I wrote a book! It is available on amazon as an ebook or a paperback.
Chapter one is posted on AO3 which also works as a one shot. Below is the synopsis (blurb) of the book, and the link to AO3 x
John Thornton appears to be a successful self-made man, and a leading figure in Victorian England’s manufacturing town of Milton. But his outward facade hides the reality. The only beacon of light in his life is when he attends weekly lessons with Richard Hale, and has the chance to catch a glimpse of his tutor’s daughter, Margaret.
Despite having previously proposed and been refused, John’s love for Margaret is steadfast. An unexpected event allows John to help her when no one else will, bringing them closer, and making Margaret question her earlier perception of the brooding mill master.
Margaret’s life is no less troubled. She longs for a measure of control, having been sent unwillingly to live with relatives for much of her youth, and the necessity of conforming with their wishes. But when tragedy strikes, she once again must bend to the will of her family.
A deception borne from greed stands in the way of John and Margaret’s second chance, and John will need help from friends and family if he is to uncover the truth.
No one has ever fought for Margaret – until now.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Emerson Brooks is a thoroughly modern woman who wishes she was anywhere else. She loves her job, but when she learns she’s been passed over for a promotion, she begins to wonder if there isn’t something better out there, just waiting for her to discover it. However, she should’ve been more specific, for she is wholly unprepared when she finds out just what that something is—and finds herself stranded in Middle Earth, of all places, with no idea how to get back home.
The Fellowship has set out for Mordor, where the One Ring will be destroyed. But, none of them thought their group of nine would grow by one more—a woman who must be witch, judging by her dress, her mannerisms and her utter lack of remaining quiet, never mind her complete and total lack of any sort of ability to wield a weapon without putting them all in danger.
But Boromir realizes there is more to this odd girl than meets the eye, and neither he nor she is prepared for the moment when they realize there is something between them…
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)
Pairing: Boromir x ofc Emerson Brooks
Warnings: None
Rating: T
Word Count: 1.5k
Read on AO3
Emerson Brooks took her irritation out on the James Patterson books that had just arrived that morning, and she was supposed to be putting them out on the New Arrivals table at the front of the store. But, unfortunately for Patterson, she simply tossed them onto the rectangular table, each one with greater force than the last.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she grumbled. “I mean, you’ve just got to be kidding me!”
Wham! Patterson landed facedown.
Thud. This one landed face-up.
Thunk! The third one landed across the other two copies.
“Em, what’re you doing?”
She looked up at Ty Addams, who was bringing up another carton of books—these non-fiction to be displayed on the next table over. It was Tuesday. New Release Day. And until that moment, she paid little attention to what James Patterson wrote, since there seemed to be no end to the number of novels with both his name and a co-author’s name on the cover. She’d stopped reading his Cross novels years ago. Besides, by the time she came in most days, the new releases were already arranged on the table, waiting to grab the attention of each and every warm body the moment they stepped into Farran’s.
Until that morning, the bookstore on Tenth Street in Greenwich Village was one of her favorite places on Earth and had been ever since she was a dorky little nine-year-old with glasses, frizzy hair, and eyeteeth so prominent, she used to tell people she was a vampire before baring said teeth as if she was about to go for the jugular. Not her finest moments, to be sure, as it just made people think she was weird instead of a vampire.
But at Farran’s, it didn't matter. She could always find a book in which she could lose herself and forget, even if only for a few hours, that she was the weird kid. She’d gotten her first and only job there when she was fifteen, and after ten years—with breaks off for college and grad school—Angelina had finally decided to retire, which meant her job as store manager would finally be up for grabs. Considering she’d spent ten years—with those breaks off for college and grad school—working there and learning everything she could about running the place, Emerson figured she’d be a shoe-in for the job.
“Over-qualified,” she slammed down another book, “do you believe that crap, Ty? Hillebrand told me I was too qualified to do Ange’s job.”
Ty’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
Thud! Another Patterson hit the pile that grew messier by the second. “Do I look like I’m kidding? I came in early for this meeting, only to be told that they’re giving the job to someone else.”
“Oh, that’s bullshit, Em.”
“Yeah, I know.” She snatched another Patterson from the box, gesturing at him with it as she added, “And that’s not even the best part. Guess who that someone else is?”
The Patterson hit the stack, slid across the pile, and toppled to the floor as Ty said, “Do I want to know?”
“Brody. They gave it to Brody, of all people.”
Ty crouched to swipe the novel from the floor, but froze halfway back up. “Are you kidding?”
For the second time that morning, she shot him a long look. “Ty, you did not just ask me that.”
“Oh, right.” He straightened and set about neatening up her pile of books. “Sorry. Stupid question. But really, he’s an ass.”
“So much an ass,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping as she ignored the carton and helped him fix her mess. “I should’ve seen it coming, though. He is Ange’s nephew.”
“Yeah, but he’s an idiot.” Ty handed her the last book from the table, then skirted her to go back to the carton. “I mean, when he reads, his lips move. I’m surprised he finds his way home on his own every night.”
“Right?” Emerson leaned against the heavy oak table. “I can’t believe how much this sucks. I was counting on that job, you know? The money would have been nice. The benefits would have been awesome. And I’d be surrounded by books. What more could I want? And you know what really sucks? I had some great ideas for displays, for promotional things, for author signings.”
With that, she looked around at the all-too-familiar surroundings. Farran’s Bookseller took up a large portion of its block, and to her, it always felt like she’d stepped back into a time long gone by, with its brass door handles and the old-fashioned lettering on the green and gold awnings. The air was fragrant with the wonderful hints of ink and paper and old leather, and small overhead lamps with shades of multicolored glass, lit the shop’s interior to give it a soft and welcoming feel. She’d loved coming to Farran’s as a kid, as a teen, and as an adult and to have come so close to running it, only to have the rug pulled out from under her was like being punched in the stomach.
“Talk to Jimmy, make your case. Maybe he’ll be able to talk Angelina into changing her mind.”
“They’ve already left for the weekend. Said they had a plane to catch and that I should show Brody the ropes. Nice, huh? First, they screw me over for the job, then they expect me to teach Brody how to do what was supposed to be my job.”
“I can stay, if you need me to.”
“No, I’ll be fine. Besides, don’t you have a life this weekend?”
“Yeah. Me and Katie are going skiing this weekend up at Stowe.”
Emerson glanced down at her watch. “You should probably get going, then. You’ll hit all kinds of traffic otherwise.”
“You sure, Em? I don’t mind staying.”
“Katie will kill you and I don't want that on my conscience,” she told him, shaking her head. “So, go and have fun. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Are you sure?”
She brandished the last Patterson at him. “If you ask me that again, I’ll clobber you with this. Or worse, I’ll make you read it.”
