faeriefics

He sat slouched in his chair with his fingers pinched over his nose, trying to think of- well nothing really. He needed a break.

He stood from his desk and grabbed his keys, phone and wallet and made his way across the office, desperate for a coffee- or a scotch- and some fresh air.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dawn asked with a level of authority in her voice he had never heard before. She was clearly done with putting up with him and to be honest he was a little afraid of seeing how angry she could get.

"I just need a coffee, Dawn-"

"No, Anders. If you walk out that door you simply won't come back and I refuse to deal with this mess you've created on my own!"

A low grumble was all he allowed to leave his mouth, swallowing the curses and things he really wanted to say instead, and turned on his heel and stalked back to his desk with his jaw clenched furiously.

"I was going to get you a latte!" he shouted, which was a flat out lie because he had every intention of going to a bar instead of the coffee shop and had no plans of returning.

Everyone treated him like a fucking toddler, he thought, tossing his things back onto his desk very loudly to try to have his displeasure heard from across the room.

His phone rang again and in that moment he thought he was actually going to throw a fit. He didn't even look to see who it was that was calling, simply hitting the green button to answer whatever annoyance was about to hinder him.

"What?"

"That's no way to greet your lover…"

Your voice washed over him like a wave of pure relief, and for the first time that day Anders felt every burden lift off his shoulders as he sank back comfortably in his chair.

"Sorry, it's been a day…" he said quietly, closing his eyes as he sighed deeply.

"Anders, it's only 11," you pointed out, which made his stomach sink. He didn't say anything, just sat and waited for you to continue, but to be honest he was also enjoying knowing it was you on the other end of the phone, your breath and presence bringing him comfort. "Listen," you went on when he remained silent. "I'm going to come over after work and we are going to order in and eat naked in bed after I treat you to whatever it is that you want…"

"Hmm, I'm listening…" he said, sitting up straighter in his chair, his curiosity piqued and hoping you would continue to tell him more good things.

"Plus, it's Friday, so if you can manage to get through today, we have the whole weekend to have fun…"

Anders chuckled and swiveled around in his chair, his mood quickly lifting at the prospect of his weekend activities.

His mind wandered for a minute, dreaming of all the things he wanted to do with you, and eventually he was brought back to the present when you said his name, questioning if he was still there.

"You make me smile," he admitted with all the honesty that he possessed. "...also super horny, but that's not the point," he laughed, his heart, among other parts, swelling when he heard your heavenly giggle. He closed his eyes and imagined you; your eyes alight and smile gleaming as you sat atop of him, and even after the call ended, Anders couldn't wipe the grin from his face.

As promised, you arrived at Anders' apartment with take away in tow, looking forward to the weekend as much as you knew he would be now. You'd be lying if you said you didn't look forward to any opportunity spent with him, especially considering most of your weekends consisted of things like this; ordering in, staying in bed for most of the day, giving each other endless amounts of pleasure in every form possible, not to mention the way Anders now held you in your sleep, giving you hope that his body language was telling you more about what this was than you knew he could ever say.

No, you reminded yourself, this was casual, this was without feelings. No label had been put on it nor would there ever be. This was Anders...

Before you even reached the top of the stairs, the door opened, your thoughts halted upon seeing Anders propped lazily against it, wearing a light gray t-shirt and navy sweatpants, with what looked like a very appreciative smile on his face.

"Hello, gorgeous," he greeted in his usual way, reaching for the bags as he leaned in to press a quick kiss on your lips in the process.

"So just how bad was your day, exactly?" you asked with genuine concern as you followed him into the kitchen. The way he had sounded on the phone earlier had revealed how rotten he was feeling, and no matter how hard you knew he would try, no amount of shrugging it off could disguise his frustration. He placed the bags down on the counter and braced his arms against the ledge, sighing out as he looked at you and shook his head.

"Ah, it's not that bad," he lied. You could see the weariness laying heavy in the lines in his face, his eyes appearing a little dull compared to their normal surreal blue hue. "It's Monday's problem now. And Dawn's," he chuckled, rubbing his face with his hands and under his breath muttered; "Fuck, she's going to kill me or quit and I don't know which will come first."

You didn't know what to say that would ease what he was feeling, but you knew Anders well enough to know he wouldn't want to discuss it much more anyway, so you reached into your bag and pulled out a very expensive bottle of scotch, setting it down before him in subtle presentation.

"I thought you might need an extra special treat, too," you said softly, unable to hide your smile when he set the bottle back down after checking out the impressive label and closed the space between you, collecting your face in both of his hands.

"You are all I need," he whispered, his eyes searching across your features. "Thank you."

