to a conclusion your words cut deep. Deeper than you thought they would. “I am sorry. I shouldn't have said that, I took it too far.”

He shrugs his shoulders a bit and then lowers them again. He seems slumped and you really wish to cheer him up. You bite your lower lip, thinking what could be done to fix things.

“Want to go down by the river?” you ask quietly. After a few moments of tense silence, he nods: “I would love to.”

The river has always been that safe haven for the both of you. And it holds a special place in your heart – it's where you met Kíli for the first time. It is also a place he confessed his feelings for you. That time you were too scared to tell him how you felt too, so you ran away, leaving him confused and, he only confessed that much later, heart-broken. A few weeks had to pass, a few weeks of both of you avoiding each other, yet gazing at each other from the distance. After those few weeks, it was you who invited his down to the river again to explain yourself. And after that, everything is a history. Although, not everyone seemed supportive of your relationship. Thorin, King of the Durin's folk and Kíli's uncle, was not really supportive of his nephew's relationship with a commoner. That was until you gathered up your courage to meet with the King and explain. That is, at least, what you had planned. Reality was much worse and you were afraid your outburst would have you banished from the kingdom. After all, calling the King “a pretentious, power-hungry and completely ignorant Nazgûl” probably does not win anyone any extra points. After you gave him a piece of your mind, you stromed out. And collapsed behind the nearest column, when reality started catching up with you. As it turned out later, much to your surprise, speaking up your mind did actually win you extra points in the King's book. And the same night, Kíli, following his uncle's order, invited you to a dinner with the royal family. Of course, no one bothered telling you it was Thorin's order and you spent the whole dinner anticipating your verdict.

“What is on your mind?” his voice brings you back to present times.

You smile at the memories: “I was just thinking about all the memories we shared. Especially that dinner.”

He chuckles at the memory: “That was quite entertaining.”

“Perhaps for you. I was terrified I would have to leave my home and you.”

“I probably never told you that but uncle wanted to banish you at first.”

“How did you convince him...?”

“I didn't. He changed his mind. Said at that moment, when you stood up to him, he realized he had judged you too quickly.”

“So he appreciated it?”

“Not really. He values valour and honesty, when others can fend for themselves. And I believe he was impressed. Of course he didn't appreciate being called all the things you said, but he did realize you are a strong-willed and dedicated dwarf. Two qualities he truly appreciates.”

“You are trying to tell me that my long tongue...”

“Convinced my uncle to let us be together? Yes, in a way, it did.”

You grin proudly: “See? And you said it would get me in trouble.”

He snakes his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head: “You are my trouble maker, do you know that?”

“Hey, I am not the only one getting into troubles. You do it too, and you do it all across the kingdom.”

“I do not get into troubles, I sometimes cause mischief. But that's all I do. You are the one running around, calling others Nazgûl and other lovely nicknames.”

“I was pissed and it happened only once. Twice...okay, maybe I did call others some nicknames too. But only because they got on my nerves.”

“So I don't get on your nerves?”

“I never said that. You get on my nerves more than anyone else. But I love you.”

“You get on my nerves too. Especially with that smartass mouth of yours.”

“Oh, you love me. And you would be bored without my talking back, admit it.”

“I never said I would not be bored. That's one of the reasons I love you. You make my life interesting,” he presses his lips against your hair, mumbling his words of affection softly. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his lips gently touching your hair, of his soft breath fanning your skin, his heart beating next to you. And the sound of the river stream, quiet humming of the wind through the leaves of the forest and distant chirping of the birds.

“I haven't heard bird chirping in years.”

You hum in response. Honestly, everything is too perfect and you fear you could ruin it in a way. And enjoying all this in silence, with him by your side, is all you have ever dreamt of.

“Kíli?” “Yes, love?”

“Where do you see us in a few years?”

He takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently: “I see us right where we are. In love, supporting each other every day of our lives.”