“Okay, okay.” Ty stepped back, hands held up, palms out. “You win. I’ll go.”
“Good. Have fun and I’ll see you next week.”
He was still laughing as he made his way toward the back of the shop to gather his things from the break room, while she turned back to finish the display. She didn't want to think about how close she’d come to getting that job, didn't want to think about now not only was the job not hers, but she’d have to take orders from someone she’d have to train. Unreal.
After Ty left, and she was alone in the shop, Emerson finished up the display, then moved to the fantasy section, which was one of her favorite parts of Farran’s. Angelina had inherited the shop when her parents retired back in the late eighties and she had brought her love of all things fantasy to the business, which she and her husband Jimmy ran. The shop was divided by fiction and nonfiction, and then by genre, and each fiction section had been given its own motif. Fantasy had been Angelina’s love, and that showed in the way that section had been laid out—the shelves of heavy, dark wood, delicate trellis and archways set at each end cap for that aisle, larger-than-life wooden cutouts of characters and authors alike all combined to create an air that was mystical and magical in feeling. And Emerson had planned on bringing some new life to each section, and when she’d broached Angelina with her ideas, Angelina hadn’t let on she was planning to step down, and she certainly gave no indication that she planned on giving her nephew the position.
A hint of cinnamon and cloves hung in the air, carried over from the coffee bar tucked in the shop’s far back corner. It mingled perfectly with the scents of old paper and ink, of leather and glue, and whenever she thought about what changes Brody might make…
No, don't do that to yourself.
Maybe it was time to begin looking elsewhere. She certainly didn't want to spend the rest of her life answering to Brody of all people. Maybe the time had come to move on.
She bit back a sigh as she straightened up a section of CS Lewis novels. The headache snuck up on her, and when she straightened up, she actually stumbled from the blinding pain that shot through her temples. It had her staggering backwards to knock into another set of shelves. Squeezing her eyes closed, she reached up to rub her forehead, the cinnamon and clove smell growing stronger and heavier by the second.
Her stomach lurched. Her head spun. A soft ringing echoed inside her skull, louder with each beat of her heart. Horror bit into her when she realized she was about to pass out.
The room swam all around her. The buzzing in her head grew louder. She stumbled forward, then blackness sped toward her and she never even felt the floor as it rushed up to meet her.
Fluffy and complete hurt/comfort fic! Chapter one here, and the full story (11 chapters in total) continued on AO3. Link provided ❤️
Chapter 1.
His knock was clear. Resolute. He ignored the glances of the townsfolk as they passed him by. They were still in shock - the whole of Milton seemed to be in a state of flux as they came to terms with the events of the previous day. Indeed, it had been quite staggering. The riot. The soldiers. Miss Hale’s actions. A bead of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades as he waited, the late July sun absorbing into his best black coat. John Thornton took a deep breath as he heard footsteps approaching the door. His first monumental task was to get past the Hales’ surly maid.
The door was opened by Dixon, as he had expected, but as he opened his mouth to begin his recited enquiry, she spoke first.
‘The master isn’t in. It’s his morning at the Lyceum,’ she said, closing the door on him even as she spoke. Of course, John wasn’t surprised Mr Hale wasn’t in. He thought it possible that he might be on his way to Marlborough Mills at this very moment to save his daughter’s reputation.
John quickly raised his hand, stopping the progress of the door being shut in his face. ‘It is Miss Hale I wished to see,’ he said quickly.
‘Miss Hale?’ asked Dixon, first hesitating, then cautiously folding her arms.
‘I wished to speak with her about … events … at the mill yesterday,’ he replied, though why he felt the need to explain himself to Dixon he couldn’t say. If he had examined his feelings on the matter with any depth, he would have been surprised to find he was intimidated by her.
‘Events?’ said Dixon, slowly opening the door wider again. ‘She's been a bit out of sorts. A headache, she says.’ Dixon narrowed her eyes as she assessed Mr Thornton. She had thought it a shame he wasn’t a gentleman, though she would never have voiced her opinion. If he had been, then he might have been a good match for Miss Margaret. Lord knew there were few people in her sphere that might do. But … he wasn’t a gentleman, and that was that. No matter how rich he was or how fine he might look—
‘Miss Dixon? May I come in for a moment?’
Dixon coloured slightly, and in something of a tizzy, she admitted him to the entrance hall. ‘She’s in the parlour,’ said Dixon, who slunk off to the kitchen, hoping her thoughts of Mr Thornton’s physical attributes hadn’t been written all over her face.
Finding himself surprisingly alone, John took another breath. This was perfect. He had a chance to speak to Miss Hale alone. To tell her of his feelings and his wishes. To throw himself at her feet if it was necessary and assure her of his unquestionable love for her. The parlour door was a little ajar, so he knocked gently, but there was no reply. He steadied his nerves and knocked softly again. When there came no reply he pushed the door further open to satisfy himself that the maid had been wrong, when he stopped. She was there.
Miss Hale lay upon the settee, seemingly in a cloud of white muslin. She had pushed off her slippers and he could see her stockinged feet, crossed at the ankle in repose, and a smile tugged at his mouth. Her face was perfectly relaxed as she slept, her lips slightly parted. She looked like a painting by one of the romantic artists. But then he noticed that the vision was spoiled by a small but livid wound to her temple. He had a sudden but ridiculous urge to kiss it – as though his lips might have the power to heal the injuries she bore because of him. And so, his thoughts were drawn back to the reality of his visit.
‘Miss Hale?’ he said quietly, in two minds whether to wake her or not. She would be mortified, no doubt, at him finding her in this way. But she slept on. ‘Miss Hale?’ he repeated, and touched her arm gently to see if that might rouse her. She mumbled for a second then stilled again. John looked around the room. Should he sit and wait? He couldn’t stay alone with her indefinitely – that would damage her reputation as much as when she had flung herself against him yesterday. No, he didn’t want to cause her further harm, yet it was perplexing, as this was the perfect time to speak with her when they would not be interrupted. Nevertheless, John allowed Miss Hale her privacy and he went back into the hall and sat on the single hard backed chair. And he waited.
John’s eyes flicked to the front door as he heard the key fumbling in the lock followed by Mr Hale’s entrance. He stood up, surprising the older man who dropped his small stack of books making a loud clatter on the tiled entrance floor.
‘John! What a surprise?’ blustered Richard Hale.
‘Is it? I thought you might be expecting me?’ said John, helping Mr Hale to pick up the books.
‘Oh? Why? Did we make an arrangement?’ Mr Hale said absently, searching his mind for an appointment that had gone astray.
‘I meant about yesterday,’ John said, kindly.
‘Yesterday?’