His lips crashed against yours, making up for the quick peck he'd given you when you first arrived, his tongue expertly exploring your mouth and making you feel weaker by the second with each pass. Your heart leapt in your chest and you cursed it for allowing him to have this effect on you, but no matter how many times you tried to convince yourself that this was just sex, it ignored your plea for self-preservation and continued to fall for the man who was incapable of reciprocating those feelings.

"I might have another surprise for you, too," you stated excitedly when you broke the seal of your lips, drowning out your voice of reason and making Anders raise his brow at you.

"And what might that be?"

"Well would you like it now, or would you like to eat first?"

"I want to eat something, and it's not the food," he said, looking at you with that cocky confidence he always managed to exude.

You giggled and bit your lip, smoothing your hands over his t-shirt that made his chest hair feel pillowy beneath it. "Since you had such a bad day, and absolutely none of it would have been your fault," you added, making Anders chuckle, "I suppose I can give you your other surprise now."

Raking your fingers through his hair, you pulled him into you, kissing him with slow fervency that made him groan, his needy sound setting your whole body aflame with a wrath of desire. Blindly and clumsily, you started on the path to his room, the whole time sensing a change in him, something softer and wanting, but with as much passion and intensity as always, nothing feeling rushed or hurried like the pace you most often fell into together.

Anders peeled you out of your clothes piece by piece, decorating each part of your skin that became visible to him as he went, marking your flesh with wet, searing kisses.

Once you were naked before him, he paused and looked at you curiously. You hadn't put any lingerie on, in fact you even took your panties off before getting to his apartment because that was just one more thing keeping you from each other, and it was more than apparent that he couldn't figure out what the other surprise was which made your eagerness for him to discover it soar.

"I promise you won't be disappointed," you whispered in his ear, trapping his lobe between your teeth and giving it a tug.

You carded your hands up under his shirt, his skin on fire which only made you more voracious to feel it against yours, and with all patience now gone, you pulled it up over his head and tossed it away. His hands roamed over your waist and hips, simply letting you undress him with a sense of restraint he usually didn't have. Finally freed from anything acting as a barrier between you, Anders stepped forward and captured your lips, pulling you against him as closely as he could, his cock probing between your legs.

"I could never be disappointed by you," he confessed, making your heart tear open, his words seeping into it and getting closer to claiming it completely.

He kissed a trail down your neck to your chest at the same time his fingers brushed against your mound, making you moan and lean into his touch. He granted your wish, parting your folds to run through your slick, and he nipped your neck in approval of your readiness for him. He continued to glide back and forth across you, until his fingers made contact with something he didn't expect and his head whipped up in shock.

A sated grin pulled at your lips as you took satisfaction in him discovering your surprise; the anal plug he had gifted to you securely filling your tightest hole, readying you to finally take him.

"You definitely know how to spoil me," he said with a hoarseness in his voice you knew was brought on by the amount of lust coursing through him.

You began to smile again, but it turned into a gasp when he drove two fingers into your waiting heat, his mouth returning to your chest to suck harshly on one of your peaked nipples. Goosebumps erupted over your skin, and when you clenched around his fingers, you clamped down around the plug and threw your head back as you gave in to the pleasure that was already crashing over you. He continued to travel down your body, and you were a little shocked when Anders knelt before you, his mouth joining in the ministrations of his fingers as he expertly worked you. He seemed unashamed in this act of submission, and your heart swelled in bringing out this level of comfort in him, his trust in you outshining his usual selfish pride. Here you were meaning to be indulging him…

The memory of him kneeling to taste you as you sat spread open on his desk flashed through your mind, and you ached at this subtle sign of devotion, the repetition of this act taunting you into believing there could be a place held for you in his impenetrable heart. Your hands fell to his head, lazily running through his short curls, swirling your hips slightly to intensify everything he was doing.

"Anders…" you whined out, lost already in a haze of rapture, his tongue talented in ways that went beyond his words. You glanced down to see him gazing up at you with a look that told you he could worship you forever, and your heart once again joined the rest of your body in revealing that this meant more to you than you were willing to admit.

He moved faster and harder against you, pushing you to the edge, and when he knew you were there he reached behind you and gripped the handle of the plug, pulling it out of you only a little.

His tongue drove deep inside you and then lapped and licked out across your folds, his stubble rough on the sensitive skin, his nose brushing your clit with every movement of his head. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, grasping at what you could to try to ground yourself but it was no use. Your screams of unbound pleasure ripped through the quiet air as Anders made you fall apart, pulling the plug further from you at the very moment you bore down through your climax. It was so intense, and you shuddered and cried out as the widest part of the plug stretched you the most while he sucked and pulled at your clit with his lips. You clenched so hard that he was barely able to remove it, and he chuckled against your raw skin when you eventually relaxed enough for it to be released.