A year passes. You really can't say it passed slowly – your days were filled with wedding planning. Not only that, a wedding to the member of a royal family. There were so many things you had to think about, arrange, prepare, organize...you were exhausted by the end of each day. But every time you looked at your husband to be, you realized it will all be worth it.

When the day comes, you are shivering with anticipation. The final countdown is on and you are in your chambers, preparing to be wed to the love of your life. You look at your dress again, when someone knocks on the door.

“Come...Your Majesty!”

King Thorin enters the room before waiting for your invitation. His presence fills the room like a morning light and you feel you should shield your eyes from the light. Illustrative light, but that's how it feels when he enters the room.

“I came to see if everything is going smoothly.”

“Everything is going as planned, Your Majesty.”

He takes a few steps further in the room, until his eyes land on your dress. You follow his gaze and blush.

Babbling, you start apologizing: “I am aware, Your Majesty, is not like the dresses, worn by the royals, but this is all I could afford...”

“It is a nice dress. My nephews, both of them, prefer simplicity.”

He nods approvingly: “Good choice. But remember, it is not about the dress, it is about the confidence. How you wear it. You are marrying a royal, you must carry and present as a royal.”

He approaches you and sets his hands on your shoulders: “Straighten your back. Keep your head high, chin up.”

You follow his instructions. He pushes your shoulders back a bit, then takes a step back. He slowly nods: “You look like a royal now. I wanted to give you this. It belonged to my sister, Kíli's mother. And I know if Dis was here, she would want you to have it.”

He pulls a delicately made hair pin from his robe and puts it in your hair. Then he turns you around, so you can see your reflection in the mirror. And what you see, robs you of your breath – the pin may appear simple, but the way it pushes your hair back...it is obvious it was made for a royal.

“Much better. I must leave now, but I believe I will see you shortly. Before I leave... Remember, all eyes will be on you now. And if you break my nephew's heart...”

He doesn't need to finish the threat. You know it would not end well. “I promise, Your Majesty, I would never break Kíli's heart.”

This is my first non-hockey one shot and I am so sorry, it has been so long since I have written anything acceptable...hope you like it! Italics are used for flashbacks. 

Your bag is starting to grow heavy on your shoulders and you can barely feel your legs. But the outlines of your destination are already in your sight. Rivendell. A place you have only heard rumors about. About its serene beauty, about those narrow paths, leading to the heart of the realm, about peaceful humming of the waterfalls. Of leaves rusting in the soft wind. And its inhabitants - fair elves, known for their wisdom and hospitality. But you never even imagined you would make it there. Your mare, Lindgestealla, nervously neighs and her ears are flicking back and forth. You know she is at high alert, being in completely unknown environment. You would be the same if you didn’t know Rivendell is completely hidden from any unwelcome eyes, but you understand her nervousness - it has been long few days and you faced a few dangers. One of the reminders is a fresh wound on your arm and the sleeve of your tunic drenched with blood. Yours and the foes’. 

“Everything is alright, girl. We are safe here.”

I hope so. I hope they are really as nice as the stories tell.

As soon as you arrive, you are welcomed by Elrond himself. Your exhausted Lindgestealla is taken to the stalls, but not before you make sure she will be taken care of. After all, she has risked her own life so many times and has proved herself to really be your greatest war companion through many difficult trials. When she is taken away, Elrond turns to you: “Please, follow me. I was informed you would join us, miss Y/N and I believe your chambers have already been prepared for you. Feel free to freshen up and enjoy the serenity of the Rivendell before the Council.”

“Thank you, your hospitality is greatly appreciated,” you smile, remembering what your late mother taught you about etiquette. Even if she didn’t, Lord Elrond has personally welcomed you and ensured you and your loyal companion will be taken great care of. The least you could do was to express your gratitude. 

“I must admit, I was surprised when Gandalf informed me of your arrival. Do not take any offense, Lady Y/N, but I did not expect a woman to join in on the quest.”