They looked at one another. One completely oblivious and the other with a dawning realisation – he didn’t know. The parlour door creaked open and Miss Hale emerged into the confusion. Quickly grasping what was being said, she shot an accusing glance at John. He inwardly winced. This was not an auspicious start.
‘Come into the sitting room, Papa. Here, let me help with your coat,’ said Miss Hale, as if nothing was amiss.
As the three of them shifted around in the cramped hallway, footsteps approached down the stairs, as Mrs Hale came to find out what the commotion was about. Both John and Miss Hale viewed Mrs Hale's addition to the party with sinking spirits. John knew that there was no hope now to have a moment with Miss Hale, just as she would know that the whole dreadful business was about to be exposed.
Tea was called for and the four of them sat together in the small sitting room. John suspected the irony that he and Miss Hale had to share the settee wasn’t lost on either of them. Him because it is what a couple would do – and he longed for it. And what of Miss Hale? Did she have expectations or was her heart filled with dread?
‘Now then. What’s this all about? John? Margaret?’ asked Mr Hale, in his most welcoming way.
For the third time that hour, John took a deep breath. ‘I perceive that news has not reached you about the goings on regarding the strike,’ he began, aware of Margaret’s absolute stillness next to him.
‘It is over.’ said Mr Hale with a benevolent smile. ‘The smokey sky told me as much this morning. That is good news, isn’t it?’ he asked as his gaze drifted between the solemn expressions worn by both his daughter and Mr Thornton.
‘Indeed, yes. But … There was a riot. At the mill.’ And so it all came out. Miss Hale’s attendance to borrow the mattress … the rioters storming the gates … his attempt to speak to them … her intervention.
Mrs Hale put a handkerchief to her mouth to stifle her gasp and John felt, rather than saw, Miss Hale move swiftly from his side to kneel at her mother’s feet to comfort her.
‘It’s all right, Mother. See, it is only a small graze. There is no harm done—’
‘No harm!’ Mrs Hale half shrieked, the shrill sound muffled by her dainty lace handkerchief.
‘No one will know,’ Margaret pleaded, looking from her mother to her father, whose shoulders had slumped and he slowly shook his head.
‘Child … by Mr Thornton’s account, which you have not contradicted,’ said Mr Hale, ‘there were hundreds of people to bear witness to the event. Not least Mr Thornton’s very household. Oh, Margaret.’ Mr Hale shook his head again, as if Margaret was the one person in the world he thought he could depend upon, and that he had been wrong, after all.
‘Miss Hale was courageous in her wish to protect me. It all happened so fast that I’m sure she had no chance to realise the connotations,’ John tried.
‘Indeed!’ said Mr Hale. ‘A moment of madness, yet bringing a lifetime’s shame.’
‘No, Papa, please! I didn’t mean … I just wanted to help—’
‘Just like Frederick!’ said Mrs Hale. ‘Have we not had enough shame to bear?’ she said, searching her husband’s face for answers.
‘I take it you are here to do what you must,’ said Mr Hale, looking at John, a quiet resignation to his words and his bearing.
‘No! Please,’ said Margaret. ‘You can’t make me marry Mr Thornton. I don’t know him. We don’t even like each other. Indeed, we have hardly had a civil conversation.’
And there it was. His answer. He need not tell her of his feelings. Need not expose his heart to her. Need not explain that it was his most fervent wish that she would accept him. No, no need at all. And yet, even as she admitted her complete lack of care for him, he wanted to protect her. If only it was as simple as her actions the day before. If only wrapping her in his embrace could shield her from the wicked tongues that would enjoy every moment of bringing her down. But easy or not, he could not – would not – allow that to happen. And, of course, it was not just Miss Hale who would be tarnished. Her family would be thus tainted, and shunned.
‘I understand Miss Hale’s argument, even if I cannot claim to share those sentiments. But, to protect Miss Hale from gossip, going forward, I feel that there must be an attachment of sorts between us to put the tittle-tattle to rest. At least until such a time as the riot and its … consequences … become old news.’
‘Divorce!’ gasped Mrs Hale.
‘No! No, nothing like that. The idea has just come to me, so it may not be fully formed. But … If Miss Hale and I were … courting … that might explain her reason for wishing to protect me yesterday.’
‘I would have done the same for any man,’ said Margaret, flashing a haughty look at John, which pierced his stupid love lorn heart, once again.
'Well, young lady,’ interjected Mrs Hale, who had gathered her resolve. ‘You should be grateful that it was Mr Thornton, and not some ruffian! Or else where would we be,’ she said, as tears began to come. ‘Whatever will your mother think,’ she said to John.
‘She knows I’m here. Even she thought that Miss Hale’s actions were driven by affection. Of course, I know that was incorrect. But others will share my mother’s view, so my suggestion of a courtship could work, and save Miss Hale having to enter into a marriage which, as I clearly comprehend, would be abhorrent to her.’
‘Do you think it would work, John?’ asked Mr Hale. ‘Would it be enough?’
‘I have been coming here for lessons twice a week for months now. Surely it is natural that I would become acquainted with Miss Hale, and our association would not be seen by the public. I can see no reason why people would doubt that we had entered into a courtship. Of course, I will have to fabricate the truth with my colleagues and my family. If I say Miss Hale and I have been courting, privately but under your supervision, for a few weeks, then they will believe me.’
'Your principles, John. To have to lie on account of Margaret. Of us …’
‘Would marrying Miss Hale not be as much of a lie if it was only to protect her reputation? I see no difference, especially as I intend to court Miss Hale as would be proper. After some time, if she felt she did not want to pursue the attachment then it would be her prerogative to say so.’
‘If!’ spluttered Margaret. John chose to ignore her comment.
‘And you would do this for us! How fortunate we are in that at least, eh, Maria?’ said Mr Hale, with a spark of hope.
John continued, ‘It is the right thing to do. Don’t forget that Miss Hale probably saved my life yesterday. It is I who should give thanks.’
The mantle clock chime struck twelve, and John got to his feet. ‘I must go. I have stayed longer than I intended and have much to do before my masters’ meeting. Do I have your permission to set the wheels in motion? Miss Hale?’ he said, fixing his clear blue stare upon her.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she whispered, to the collective sighs of relief from her parents.
‘Very well. I shall call again the day after tomorrow for my usual lesson. Good day,’ he said with a short bow, and left the Hales in a state of shock.
Hannah Thornton watched her son cross the mill yard towards the house. She tried to determine if there was spring in his step – or at least some kind of indication that his conversation with Miss Hale had gone well. She heard the front door slam and his familiar footsteps approaching.
‘Good evening, Mother. Fanny,’ John said, in the same manner as he always did.