Anders hummed as he peppered your belly with kisses, your stomach expanding and contracting wildly as you came down from such an earth-shattering high. He stood and held your face in his hands, his mouth reddened from his efforts, his dimples pulled out even more through his smile.

"Time for the rest of my surprise." His tone and look were serious, but you noticed his pulse hammering away in his neck and you knew that he was just as excited as you were.

You nodded, feeling more alert now in the anticipation of what was to come next, and you thought if it was any more intense than what you had just experienced, that this could be the very last thing you'd do in your life.

Anders took hold of your hand and walked over to the bed, laying down on his back to pull you to sit on top of him.

As if he could immediately sense your hesitation, he calmly spoke, his voice soothing as he grabbed your waist and guided you to hover over his cock. "I want you to be in control," he said with surety. "You can go as far as you want, as slow as you want..."

Those blue eyes were so full of trust, sending a rush of assurance through you as well as the desire to give him everything he could ever want.

Anders leaned over to the nightstand, opening the drawer to pull out a bottle of lube and coated his throbbing cock abundantly. Settling back into the bed comfortably, he gave you a warm smile, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs.

Slowly, you lifted your hips and his slick head slid against your folds, making you jolt from the after-effects of your orgasm that lingered like shockwaves. He groaned at the contact, eager for more, and you shifted to allow for him to nestle between your cheeks. You looked at him as the tip of him pushed into your hole, the pressure making you moan and grip at his chest for support, but at the same time feeling so incredible that you allowed your body to take more as you sank down onto him. Your eyelids fell shut and all you could hear was Anders shuddering out a pleasured breath, and you focused on your own breathing as you tried to relax.

After pausing for a moment, you lifted up, only to bring yourself down on him again, carefully taking him deeper inside you.

"Fuck, Anders!" you wailed, your legs shaking violently around him, but you felt his warm hands give both of your thighs a squeeze and you sucked in a steadying breath.

Soon, you were encasing all of him, the fullness he created in you more than you could have ever imagined, the heaviness of him overwhelming.

He remained unmoving, allowing you to begin to rise up and down his shaft in the tempo you set, not wanting to push you further than you could take. The patience and gentleness he had caught you by surprise, recalling his words when he had first used the plugs on you in his office; "...you’ll be begging for the plugs back when I’m done with you next time.” You couldn't help but wonder what had changed in him since then, having expected the ruthless version of the greedy god to keep such promises, but the way he was treating you now made your heart flutter, reminding you of the one emotion you kept denying that was controlling everything between you.

Shaking the thought away, you set your eyes on him, seeing his face veiled with hunger, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes wild with ecstasy as he watched you move and start to welcome this new form of pleasure.

"Baby, you feel so good," he grunted, and soon he couldn't control himself anymore and carefully thrusted in time with you. "I'm not going to last long."

His admission made your head spin, and you became even more eager to have him fill you with his spend and take you to a new high along with him. He then sat up, his face inches from yours, his blue eyes so vibrant and it made the world around you fall away. You wrapped your arms around his upper back, pulling him close to your chest and he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot on your sweat-coated skin. You were so consumed by emotion; lust and greed and love, and your heart screamed at you that this was it. The feel of his hands carding across your torso brought your focus back to the moment, desperate to ignore your heart's plea, and you ground yourself against his lower belly, rubbing your clit and soaked core over the coarse hairs to bring yourself closer to the point of exploding again. Open-mouthed kisses left a trail of spit in their wake and Anders held you tightly as if in fear of floating away, rutting up into you as you continued to slide on and off of him, that familiar blinding heat billowing inside you at record speed.

You could feel Anders swell within you, his cock stretching against the thin wall that encased and choked him with every motion of your body, and with a guttural roar he emptied himself inside you, the heat of his seed pushing you into your second climax and you ground hard onto his shaking form beneath you until your mewling built into loud shouts of unbridled rapture.

Panting, laboured breaths sounded aloud without shame, Anders holding the back of your head to bring it down to lay on his shoulder where all you could focus on now was the pounding of his heartbeat. He flexed inside you and it made you whimper into his sweaty flesh, and with concern he lifted your head so he could see you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, searching your eyes, his hands cupping either side of your face once more. You gave him a weak nod, and that satisfied his worry, a smile spreading over his lips as he moved to brush your hair out of your eyes. "Good. You did so good, baby." His praise sent you soaring, the genuineness in his eyes causing the vulnerable split in your heart to rip open, screaming at you to let your feelings be heard.

"Thank you," you said softly, leaning into him to press your forehead against his, your lips finding his parted ones to connect to with ease. His hands languidly rubbed your back, and you imagined your skin to be patterned in trails of flame from the heat that pours from his fingertips.