“No offense taken, m’lord. I must admit, I was reluctant at first. The lands are crawling with great danger.”

“I believe, if you were chosen, that you are more than capable of fending for yourself.”

“Your words mean a lot to me, m’lord,” you bow your head. After a short walk through the hallways, which seem to you like a maze, you stop in front of a beautiful door with very detailed decorations. You turn to your host: “Thank you again for escorting me to my chambers. I fear, however, I will not be able to find the council on time.”

“Do not worry, an elven maiden should wait for you here and escort you to the council when the time is right.”

You bow your head again: “I appreciate it very much, m’lord.”

“And if you need anything else, let us know. I hope you will feel like at home during your stay.”

With those words he is gone, leaving you alone in your temporary chambers. You look around yourself and notice wonderful white columns instead of the walls and a massive, in detail carved bed with the curtains softly swinging back and forth in a gentle breeze. You walk to one of the columns and realize you were given a chamber, overlooking the gorge. Meaning you can spend your free time standing there, leaning on the column and gazing into distance. You notice the river, slowly zigzaging beneath, you see and hear the waterfalls and the water disappearing into depths. 

***

It has been months since you left the Rivendell and every day you long for that bed and the comfort you got to enjoy there. During your adventure, you couldn’t help yourself and you found yourself growing fonder and fonder of the small and enthusiastic folks from the Bag End. Especially Merry and Pippin - ever since that Council when the Fellowship was created, they have reminded you of yourself and your first friend. You sigh quietly, not wanting to attract anyone’s attention. 

You never liked thunder. At least not too much. It made you miserable and there was something sinister in the flashes of lightning, illuminating the sky. You couldn’t point your finger exactly at what it was, but the thunder and lightning made you uncomfortable. You sit on your bed and glance at the small dagger on your bedside table. Neighing outside, coming from a small stall next to your home, makes you even more uncomfortable and you start reaching for the weapon. 

“What are you doing to do with it?” you hear a voice and your heart nearly stops. You look up and see your friend grinning from the door stand. 

“Éomer! What are you doing here?”

“Your mother let me in. I thought I should check on you.”

You smile at him, your hand still resting on the heel of your dagger. He takes a few careful steps closer: “I am not going to hurt you.”

“I know. I know...it’s just. I really don’t like this weather.”

“That’s why I had an idea. You will not like it.”

“No. Absolutely no.”

“Absolutely yes. Come, you cannot always hide in your room.”

“I am not moving. You will have to carry me.”

“Is that supposed to be a challenge?” he leans his head to the side slightly, his lips curving into a grin. You point your finger at him: “Do not even think about it, Éomer, son of Éomund.”

“You said it yourself. Come.”

“I don’t like thunder and I despise lightning. You know it. I am not moving out of the house.”

“Nothing bad will happen. I will be there and I will make sure no evil comes close to you.”

“Is Éowyn coming too?” you ask. His younger sister is the same age as you, you are both in your sixth summer, and when the two of you are together, you make Éomer’s life quite interesting, to say the least. 

“She is. Now come,” he takes a step into your room and throws you a coat, hanging on the chair. You catch it. Slowly, a small fire ignites inside of you and you put the coat on. That’s just what the Marshal’s children can do to you - evoke that mischievous spirit which makes you run out with them in the biggest thunder you have ever seen. 

“That’s more like it.”

“I don’t like you. You are too bossy and always get what you want.”

He shrugs, grinning even wider: “Yet you still hang out with me.”

You pout, knowing he is right. It is fun to hang out with him. Especially with your brother often gone to take additional lessons on combat tactics.

It’s the halflings bickering which brings back the memories. Which is odd, it has been years since you last saw either Éomer or Éowyn and you are not sure if they still remember you. Or your brother, who took riding lessons with Éomer. But there’s something in the two hobbits' friendship that brings back memories. Which also brings back the last memory you have with the Marshal’s son. Unfortunately, your last memory of him is one you wish you didn’t have - Marshal Éomund’s and his wife, Théodwyn’s, funeral.