Hannah caught his eye. ‘What news is there? Anything of note at the masters’ meeting?’ Hannah replied, just as casually, though she glanced at Fanny, who appeared to be engrossed in a fashion pamphlet.
‘Well, I do have some news, as it happens. Not from the masters though,’ he replied. The answer was just vague enough to pique Fanny’s attention.
‘Thanks to the spreading of gossip about me and Miss Hale,’ he paused, and noting Fanny’s slight flush he went on, ‘we have decided to make known our courtship.’
Fanny’s squeal of excitement pierced the usually subdued room. ‘I knew it! I knew it! I said, didn’t I? You mentioning Miss Hale with such regularity gave the game away. And there you were saying you had no designs on her. Oh! But … Miss Hale. I wanted you to marry one of my friends, not Miss Hale,’ she said, slumping back into her seat.
‘I’m not marrying Miss Hale. We are courting, for now, that’s all. We’ve been seeing one another for a few weeks when I attended my lessons. Her mother is ill and so we had decided to keep things just between ourselves until she is better. But now, there appears to be no choice than to bring it out into the open.’
John watched his mother’s expression. She was guarded. Silent.
Fanny’s imagination was captured once more. ‘So that’s why she tried to save you from the mob! How romantic. Perhaps I might grow to like her after all. Wait till I tell Charlotte and Florence. I may tell them, may I?’
‘You may tell whomever you wish, Fanny,’ John replied. ‘The masters are all aware, so it will travel quickly I assume. Your friends might find out before you get a chance to tell them,’ he said, teasing her.
How he wished it was true. Imagine being able to come home and tell his family that Miss Hale had really accepted his offer of courtship, and not that she had agreed only as a last resort. He would never tell them, of course. This was his secret with the Hales. However, John had had a few hours for his new situation to sink in. Miss Hale might not like him – she might well have refused him unless it was her only option. But now, he was better off than he was yesterday, or even this morning. He had a chance.
Fanny retired to her room after dinner, and John sat with his mother as he pretended to read his newspaper, and she pretended to concentrate on her embroidery. She was quite desperate to ask him the details of his interview with Miss Hale, but she knew him well enough to know that he would not say. Nevertheless, Hannah was determined to procure a little more information from him.
‘What plans do you have for this courtship, John? Will I be required to invite Miss Hale for tea?’
John put down his paper. ‘I would like you to make Miss Hale welcome here, certainly. I’m sure you know better than I do how Miss Hale should be entertained. Actually, I was going to ask a favour of you. As you know, we have tickets for the string quartet recital on Friday. I wondered if Fanny and I could take Miss Hale instead. Would you be very disappointed?’ he asked with a boyish smirk.
Hannah huffed. ‘You know very well I can’t abide musical recitals. Miss Hale is welcome to my ticket. You’ll be seen out with her so soon then?’
‘I think it for the best. If we give the gossips something tangible to talk about it will stop the rumour mill getting out of hand.’
‘Wouldn’t an engagement have been more appropriate? Especially if you and Miss Hale have been meeting privately under her parent’s supervision for some weeks? Perhaps Miss Hale has reservations in accepting you, despite her display at the riot?’ Hannah pressed.
‘The Hales and I discussed the situation and agreed that this is a reasonable course of action. To hasten into an engagement or marriage would imply that Miss Hale had done wrong. I hope it’ll be enough.’
‘You hope?’
‘Yes,’ he said, raising his paper again, signalling the end of the conversation. ‘I think a courtship will suit us both.’
♡♡♡♡♡
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
april-rainer asked me if I could translate Uncle Paul’s letters at the end of Busman’s Honeymoon and since I clearly have nothing else to do with myself tonight I tried to do so. Bear in mind that these are a minefield of unusual tenses and reflexive verbs so 1) the translation is open to interpretation and 2) my French is kind of rusty so I might be wrong. And 3) I went through after and tried to make things sound a bit more like Uncle Paul and less like “I just translated this with my trusty dictionary.” I love that the innuendos were there even before the cleanup (me: “so does “raidis-toi” mean figuratively pull yourself together, or literally stiffen yourself? And oh god why would I even think that thought near Lord Peter Wimsey ugh now I feel dirty”), and that the tone is so different between the two letters.
Paul to Harriet:
“My dear Niece—I hope that my absurd, but on the whole agreeable nephew is contriving to fill your cup with the wine of life. May an old man who knows him well remind you that what is wine to you is bread to him. You are too sensible to be offended by all this silliness. My nephew is not sensible at all – he is somewhat sensible and rather more sensitive. He has as much need of you as you do of him; be generous, for he has a nature that can never be spoiled. He needs to be wanted and to give his heart away; don’t refuse him even that small pleasure. Coldness, teasing even, will kill him; he doesn’t know how to impose himself, and he finds that kind of chase completely repugnant. But you already know all this, so do excuse me! I can tell that you have already figured this out, and I know that his well-being (and yours) is dear to both of you. With that in place, he will be a vendor of happiness to the woman who wants it; I think you will find that he will be able to please you very much. To make him happy, you have only to be happy yourself; he doesn’t do well with the suffering of others. So please accept, my dearest niece, my most sincere good wishes.”
Paul to Peter:
“That woman is going to be your fixed point in a busy world [literal translation turns out to be “fulcrum” which is not at all romantic in English, but ties so well to Harriet’s sonnet in Gaudy Night that I thought I’d expand it]. So far, she’s known only the messy parts of love; with you, she will learn the delights. She will find in you unforeseen tenderness and consideration, and she will learn to appreciate it. But even so, my boy, no weakness! She’s not stupid or ditzy; she’s very smart and she wants to think her way out of her problems. It would be a bad idea to be too submissive, though; she won’t be grateful for it. It would be a much better idea to charm her; she can always decide otherwise later. You need to win her. I am positive that she would show herself magnanimous. Try not to be too mushy – or at least, keep that for private moments where it won’t get mixed up in something else. In all other circumstances, use that smart side I know you have in you somewhere. At your ages, you both need to mean it; one doesn’t want to get into a situation where one is buying mad embraces and forcing heartbreaking cries [seriously, I am not sure if he means “it would be awkward for you to have to go to a prostitute” or “you don’t want to be in a situation where you’re both faking it” but either way he’s not pulling punches]. Buck up and make sure you get the respect of your wife; she’s bringing the brains and you are bringing the best way to let her never get bored…”
Summary: Elsa’s nightmares revisit her, not long after the Battle of the Five Armies.
Fandom: The Hobbit (post Botfa).
Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Elsa
Rating: Teen.
Content: hurt/comfort, nightmares.