He slowly broke away from you and in nearly a whisper he asked; "For what?"

"For always taking care of me," you replied honestly, recalling how much had changed in his demeanor since you first started sleeping together.

He let out a small chuckle that made his belly push out against you and brought his hand to your chin so he could meet your gaze.

"Always," he promised, the warmth in his eyes making you melt further into him. "Besides," he added, "I have plenty of opportunities to be rough with you."

His joke, although laced with surety, made you giggle which was stifled by his mouth on yours, and for an infinite amount of time, you were lost in him again.

"I should be thanking you," he finally spoke upon parting the entanglement of your tongues, his voice hoarse. "For being here, for this," he vaguely gestured at your bodies, him still encased inside you. "You've made me smile all the times I've needed it most." Anders' eyes flickered, his statement clearly holding more meaning than they would to any other person, and this time you were the one to cup his face, capturing his scratchy stubble in your hands to kiss him fiercely.

When he softened, he shifted to guide you off his lap and laid you down on the bed, a sated smile gracing you as he moved to join you, his eyes never leaving yours once.

"How do you feel?" he asked, propped up on his elbow, his other hand taking one of yours to thread your fingers together. The myriad of things you were feeling were overwhelming and threatened to spill from your mouth in a wavering voice, but you swallowed them down and, with as much conviction as you could muster to sum everything up, you gave him a simplified answer.

"Amazing."

Anders placed a kiss on your shoulder and scooted up behind you, wrapping his arms around you in an almost protective way.

"My goddess…" he hummed into your hair, his nose nuzzling in to tickle the back of your neck and you grinned when you felt his smile spread out over the sensitive spot. He couldn't possibly realize the significance of this term of endearment, you thought, as it made your heart flip and hammer so hard in your chest. Out of fear that he would feel what he was doing to you, you moved his hand tucked close to that very heart away in order to avoid being found out.

They were only words, you told yourself, closing your eyes as Anders began to trail his fingers up and down your side, his touch working to make you succumb to his power equally as much as his speech could. Focusing on the even tempo of his breathing, you found peace in this moment, allowing your heart to match the calm rhythm of his beating onto your back, and soon the soothing dance of his hands ceased as he drifted off to sleep.

Hours went by, and although your body was exhausted and begging for rest, you remained awake, your insomnia at the hands of your reeling heart and mind. You stayed in the position you initially had fallen into together, comfortable in Anders' warm embrace, his arm still draped across your torso, and you absently played with his fingers in yours, tracing the edges of his short nails and the creases in his knuckles. Everything in you made you want to stay like this forever, to take the risk of a lifetime and give voice to the way he made you feel, to be brave enough to speak the truth, but the protective shield you covered yourself with when you first met Anders - albeit cracking away - was simultaneously begging you to keep it to yourself and be stronger than the foolishness in your chest.

A sudden urgency to leave overcame you, and you frowned at even entertaining the idea. He had had a terrible day, and although you were certain you had made an improvement to it, you had promised to spend the whole weekend with him. Your heart fluttered at the thought of being lost in this little world you created together for two more days, ignoring everything else, until reality would strike you with a harshness when it all came to an end on Sunday.

How bad could it really be, you wondered, to let the claws of love sink into you permanently, your body melting into his more as he unintentionally coaxed you to stay with the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Self-preservation, you reminded yourself, slipping out of bed as quietly as you could after removing his arm from around you, not bearing to look back at the man who blinded you of all logic snoring quietly without a care in the world.

He would be fine.

As long as you were beside him, skin on skin, you wouldn't be able to see this for what it was. Anders had you constantly inebriated with a level of desire and need that was getting difficult to handle, and although he'd recently been giving you subtle clues that hinted at him growing a deeper affection for you too, you couldn't trust your treacherous heart, constantly fearing it was making a mockery of you.

Would he ever be able to return such an infliction?

No, it was stupid of you to even consider it. This was just sex for him and you were no doubt mistaking that look in his eyes he often gave you for something more.

Collecting your clothes and dressing quickly, you padded through the apartment and couldn't help but smile at seeing the untouched takeaway bags still sitting on the counter, long forgotten, your primal hunger for each other taking precedence on yet another occasion. A low growl rumbled in your stomach, but you knew you would choose a night like this over any meal, preferring to be starved of food rather than of him.

Hesitation started to get the better of you, and weighing your options one last time, you closed the door to his apartment behind you, knowing that a bit of time away from him was what you needed. Time to think, to collect yourself, to be without the constant singing in your heart and without having every cell in your body long for him, seeking him out and calling for his heart to give you what he couldn't.