You can’t really say the news of the Marshal’s death came as a surprise. He was known to be a valiant and at the same time reckless captain of the Mark, often risking his and his men’s lives to haunt the Orcs. Which was what had him killed. During a pursuit of a group of Orcs, he was slain and his bloodied corpse was brought back to Rohan by his men. The sight of her deceased husband broke Théodwyn, his wife and the King’s sister, which caused her rapid descend into illness. King Théoden was organising one funeral already. And only a few days after his Marshal’s body was brought back, he found his sister dead, laying in her bed, her skin pale and her face peaceful. She seemed like she was sleeping. Only she closed her eyes for all the eternity. 

Now, less than a week after their mother’s death, eleven-year-old Éomer and seven-year-old Éowyn, stand by their parents’ tomb in a company of the King and his son, Théodred. You stand on the other side, next to your brother, along with the other guys, training to join the riders once. Your brother takes your hand in his, holding it gently, as you both watch the procession approaching the tomb slowly. Your eyes dart to Éowyn. Her eyes are fixed on the procession as well, her lips are a thin line and her cheeks are stained from tears. However, she doesn’t look away. Raised as a true warrior, she keeps her eyes locked on her parents. Then you look at her brother. His hardened expression reveals nothing. It almost seems like he doesn’t feel a thing. But after knowing him for so long, you know he is breaking on the inside and that, without a doubt, behind the closed door, he will break down in tears. You have seen it happen before. Many years ago and you remember it only faintly. And this time it’s about his parents. 

After the funeral, you run after Éowyn and as soon as you catch up with her, engulf her into a tight hug. You feel her sobs shaking her body and you can’t hold back your tears either. It’s not only the pain of seeing your best friend crying and broken, you also knew the Marshal and his wife. 

“Do you want to stay with us?” you offer quietly. She shakes her head and glances at the King: “U-Uncle is t-taking us i-in.”

“I-I am so sorry, Éowyn… come by if you need a friend.”

Her eyes are thankful as she looks at you: “T-Thank you, Y/N.”

You hug her tight again before letting her go. As you are about to walk back to your family, Éomer calls your name. He is standing a bit further away, looking at you. You approach him and to your surprise, he pulls you into a quick hug: “Thank you for being at the funeral.”

“How are you?”

His smile is weak and it doesn’t reach his eyes: “You know me. I…”

He looks down for a second and it seems like he is looking for the right words. When he lifts his gaze to look at you again, his eyes are as cold as ice: “Now I know it’s my calling to avenge him. Y/N, I promise I will haunt down every Orc in the Middle Earth and will not rest until that scum is gone.”

“Éomer, don’t… it’s not worth dying.”

“It is. They were my parents. Éowyn is too innocent and I will not let her throw away her life like that. It’s my calling to slaughter them all and avenge my parents.”

You see in his expression he has decided on that and there’s no force to keep him from bringing his promise to life. He is hellbent on the revenge and you can see in his eyes he will dedicate his life to killing the Orc and protecting the land. And his sister. 

”Promise me you will look after Éowyn. She sees you as a part of the family. As do I. But you two are best friends, you have to promise me you will be there for her.”

The fire in his eyes scares you, but you nod anyway: “I- I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Your last promise still echoes in your mind. Soon after the funeral, Éomer and Éowyn moved in with their uncle and were being brought up as the royals, meaning there was less time for their old friends. You still managed to see them every now and then, but there was no time to hang out like you used to. You missed bickering with the Éomer and long hours playing with Éowyn. And a few years after, the death took your brother as well. You finally understood why Éomer was hellbent on the revenge. The night the news of your brother’s death reached you, you kissed your loving parents goodbye, packed the most important belongings and took your horse from the stables. You have just turned eighteen and there was no way they could hold you back. And as hard as it was to leave your home, knowing you will probably never return or see your parents ever again, you headed into the unknown. It has been almost six years since you left and it feels like the first time you actually have time to breathe and not to be suffocating in worries about seeing another day. That time in Rivendell helped you get a breather from everything and it was the only time you were able to sit down and not worry about fighting or dying. 