Word count: 642
She could only lie there, frozen with fear, as the dark twisted shapes - Azog, his horde, Bolg, and Wargs, accompanied by endless swirling flights of those frightening huge bats- approached her. There wasn’t any escape; she was trapped in the throes of yet another nightmare, probably her worst since the Battle.
A faint whimper- poor shadow of a scream- passed through her clenched lips.
“Elsa? Elsa.”
Thorin’s strong arm was swiftly around her, saving her again, before the shapes descended upon her. With a shaky whimper, Elsa managed to awaken. The phantom shapes vanished into the darkness. She lay still, heart pounding and nerves racing.
With great concern, Thorin sat up, lifting her with little effort and cradling her against him. Mahal, Elsa was shaking, almost as badly as when she’d braved the River Running with the Company so long ago as they escaped Thranduil’s dungeons (her nightmares of the Orc pursuing them had been very bad for at least two or three nights).
Even though all was over, the nightmares had clearly never gone away.
“Elsa, amrâlimê,” he murmured into her hair.
“Thorin, I can’t keep doing this to you!” Elsa pulled away from him. “I’m- I’m broken! I can’t ever recover from the raid on my village long ago. I- it was different when you weren’t in your kingdom, but now- what would people think if they knew your Queen had nightmares? They would despise you for choosing a weak girl of the Race of Men over a woman of your people.” She curled up within herself, sobbing and shivering despite the night being relatively comfortable. “I’m just a broken girl.”
There was a creaking, a sinking of the massive feather bed, and Thorin was beside her. His hand rested ever so gently on her fingers as he spoke, his deep voice a comforting sound in the dark:
“No, you are not, Elsa. You survived terrible things- the raid, the entire journey, Orcs and Goblins, the spiders, Smaug, my accursed Dragon sickness,” he sighed heavily, “and a terrible Battle. I nearly perished in several of those adventures, and was harsh and cruel during the Dragon sickness when I could’ve been a better Dwarf.
“Elsa, I fell in love with a strong, beautiful woman, and made you not only my wife, but my Queen. Never call yourself broken or weak; they’re untrue and do not describe you at all.”
With a shaky sigh, Elsa snuggled up against Thorin, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s- it’s that they came back- and I felt so weak in comparison to the women in your family- Dis, your mother, and all.”
“No, Dis thinks very much and highly of you; she’d always wanted a sister.” Thorin’s voice became a trifle grim. “She too had some bad dreams after Erebor was lost, mainly about losing our parents and grandfather to Smaug. She was so young too, a lass at the time.” The grimness faded away. “It never made her any weaker or lesser than the other Dwarven lasses.”
Encouragement at the thought of Dis (a literal force and very supportive of her Human sister by marriage) washed over Elsa in warm waves. She curled up in his embrace, and sighed contentedly as Thorin drew one of the soft wool coverlets around them. “She certainly is a strong woman.”
They sat this for a while, lost in the warmth and each other’s presence, as the minutes slipped by silently. Soon Elsa blinked slowly as sleep returned to her bones. “I think I can sleep now, Thorin,” she whispered, hesitant to break their moment.
Carefully, Thorin laid her down and covered her up snugly. “Don’t hesitate to awaken me if the dream does come back,” he murmured as he lay down beside her.
“You know I always do.” A smile underlined Elsa’s voice.
Reblogs are appreciated.
Please let me know if you want to be tagged or removed from my taglist. Thank you.
Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.
War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.
An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...
Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood
Warnings: None
Rating: T
Word Count: 2k
Read on AO3
The sun still shone, although it was low on the horizon, but it didn't matter to Eirlys as Thorin led her out onto the rampart high above Erebor’s main gates. A breeze blew, harder than the gentle breeze in the courtyard had been, and the air held the chill that came with a spring evening. She barely felt it, though, as she made her way toward the center of the ramparts and turned toward Dale. The valley between Erebor and Dale was quiet, no travelers made their way along the wide, rutted road that led up into Dale’s main street.
The plains were so barren, but she thought she spied what might be the beginning of new life and hopefully, it wouldn’t be long before the earth healed itself and the last remnants of war vanished.
Dale, however, showed signs of life as twilight crept in and the street lights softly blazed to life, along with the lights in the homes and businesses. With a soft sigh, she leaned her elbows on the parapet and simply drank in the sights. After a lifetime tucked away in Mirkwood, these sights amazed her, as she never thought things as simple as a village and lights would be so beautiful as well.
“Do you come up here often?” she asked without looking away from Dale.
“A fair amount, yes.” He move to stand alongside her, mimicking her stance by bracing his forearms against the stone. “I find it helps me clear my mind, more so than down below does these days.”
“I’m surprised.” She glanced over at him with a smile. “I would have thought you preferred being down inside.”
“Most dwarves do,” he nodded slowly, “but we’ve spent more time above ground than we have below it, so I’m equally comfortable in both places. But, very few come up here, so if you would like to come up here to escape, know very few will bother you. And you will be safe up here, far more so than you would be out in that courtyard. Especially until that wall is finished.”
“Thorin,” she turned toward him, “what did Bard come to speak to you about?”
He didn't answer at once, and she thought about what Dís had told her, about how Thorin would see her as his equal, as his partner and not only as a pretty face and one day, the mother of the future King Under the Mountain. She wondered if perhaps Dís was mistaken, that Thorin would merely tell her she need not worry about it, that what happened in Erebor was none of her concern and nothing she need trouble herself about. As the silence stretched, she thought of a counterpoint to any reason he might offer for not telling her.
Then, he sighed softly. “He came to warn me.” He looked over at her, his blue eyes far more serious than she’d ever seen. “I told you what happened at Ravenhill. With Azog. ”
“Azog.” A sense of foreboding stole over her as she turned back toward Dale. Just beyond the white stone buildings, she could see the Long Lake, sparkling like a faceted onyx. It all looked so peaceful, one could be forgiven for not believing a massive battle had been fought between that lake and where she stood. “But, didn’t you tell me you’d killed him?”
“I did. But another has apparently taken his place.”
That sense of foreboding grew stronger, a sour taste rising in her throat. She looked back at Thorin. “Another?”
He nodded. “Rildu. That’s why Bard was here. To warn me.”
“Warn you? Warn you of what?”
He drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Azog had put a price on my head, one that I thought died with him. But apparently, I was wrong about that. That’s why orcs have been spotted so close to Mirkwood, and now, a second pack has been seen moving south from Gundabad. Your father has sent word that he would like you to return to Mirkwood for your safety.”
“Well, I’m not going back to Mirkwood. You just said yourself that the orc pack was moving closer to Dale. We’d be heading right into it. Surely, we are far safer here.”
“We are, but I just thought you should be given the opportunity to decide for yourself.” He managed a smile then. “Somehow, I thought if I decided for you, you might be unhappy about it.”