It wouldn't be the end; being more than willing to accept the casual status that would be the only one ever available, knowing you'd rather shove down what your heart ached for rather than go without his touch, your strategy being to simply safeguard the one thing you vowed not to let him take.

You laughed at yourself, knowing he already laid claim to it, having reached the depths of your heart and soul despite your best efforts.

The cool air of the July night contrasted against your cheeks that were still flushed from Anders' radiating warmth, the fog that cloaked you beginning to lift as soon as you stepped out of the apartment building and walked to your car.

You grabbed your phone out of your bag and opened the email from your boss that had asked you to travel down to Dunedin for a week, which you had initially declined in favour of this weekend with Anders, but now you knew it would be the very answer to all of this. You quickly drafted up an email saying you had changed your mind and would be on the next available flight down to the South Island tomorrow.

Being forced to be apart from him would allow you to figure out exactly what your relationship with him meant, and part of you hoped that, just maybe, he might miss you in the process.

———

Even after laying dormant for, what, near three thousand years? The walls glimmered dimly in the thinning sunlight, through their many layers of dust, debris, no doubt blood and moss. He’d never seen a material quite like it - sturdy and solid as stone, yet shimmery as a crystal in light - he watched as Dori cautiously pressed a hand to the strange structure, before hastily removing it, perhaps guilty at how his dragged fingerprints disturbed the settled dust. Every building was tall; towers ranging from short - perhaps two or three stories - to the tall, which pointed upwards to heights which beggared all belief. Craning up towards the skies, with roofs that glowed gold in the dimming light of day, and ivy which twisted around their skinny frames - some held external stairs, which spun around their structures staggered, and it was a wonder how anyone had ascended such towers without their head spinning.

A giant amongst the tall towered above all the rest - with skinny external walkways and passageways connecting it to shorter surrounding towers. Arched, ginormous windows of glass stained with enough varying colours to make the windows seem iridescent in the sunlight, even externally, decorated the tall building. Most were broken - leaving great shards of glass glinting in the frames as though they were the colourful teeth of a gaping maw, but some remained intact. Another hesitant gaze turned towards the faerie - or, Shae, he supposed he should call her, now they were better acquainted - and he found her expression nonetheless unreadable. Smooth as stone, eyes empty, had she not been walking she could have passed for an extremely life-like statue.

After ascending a short set of stairs, leading them to a cobbled square, the stone shifted from dark, with the odd light splotch, to a chalky grey-white. It clung to great mounds of debris, littered a half-collapsed tower, billowed and swelled in the breeze - turning the air white as it swept the floor. The leaves of the plants which had slithered through gaps and cracks in the pavements were dyed grey; in truth, most within this square appeared in shades of black, grey and white. He might have thought it a drawing within Ori’s seemingly endless supply of leather-bound notebooks.

Never would Fili have thought the dust to be bodily remains - so accustomed was he to tales of fields stained red by the brunt of warfare, bodies scattered, cold and silent, with faces ghostly pale and finger bones like vices - forever left clenching to their weapon of choice. Or, perhaps, the stench of rot and decay, the pestilence which clung to the air like smog as the buzzing of flies created a macabre symphony. He could even foresee skeletons with hollow eye sockets and bones laid bare of long-gone flesh, bleached white in the sun, the silence of their eternal rest deafening. Given enough time… Did all things mortal turn to dust? It seemed so obvious now, in this graveyard of a kingdom, but Fili had never considered how bones could one day crumble if left exposed to the elements.

Looking around, blue orbs caught the open doorways - some of which still had doors, swinging precariously in the breeze on one hinge, while others had their doors kicked in entirely. It became more obvious that there were hundreds… Nay, thousands, who had died and laid her for centuries. Without even a mass burial or a word spoken in their memory, they were left to rot. What was it all the stories of the fae said? That they disappeared, that they were snuffed out like a candle’s flame; swift and silent. True enough, many had stories, ideas of how their downfall ensued, and horrific tales of orcs capturing the survivors for… Wicked purposes. But the truth was far less simple than a ‘disappearance’, the truth was messy, saddening. It hurt to look upon, to see destruction of this magnitude.

“What is this… White stuff? Powder? Snow?” Fili spared an incredulous look towards his brother, whose skull, he feared, grew thicker by the day. Down Kili went, bending at his knees into a low crouch, fingertips squirming to answer his own question, but before Fili could personally smack that smooth brain of his back into place - Gandalf whacked the bottom of his staff from the ground upwards with such force that even Fili winced at the thud when it made contact with Kili’s wandering wrist. “Seven hells! What was that for-” “-Quiet, you fool, and do not touch anything.” Gandalf spoke as one might when reprimanding a small child, pronouncing his instructions with just enough patronisation to turn his brother’s ears red - Kili stomped over to him much like he used to do as a very young child, with that slight pout to his lower lip that betrayed his youth, and his hands thrust into his pockets.