“Y/N, you should move,” a voice drags you out of your day dreaming. It’s Boromir, one of the members of the Fellowship, who you met in Rivendell. He is a son of Gondor’s Steward and as legends speak, quite a decorated and respected warrior himself. During your time in Rivendell, he shared bits of his life you have never heard him share with anyone. Like he has a younger brother Faramir. And how he wishes his father recognized his brother’s efforts and achievements too. And he spoke about his mother too, how she passed away mere five years after Faramir was born. And how grim the life back in Gondor became for the two brothers. 

“I am coming, I am coming.” Your legs feel heavy and you remember your mare, which you had to leave behind. Boromir waits for you to catch up with the rest of the group.

“Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You never have issues keeping up with us. Usually we can’t keep up with you.” “I am fine, believe me. Just a bit tired.”

”That we all are. But the road ahead is long and no doubt, very difficult.”

Your fingers wrap around the handle of your sword: “I am not concerned about the difficulties. Let them come, I will send them right back to where they came from. Back to the deepest depths of hell.”

“Our feisty Y/N,” he chuckles, ruffling your hair a bit. You swat his hand away and whisper threateningly: “Don’t you dare. I will cut off your hand if you try it again. I promise I will.”

“I do not fear your threats, my dear lady.”

“Then I will have to give you a reason to fear me, I believe.”

His lips curve into a grin: “That will be the day.”

“Oh, it will be. And you won’t see it coming.”

***

You don’t realize how much you would miss him until you watch his boat float calmly down the river, carrying his body. Another loss in your life, another scar in your heart. Another life lost. By the hands of the Orcs. You clench your hands into fists. You will do anything to kill them once and for all. Anything.

To make things even worse, the Fellowship has fallen apart. Merry and Pippin were taken by the Orcs, Sam and Frodo left the shore with the other boat to destroy the ring and you are left with the remaining members. And their mission is finally the one you have dreamt of - killing the orcs. Exactly what the scum deserves. 

The world around you seems to be completely mute. The only thing you know for sure is that someone on the horse is pointing a spear at your head. And you recognize their armours. Rohan. You are surrounded by your own nation and you are too scared to talk. 

“What business does an elf, a man and a woman and a dwarf have in the Riddermark?”

That sounds like a beginning of a really bad joke, you think and smirk a bit. Luckily, no one notices that. 

“Speak quickly!” 

Now… this sounds like something Éomer often ordered when Éowyn and yourself got on his nerves. Which happened quite often with your whispering and giggling. 

“Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine.” 

You roll your eyes. His dwarvish smartass-ness is not really helping you in this case. After all, spears are still pointed at your heads and it doesn’t seem those guys are in a friendly mood. You don’t really pay attention to their conversation until their Marshal removes his helmet. That’s when something triggers something inside of you. Those eyes. You could have recognized them anywhere. And the frown. Of course, his frown. 

His eyes embrace you one more time and you his gaze lingers on your for a split second too long. He slightly narrows his eyes, as he is trying to remember something, before looking away. You realize he doesn’t recognize you. And that hits you hard. Everytime his eyes land on you, you get the same feeling. Like he is still trying to figure out where he knows you from. But you are not sure if it’s really him either. 

“Éomer?” you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. But he heard it anyway. He looks at you again and this time, his gaze lingers much longer. Then, slowly, after a few moments of uncertainty, he slowly smiles. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

“Y/N?”

“Finally!” you exclaim and take a step forward. Before you can even think of wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug, he does the same thing. He pulls you to him, engulfing you into a bear hug. You take a deep breath and relax into his embrace. It has been so long. Too long. And his hugs grew even more breathtaking and bone breaking. Not that you mind. 