Despite her growing unease, she smiled back at him. “I would have been, but in time, I’d have admitted you were right. I mean, we are safer here, aren’t we?”
“More than safe. The gates are fortified and our numbers have grown since the last battle. I’ll send word to my cousin Dáin, in the Iron Hills and am certain he will aid us, should we need it.”
“I’ll send word to my father at once, ask him if he might spare—”
“He has already made the offer, mesmel. He is sending a garrison to Dale. If our need grows, he will send more troops. You have nothing to fear.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Eirlys—“
“I’m not.” She met his gaze, shaking her head. “They are the reason I grew up motherless, why my father has been alone all these years. I owe them. And to be completely honest, I’d be lying if I said I didn't want to take part in any fight that might come to our doorstep.”
“You are not facing them.”
“If they show up here, you had best believe I most definitely will be facing them. I’m not afraid of them.”
“You would be wise to be afraid, Eirlys. They will not spare you because you’re a woman, you know. They are vicious and revel in misery and death.”
Her belly kinked, but she tried to shrug off both her unease and his warning. “Still, I would face them if I had to.”
“I know you would, and I suppose we’ll simply have to cross that bridge when and if we reach it. But, I want you to give me your word that you will not venture from Erebor without me. Not one step beyond the gates without me, and I’d rather you not venture out into that courtyard until the wall is fully repaired as well.”
“Thorin—”
“Your word. You may come up here whenever you need to take in some air, or to see the sky, but that’s it. Nowhere else alone.”
His voice brooked no argument and really, she did not wish to fight him on it. She was not so arrogant to think she could take on an orc pack on her own, no matter how she might owe them. Bravado behind the safety of Erebor’s walls was one thing, facing an orc was entirely another.
“I give you my word,” she told him with a sigh, “but if something should happen, I won’t hesitate to face them.”
“I know you won’t. Which is why I’m making you promise.”
“I know.” She turned her gaze back to the road leading from Erebor to Dale. It was all so peaceful and calm, with those tree saplings dotting along the wide road. It looked so desolate, despite those saplings, despite the foliage that looked as if it fought to break through the rutted reddish-brown soil. “Did this always look like this? Because it looks as if things are trying to grow across the plains.”
“The landscape?” Thorin shook his head. “No. When I was a boy, this was all lush and green and teemed with life. Plants. Animals. You name it, it could be found here.”
“And then Smaug came.”
“He did.” Thorin shifted to lean back against the parapet, his back to the plains. “We felt him before we saw him. Have you ever faced a dragon?”
“I can’t say that I have, no.”
“Well, the entire world seemed to shake, with the most ominous ominous rumble. The winds pick up, the air becomes hotter than anything you’ve ever felt. That wind whipped through, like the fiercest storm you could imagine. And it just kept growing hotter, hotter than the hottest summer afternoon. It tore trees from the ground and tossed them about as if they were little more than sticks.
“Then I saw him as he descended upon Dale, as he set fire to whatever he could. He destroyed buildings and turrets in his path, and then… then he was here.”
She gazed up at him, as his voice took on a faraway note. His eyes appeared trained on Dale, as he continued, “We had ample warning. I sent Balin to summon the guards, to tell them we faced a dragon, and I thought we might be able to hold him at bay. But, we weren’t. He broke through our gates with the same ease as he’d blasted through the trees, through Dale.”
His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat before continuing, “We lost half of the guard in that first assault. I realized my grandfather was missing, and had to go find him, and I also had to get the rest of my people to safety.”
“I know.” She let her hand come to rest against his left shoulder blade, her thumb moving lightly in an arc over it. “My father told me what happened after Smaug attacked.”
“I was angry with him for that,” Thorin admitted softly. “For a very long time. Up until the day we crossed paths with the spiders in Mirkwood and I found myself face to face with him in his throne room. And I let him know it.”
“I know.”
He glanced over at her. “How could you? You weren’t there.”
“I was, actually. I was in the corridor, just outside the throne room.” Without thinking, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’d heard the guard captured a group of dwarves and I was curious, so I listened at the door and hoped I wouldn’t be caught.”
“Curious.”
“I had never seen dwarves, only ever heard of you.” She smiled. “And when I saw you… I was smitten. I didn't leave until my father’s guards grabbed you, and even then I didn't wish to go. I just thought it best if I did. My father was furious enough. It wouldn’t have been wise to make him even angrier.”
“Probably wise.” A low chuckle rumbled up from his chest, and she looked up, it was to find him gazing at her as he added, “Smitten, eh?”
She nodded. “Smitten. Very much so, actually.”
“Why don’t I believe that?” He turned toward her.
“Why wouldn’t you? Like I’ve said, you’re very handsome, you know. Is it so difficult to think I might have thought so even then?” She reached up to lay her hand against his cheek. “And I am a lucky woman, to call you mine, you know.”
His eyes softened as he leaned toward her, his lips coming softly against hers. Eirlys slid an arm about his waist, melting against him as he wrapped both of his about her. The kiss deepened, became slow and teasing and when he pulled back, she whispered, “I was smitten, Thorin. And I still am, if you want the truth.”
“As am I,” he murmured back.
“We should go back inside,” she told him, tracing her fingertips along his back. “I have this sudden need to have you all to myself.”
“We are the only ones up here, mesmel.”
“I know. But anyone could happen upon us here.” She met his gaze. “And I’d really rather not have that happen.”
A slow smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Then we should go below. Now.”
She leaned in and swept a teasing kiss across his lips. “I like the way you think.”
Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @lathalea
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hello everyone. I am late with the announcement you have all been waiting for. The blog headline already has the most important info in it:
The 2025 Birthday Fundraiser starts on Saturday, 16 August.
This years schedule looks a bit different than other years, and it is unfortunately dictated by my work schedule. Since I am currently working full-time and offsite, I have had to adjust the…
Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.
War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.
An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...
Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood
Warnings: None
Rating: T
Word Count: 2.6k
Read on AO3
While Thorin was busy with Bard of Dale, Eirlys didn't really know what to do with herself. She didn't know her way around much of Erebor yet, not that it mattered. What business would she have down in the forge or in the laundry or in any part of the kingdom, really?
Which meant that she had nothing to do. Madris had gone off to the laundry, but since she really had no reason to follow, Eirlys remained in the Great Hall, and with no where to go, she chose a chair in the far corner, where she was certain to be out of the way.
“What are you doing here alone?”
She looked up as Dís came into the Great Hall, her black brows knit as her gaze fell upon her. Although she was the only one in the cavernous room, Eirlys still looked around, then pointed to herself. “Me?”