“Snow - really, Kee? Does it feel cold enough for snow?” Fili deadpanned, unsympathetic to Kili’s plight - even as his brother made a vaguely flustered, frustrated noise in his throat. More interested was he in quietly observing, and trying to keep a discreet eye on Shae, who had not made noise nor moved for several moments - he saw Gandalf approach cautiously from the corner of his eye. “We’re standing in a fae kingdom - forgive me for questioning how their magic works…” That telltale glint danced through dark brown eyes, a barely concealed smirk pulling the side of Kili’s lip aloft. “...Perhaps I might ask your girlfriend-” His voice rose in pitch, and this time Fili did punch his shoulder, almost tempted to shove him to the ground but, given the circumstances, felt it might be disrespectful to do so.

He pointed over his shoulder towards the faerie, keeping his voice low, “Wrong time and place, unless you fancy continuing until Uncle notices? He’ll smack you so hard that you’ll wake up back in her time.” Fili very briefly snickered at the mental image his words brought to mind - one of Kili stumbling around in a bustling Fae Kingdom, carting around the place like a wild boar free from all supervision. But all amusement he felt faded as quickly as it arrived upon hearing a soft, muffled cry.

Shae visibly buckled as the truth dawned, hand gripping the side of her cheek hard enough to turn her flesh pale as she tried to muffle the sound that escaped her. Her feet stumbled clumsily, knees resisting imminent collapse valiantly as she fell back against Gandalf - who gripped her shoulder and straightened her as best he could at the moment. The noises shifted from that initial cry to panicked, panting breaths, tearing through her lungs in what must have been painful gasps. But her eyes were worst of all - wide, barely blinking, and brimming with- not tears, but shimmery golden-silver dust. It caught in her lower lashes, cascaded down her cheeks, stuck to the grooves between her fingers, and fell upon the white floor like stardust.

It would have been beautiful, were her reaction not haunting in their grief. A grief he could not begin to comprehend. Even if Fae were less attached to one another as Dwarrow - whose communities were linked and as strong as iron chainlinks, where family and kinship meant everything - to lose everything. An entire people, her home reclaimed by nature… To know the genocide she had left behind, to see the arguably tame version of the remains; where, at the least, she was spared recognising each face, knowing each passed figure…

Suddenly, her eyes locked upon something in the near-distance, and, like a wraith, she drifted forwards. He felt reluctant to follow - it felt wrong of them, being here, disturbing these hallowed grounds when they could not share her grief. Certainly, the company collectively seemed to feel regret for the suffering that had happened here, how could they not when they knew well the devastation orcs left in their wake? Though, the only personal connection they had to this mess resided with her - a near-stranger. But… Who else did she have? It felt reprehensible to leave her to deal with all of this alone. He had no particular allegiance with her, and finding someone attractive was hardly a reason to bend over backwards for them and completely forget his own priorities… And yet, he found his instincts steering him forwards, following in her wake.

A long-sword with the blade wedged between the cobbles stood up, impaled between the gaps of large, broad ribs; the mangled mess of fangs, the brutish bones, they all indicated the sword had killed this long-deceased orc. Besides it laid, going by the physical dimensions of Shae, the remains of a faerie - laid upon its front with a crudely made, crumbling axe smashed into its side. The armour it wore had not decayed, the chest plate, though, had split - caved in, ribbons of splintered metal curled around the axe. He thought little of it - a fight to the death, where both opponents had met their end upon the others blade, but Shae’s mouth fell open.

Moving forward far quicker than seemed possible in her current state, the faerie stumbled to a kneel beside her fallen kinsman and the sound that left her… It was only the second time, in all his life, that he had heard such a wail.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another nightmare had plagued the young boy, the kind which left him whimpering, tearful and clinging to his bedsheets; seeking to hide beneath them for comfort. It seemed every night since his father and uncle left, he fell prey to thoughts of terrible beasts and towering giants. Even Kili the babe cries less than me. His mother would always swoop in to chase the shadows away - she never seemed to sleep, not anymore, she had said it was because tiny little babes like Kili never slept. But in the very dead of night, when he was fast asleep, he would feel her scoop him up and carry him into the empty vastness of the big bed - where Ma and Da slept, and where he loved to jump in the wee hours of dawn - she would kiss his golden head, wet his hair with tears, whisper softly to him as though he would listen and respond.

He hadn’t understood why, for he would usually wake up grumpily to Kili squealing away in his cot, and mother telling him to go back to sleep while she hushed the baby. But he knew she felt sad, even when she pretended not to be. Her eyes were sad, even when her mouth tried to smile, and he took it upon himself to give her his biggest hugs, his widest smiles, to impress her by trying to read her favourite tome - she would laugh at his babbles, and that would make him happy; for sometimes, since Da and Uncle left, he felt sad too.