“Y/N/N,” he buries his face into your hair, taking a deep breath before pulling away, finally releasing you from his arms. As much as you hate to admit, you suddenly feel cold. Must be the absence of his arm around you. 

He looks around his riders, noticing smirks and a few expressions of pure confusion. His face is completely opposite from how he was looking at you and how his features lighted up when he realized you were standing in front of him. When he looks at his riders, his stone cold expression is back. And through the years, it has gotten even scarier. You, at the same time, look at your companions and notice the riders are not the only ones confused. Your three friends may be better at hiding it, but you know they are just as confused as the men on the horses are. Legolas’ eyebrow is arched and you can see question in his eyes: “How do you know him?”

“I never thought I would see you again,” you say, your voice shaking with emotions. His eyes soften: “To be honest, I never imagined I would see you again. It has been so long.”

“How is Éowyn?”

It is odd, seeing him so far away and with so little men around him. But I think it’s another one of those patrols, so I don’t pay too much attention to it. Until he speaks up: “We have been banished. For remaining loyal to the King.”

“Banished? From your own home?”

He nods. Something is not right here. Something is really not right here. I know he would never abandon his sister, he would die protecting her. 

“We are no longer welcome in Rohan.” 

“How? How is that possible?”

“Long story. It doesn’t matter,” he walks to his horse, wrapping his fingers around the rein. Effortlessly, he climbs on the horse and looks at you: “I know I am asking a lot. But it would be an honor if you joined us.”

You glance at your companions. Eventhough those men on the horses are your nation, a small bit of home, you don’t know them. You only know Éomer and you haven’t seen him in years. But when he hugged you, it felt like yesterday when you last saw him. 

“I will have to refuse your offer,” you say. You have come a long way with Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli, ano no matter how tempting the Marshal’s offer is, you cannot accept it. You can’t force yourself to abandon your friends. Not after everything you have been through. 

Your words surprise Éomer and he doesn’t try to hide it. A shadow of sadness flashes across his face as he looks at you: “I understand. It was unreasonable of me to ask such thing.”

“Please, forgive me, but they are my friends. I cannot imagine leaving them.”

“No apologies needed. Y/N/N, I hope our paths cross again soon,” he fixes his helmet. With the last smile, he looks at the riders and commands: “We ride north.”

As they ride away, you stare after them. You might be wrong, you could be imagining things, but you think you catch him throwing you one last glance. 

“I hope we will, Éomer.”

***

The Battle of Minas Tirith resembles a hell unleashed on the Earth. Bodies piling high, both sides slaying their foes without a second thought. And you are right in the middle of it. Gripping your weapon tightly, you charge into a fight. You hear wet splaying of Orcs blood and your sword is soon covered in black blood. You lost the sight of your friends soon after joining the battle, but you don’t even have time to look around for them. The field around you is covered in blood and you hear shrieks of pain coming from every direction. You spin around, fighting off foes coming from everywhere. A strand of hair falls on your forehead, sticking to your skin, but you completely ignore it. 

“Need a hand?” a voice above you asks. You glance up and see Éomer smiling down at you with his arm stretched out. You gladly take it and before you know it, you are sitting on his horse behind his back. 

“Do not forget to fight.”

“I won’t. Uh...thanks for helping me out there.”

“I just found you. I don’t want to lose you.”

You are about to answer. But the sight of a pissed off Oliphaunt is enough to keep you quiet. 

“Hold on!” 

He grabs his spear, apparently the only weapon he could get after losing his sword, weights it and throws it with breathtaking accuracy. After seeing the blade actually hit its target, you are at the loss of words. He just managed to kill a man. On a running Oliphaunt. From a moving horse. And he threw that spear with only one hand. Clearly, he spent years working out and it was paying off. It also made you realize he was still keeping his promise to avenge his parents. 

“Wow.”

“As flattering as it sounds, I do believe now is not the time.”