“Yes,” Dís chuckled, her eyes brightening as she drew near, “you. Did you need something?”
“No,” Eirlys shook her head, “I don’t need anything at all. Am I somewhere I’m not supposed to be?”
“My dear,” Dís drew out the chair across from her and sank into it, “you are the queen. There is nowhere in Erebor you are not supposed to be.”
“Is that so? For it doesn’t quite seem that way to me.”
“Why? Has someone said something to you?”
“No. I mean, Thorin has told me not to go out into the courtyard but other than that, no one speaks to me unless I initiate the conversation and I’m afraid I’m not entirely used to that.”
“You’re their queen.”
“I know that, I was the princess of Mirkwood back home and everyone there always talked to me, even if it was just to bid me a good morning.” Eirlys shrugged. “Here, they only stare and wait until I pass by before whispering about me.”
Dís’ smile wavered, but remained in place. “You are new here, remember. And dwarves are taught to not trust elves, just as I’m certain elves are warned not to trust dwarves.”
“We are warned to take care where anyone non-elven is concerned,” Eirlys replied slowly, tapping her fingertips against the table. “But we rarely stare as if we’ve never seen a dwarf before, even when some of us haven’t.”
“Give them time. First, you are an elven princess. Second, you are an elf. Third, you’ve married the king—a dwarf more than one young dwarrowdam had had her sights set on. You must be patient, for you will, in time, win them over, I’m sure. Just,” a winsome smile rose to Dís’ lips and her blue eyes sparkled, “as you’ve won my brother over.”
Those words sent a strange warmth through Eirlys and she couldn't help but return Dís’ smile. “Have I, won him over, that is?”
“Why wouldn’t you? He seems happy to me, and happy is not something Thorin is altogether familiar with.” Dís rested her clasped hands on the table. “He’s known so much sorrow and grief, it’d wonderful to see him so happy now.”
“He doesn’t speak much of his past.”
“No, I don't imagine he does,” Dís replied softly, the colored glass beads in her beard clacking softly with each word. “I think he’d rather forget it all if it were possible.”
“He took me up to Ravenhill earlier.”
“He did? He normally avoids that place at all costs. I don't think he’s been up there since the battle—” Dís’ eyes grew shiny and she pressed her lips together for a long moment, and Eirlys didn't press her. Her sons had nearly lost their lives at the fortress as well. That memory had to haunt Dís to a certain extent, even though both men had survived.
Still, Eirlys was nothing but sympathetic as she let her hands come down atop Dís’. “We don’t have to speak of it, if you’d rather not.”
“No, it’s fine,” Dís whispered. Then, she cleared her throat and her back straightened. “My boys lived to tell their tales, and for that I shall aways be thankful. But, that doesn’t mean I like thinking about those tales, you know.”
“I can only imagine. But, while we were up there, I offered to erase those memories from his mind, only to have him rebuff my offer.” Eirlys offered up a sheepish smile. “And I was wrong to offer it, even if I meant well.”
“Thorin didn't always learn from his mistakes. Hopefully now, he will.”
“His mistakes?”
“Oh, yes. He’s made a few, to be sure. At times he can be extremely bullheaded.”
“Is there a man alive who isn’t?”
Dís chuckled. “Fair point, Eirlys. I’m assuming you’ve seen that stubborn side of him, then?”
“I have. But, to be honest, I can be just as bad at times.”
“No one is like Thorin, though. He is stubborn to a fault, although it is usually because he thinks he is acting in the best interests of his people.”
“Then he is no different from other rulers. My father is proof of that. He’s quite stubborn himself.”
“Well, hopefully he doesn’t drive you too mad with it.” Dís’ expression grew serious once more. “Why did you ask him to go up to Ravenhill?
“I didn't ask him, he offered and would not hear of my saying no. Although, I must confess, I was curious about it. I wasn't allowed to join the battle, you know.”
“It’s just as well. From what I understand, it was an ugly day.”
“I know, but…” Eirlys paused, unsure as to how to explain why she’d wished so badly at the time to join the fray. Dís had almost lost her only two children in that battle, along with her only remaining brother. She might not understand any reason for wanting to join in a brutal fight.
“But what?”
Eirlys sighed softly. “I trained alongside my brother from the time I was old enough to wield a blade. But when the time came…” She shrugged. “I was not allowed to leave Mirkwood. I stood by and watched as even Tauriel was dispatched to Dale. Only my maid remained in the palace with me.”
“Your father probably wished only to keep you safe.”
“Be that as it may, I wanted to stand alongside the others and fight with them, and that’s probably why I was curious about Ravenhill. And as I said, I offered to remove Thorin’s memories of it, but he said no.” Eirlys sat back with another shrug. “But, it was a nice outing, just the same.”
“Until Dwalin appeared.”
Eirlys hesitated, not at all certain she should agree. But then, she nodded. “I know Thorin has his duties and one of them is taking meetings even if they happen at inopportune moments, but I’d be lying if I said it didn't trouble me.”
“Which is understandable, and I’ll wager Thorin wasn't too happy, either. Bard isn’t exactly one of his favorite people.”
“Is there bad blood between them?”
Now it was Dís’ turn to hesitate. “There was, yes, but Thorin was not entirely himself when it happened, so… so I think you should probably ask him about it, for it is not my story to tell, suffice to say that he and Bard managed to bury the hatchet, so to speak, and now are not entirely friends, but I think it safe to say they are allies.”
“My father has had dealings with Bard of Dale, both now and when he was in Esgaroth, but I never heard of anyone aside from the former Master of Esgaroth having trouble with him.”
“I’ve not had much in the way of dealing with him at all,” Dís told her, “and I prefer to keep it that way.”
Eirlys chuckled as she bobbed her head. “You and me, both. Although, it most likely won’t matter, as I don't think Thorin will be including me in much of his royal matters.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, if I was you,” Dís told her seriously. “In time, I imagine he will see and treat you as an equal partner, if he isn’t already.”
“Why would he? We’ve only just come to know each other, and our courtship was that in name only, as we met and were married within a few days.”
“True, but I know my brother.” Dís offered up a serene smile. “He will be including you in any and all decisions he might make. You might be of Erebor, or of our people, but make no mistake, you are the queen and he would never make a decision without at least consulting you.
“But,” her smile faded and her expression grew serious, “that doesn’t mean he will alway do what you suggest. He will always put the interests of Erebor and his people first.”
“You say that as if I should expect him to bow down to my wishes at every turn,” Eirlys replied, shaking her head, “but I would never expect such a thing. He knows your people far better than I ever will and while I’ve not known him a long time, I would have to be blind to not see how he leads and how seriously he takes that duty. I think it’s why he and my father butted heads. They are very much alike.”