Ma had told him that his Da and Uncle were incredibly brave - that they fought those scary beasts in all the stories, who haunted his dreams, and with their pointy swords and brilliant axes, they laid them all to waste. They had gone away, just for a little while, to keep him, ma, Kili, and everyone in their town safe. Fili knew they would be back soon - he waited by his window every evening as the sun set, looking towards the gravel path which had taken them away from him. He remembered how his Da had turned around to wave him goodbye, axe slung over his back, his golden hair and magnificent beard - the same shade as his - shimmering in the early morning sun. His smile was much larger than his, and Fili hoped he could be as brave as him one day.

But now, while he cried into his feathered pillow; not only did mother not come, but he did not feel brave at all. He calmed himself down after a few minutes, big gulping breaths, shivering though he did not feel cold, he soon took to wiping his wet eyes and runny nose with his deep green woollen blanket. Only then, when his soft sniffs and hiccups settled into breaths, did he hear the voices downstairs. Quiet, at first… “Dìs, please, sit down-” “No, no. I will not sit down, where is my husband? My brother?” Ma’s voice was shaking, though she spoke loudly - she almost sounded as she did when she shouted, angry, but Fili could hear her fear.

Slipping from his bed, tempted to grab his blanket and let it drag along the floor for protection… He soon abandoned it. Warriors did not carry blankets, they carried weapons. While Da and Uncle were away, he would keep his Ma safe, and little Kee; even if his crying was annoying, Fili liked the way his tiny squishy hands gripped his fingers, and the funny way he burped after being fed. So, in his shaky hands which felt far too small for the task, he crept into Ma and Da’s room, and grabbed the fire poker they kept to stoke the fireplace. He left the room, weapon in hand, and no sooner than he did, did he hear a howl.

It was a fearsome sound - a wail so loud and deep that it shook the floorboards beneath his feet. Goosebumps crawled along his arms, his scalp prickled, and his courage momentarily abandoned him. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes, but as the howl descended into heavy, gasping sobs, to desperate cries of pain, he recognised those little cries as those of his Ma.

Had the beasts got to her, were they attacking her with their razor-sharp claws and teeth like knives? His throat felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton, feet rooted into the floorboards - the thought of facing them frightened him far more than the thought of them. But Da would be disappointed in him if he showed cowardice - if he abandoned his Ma to cower in his bed instead. And so, he charged. He descended the stairs as quick as his little feet would allow him, the iron poker heavy in his chubby grip.

The front door swung open to his left, heavy, thundering footsteps rushed inside, Kili wailed from somewhere upstairs; and all Fili could do was swing, with all his might, towards the assailant entering the house.

Only… A hand grabbed it, as easily as if it were a puny twig, sending him off-balance and tumbling down the last step clumsily. Tears flooded his eyes, a scream building in his throat, but somewhere in his wavy vision, he recognised the dark hair, the large nose, the height. It was Uncle. His small face crumpled, bawling, so glad to not find himself doomed. “Uncle, someone’s hurting Ma!” He exclaimed in as loud a cry as his tiny lungs would allow, trying to get to his feet but his legs flopped about, lacking the mobility to rise with ease. To his relief, Uncle scooped him into his strong arms, and Fili did not hesitate to bury his hands in his dark thatch of hair.

“Hush, Irakdashat, nobody is hurting your mother.” His voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating into his own - though the voice was not as confident as it normally sounded. Uncle seemed… Sad. His arms squeezed Fili against him so tight it almost hurt, his words catching in his throat in the same way Fili’s did when he was on the brink of crying. “And this, little one, is very dangerous in small hands.” Changing the subject, Uncle bent to pick up the iron poker. Fili watched as his stormy blue eyes swept between the room his mother was in, where her heart-wrenching sobs continued to swell, and to the staircase, and then to him. He wanted to be with his sister in this moment, but perhaps Fili’s wobbling lip and swimming eyes made him prioritise his nephew first.

“Ah’m sorry, Irak’adad, Ma was screaming like a… Like a wolf, I was scared.” His voice fell to a shaky whisper, whimpering around that firm shoulder as Uncle ascended the stairs. Fili admired his Uncle in the same way he admired Da - only, Uncle was more serious, less inclined to join in with silly games like hide-and-seek or chase, like Da was. But he was strong, honest, and Fili felt a smile or praise from his Uncle was the greatest of rewards. He was forever striving for his approval - and he felt shame, now, admitting he had been afraid. Surely, great warriors charged into battle stone-faced, fear did not touch them for their blades were sharp and their bodies tough. But Uncle… He did not reproach his fear, only sighing, his lower face pressing against the top of Fili’s head. Not quite kissing him there, in the tender way Ma did, but his warm breath was a comfort all the same.