“Don't let Thorin hear you say that.”
Eirlys couldn't help her laugh. “Nor would I let my father hear it, either. But, that doesn’t make it any less true.” She sat back. “Does Bard visit here often? I know you’ve said there was bad blood between them.”
“Often enough. Back when the dwarves first arrived at Esgaroth, my fool brother offered them a share in this mountain’s wealth.” Dís raised her hands to slowly arc them over her head and down. “Very well, I don't suppose it would cause any harm to tell you why there was that bad blood, as it came about in the aftermath of Smaug’s attack, but I assume you know of that? I’d imagine word bus have spread in regards to it.”
“No,” Eirlys confessed softly, “I’m afraid I don’t know much about it, really. My father kept me fairly well sequestered away from what was happening here, too afraid I’d ride off after Legolas and Tauriel and get myself killed.”
Dís hesitated then. “Perhaps you should but ask Thorin about that. It’s a part of his history that he isn’t entirely comfortable with.”
“The dragon sickness?” Eirly offered, keeping her voice low. “No, I don't need to ask him about that, for it was the one thing my father spoke of before he rode out to Dale to offer aid to the survivors of Esgaroth after the town burned.”
Dís nodded slowly. “Yes, Dragon sickness. A terrible thing, that. Smaug had made his home here for nearly a century and that taints gold and treasure unlike anything other in the world. It wasn't his fault, of course, but it clouded his judgement and made him greedy, just as it did our grandfather.
“But, he’s since recovered, thankfully, and in the process, his greed has waned and he has made good on his promise to help rebuild both Esgaroth and Dale. Which was quite fair, really, when you consider how he and the Company unleashed that blasted dragon upon them to begin with.”
“So, Bard is here because he is in need of more money?”
“No, not likely. Thorin has been more than generous when it comes to that.” The beads in dis’ beard clacked with more force with this shake of her head. “No, it’s probably trouble with vendors or tradesmen. After the fire, so many scattered to the four corners of Middle Earth and left behind were those not quite so skilled, or more interested in making a quick piece than doing actual work. The last time Bard appeared on our doorstep, it was because the lumber man was trying to charge twice his quoted and agreed upon price. He backed down very quickly when Thorin turned up on his doorstep.”
“I can only imagine.”
Dís’ eyes flicked up, above Eirlys’ shoulder, and she smiled. “And seeing as how he doesn’t look ready to pull someone’s head off, I’d say the meeting went well.”
Eirlys twisted about to see Thorin standing in the arched doorway to the Great Hall with a dark-haired man who stood nearly a foot taller. Bard of Dale, no doubt. Both men looked to be in a fair mood, and whatever Thorin was saying to him, the Master of Dale’s white teeth flashed in a smile in response.
Then Thorin glanced over and Eirlys’ heart skipped a beat at the slow smile that lifted his lips. She couldn't help but return it, a teasing heat rising in her cheeks when Bard glanced over, most likely to see why Thorin smiled the way he did, and he smiled as well.
Man and dwarf parted ways there, with Bard disappearing from view, heading toward the entrance, no doubt, while Thorin came into the Great Hall and crossed over to them. “Dís, tell me you are not interrogating my bride so soon after our arrival.”
“I’m doing no such thing. In fact,” Dís smiled as she rose from her chair, “she and I were just having a lovely chat. And now, I will leave the two of you. I have some correspondence that I need answer.”
“Enjoy. And tell Dáin he still owes me for the two barrels of mead he pilfered the last time he was here.”
“I will. Eirlys, I wholly enjoyed talking with you. I hope we might do it again sometime, perhaps over tea?”
“I’d like that,” she replied with a smile.
“As would I.” Dís turned to her brother. “Thorin, I’ll see you at supper.”
“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
As Dís took herself off, Eirlys turned back to Thorin. “I hope your meet with Bard went well.”
A low sigh leaked through Thorin’s teeth as he sank into the chair next to hers. “It did, but it’s exhausting, working with some of these tradesmen. There are days when I’d gladly like to tell them all where they might go and get them out of my hair for good.”
“Dís has mentioned you’ve had less than pleasant dealings with them.”
“I’ll be glad when Esgaroth and Dale are both restored to their former glory. Then the Bowman will remain in Dale and not show up on our doorstep on a weekly basis.”
“Bowman?”
“That’s who he was when I met him. He only became the Master of Dale when Esgaroth burned and the Master there was killed. He is a competent enough leader, fair and mindful of the needs of his people, but he is also stubborn and not fond of being flexible.”
Without thinking, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “That sounds like someone else I know.”
The low rumble of his chuckle vibrated through her. “You’ve come to know me well, mesmel.”
“What does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“Mesmel. You use it so often, but I don't know its meaning.”
“Come,” he told her, rising and holding out a hand, “I promised you a place where you could safely go to see the sun and sky, and I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“When we get there?” She rose alongside him, letting her hand come to rest in his. “Is it far?”
“Not far at all.” His fingers tightened about hers. “You’ll see.”
Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @lathalea
“Do you know these roses?” he said, drawing out his pocket-book, in which were treasured up some dead flowers.
“No!” she replied, with innocent curiosity. “Did I give them to you?”
“No! Vanity; you did not. You may have worn sister roses very probably.”
She looked at them, wondering for a minute, then she smiled a little as she said—
“They are from Helstone, are they not? I know the deep indentations round the leaves. Oh! have you been there? When were you there?”
“I wanted to see the place where Margaret grew to what she is, even at the worst time of all, when I had no hope of ever calling her mine. I went there on my return from Havre.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“Stop a minute, measter.” Then going up confidentially close, he said, “Is th’ young gentleman cleared?” He enforced the depth of his intelligence by a wink of the eye, which only made things more mysterious to Mr. Thornton.
“Th’ young gentleman, I mean—Master Frederick, they ca’ed him—her brother as was over here, yo’ known.”
“Over here.”
“Ay, to be sure, at th’ missus’s death. Yo’ need na be feared of my telling; for Mary and me, we knowed it all along, only we held our peace, for we got it through Mary working in th’ house.”
I was walking through the toy aisle at Target when I found this thing and had a VIOLENT AND IMMEDIATE FLASHBACK to when JP first came out and they had a bunch of REALLY COOL T Rex toys that I would have sold one of my scrawny small-child limbs for but my mother wouldn’t get me one because they were “too violent and also ate people” :(
on closer inspection, it makes a lot of really obnoxious noises and is also Too Expensive. BUT FEAR NOT I found this slightly smaller dude wedged in the back!
IT HAS BITE ACTION, AND THAT’S THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS
update update: I re-sized her collar and found a bag of toy bones at the craft store. I haven’t put this much effort into a non-school thing since my last job search, help