His large hand encompassed Fili’s entire back as his thumb rubbed his shoulder blade, steps pounding against the creaking floorboards in pursuit of his room. “Oh Fili…” Why his voice croaked, the young one did not know, but he whimpered as he awaited a soft, but nonetheless disappointed, scolding. “Listen to me, Fili. To choose to be brave, even when you do feel frightened - that takes the greatest courage of all.” His words, so regal and revered, set Fili’s chest warm. “I am very proud of you, and I know…” Thorin’s voice choked again, and as he set Fili down on his bed and knelt beside him, Fili could see tears in his eyes. “...I know your father was even more so.” His giant hand was shaking as he placed it against his cheek - Fili could only gawk, so surprised by the freely given praise, but all the more shocked to see his Uncle cry. Two tears slid down his cheeks, and Fili raised his hands to wipe them away, a watery smile pulling at his mouth. Could he make Uncle feel better like he did Ma? With the smile that everyone said made him look so much like his Da?

“Where is Da, Uncle?” He asked, and he didn’t know why, but he felt his eyes sting with fresh tears at the look that descended upon his Uncle’s face. Thorin reached into his dirty furs, his dark messy hair shining blue in the silvery moonlight which shone through Fili’s bedroom window, and in his hand laid a small bag. He poured the contents out into his hand, and within his palm laid… Da’s metal hair beads. “These are for you - to share with Kili, when you both come of age.” One was the giant clip Da used to keep his long hair gathered at the back, the four smaller beads he used to keep the two braids on either side of his head contained… And, Fili’s favourite, the smallest two he used to keep a braid on either side of his beard enclosed.

Fili was only young, but he recognised what all of this meant, in his own way. “Oh,” He hummed, unsure whether to sob like Ma or to react in some other way. Was there a proper way to react? He reached to touch the beads reverently - they felt a little warm from being next to Uncle’s chest, and he wetted his lips, looking up into Uncle’s glassy eyes meekly. “Da isn’t coming back, is he?” Whimpering, his voice felt small as he watched Thorin shake his head, and Fili gulped, upset, but full of questions. “D-Does that mean… Do I-” He tried to find the right words, and Uncle waited patiently, “-Do I have to look after Ma and Kili now? Because I… I do not know how-” Fili cried then, unsure if he was capable of such a monumental task. Kili could only squirm and cry, and though Ma was more than capable with a weapon, he wasn’t sure if that wail meant she would be less strong from now on.

“No, Irakdashat, do not worry. It is my responsibility, to look out for my sister, and my sister-sons.” That phrase made Fili’s eyes brim with tears - he would miss his Da, truly, but he now feared his golden hair and warm smile would become more a painful reminder of the dwarf now gone, rather than the cute imitation of his Da. But to think, in a way, he had not lost a father figure; that reassured him. “I promise, all will be well - you may come to me for anything. I know… I know I am not your father, but I made him a vow that I would care for you as though you are my own. Do you understand?” More tears slid down his Uncle’s cheeks, and it pained Fili to see this strong, serious man so impassioned. Everyone seemed to whisper about their crownless king, about how much loss he had seen, the pain he felt.

Fili squirmed to sit up, wrapping his arms around his Uncle’s broad neck, wetting his dark hair with tears, and petting the back of his head. “Thank you, Uncle… I love you.” It did not feel a tough thing to say, especially for a boy who wished nothing more than to be grown and brave and strong, but it did feel the right thing to say. For he did. He loved how steadfast his Uncle was, how he prioritised all around him before himself; he deserved to know he was appreciated. “Does- does this mean I might begin swordtraining?” He was pushing his luck, but in this instance, his Uncle let out a broken, soft laugh against his light hair, pushing him to lay back against his sheets.

“Perhaps when you have grown taller, and less skinny-” He accentuated by digging his hand against Fili’s side, tickling his ribs and prompting a shriek from him - the noise only sent Kili’s cries louder in the next room over, demanding attention. “Now, little one, I must see to that brother of yours, and you must rest - should you wake again, I will be in the guest bedroom… It may be best to leave your Ma tonight, she is safe, but she will be sad for a while.” That made sense, Fili thought, nestling into his sheets obediently and rubbing his cheek against his favourite green blanket, snuggling into the warmth Uncle’s arm left behind when he rose. Thorin strode to the door, posture less tall and proud, but when he smiled towards him, it was a smile warmer than any Fili had seen before. “And Fili…” He mumbled, directing the young one to look at him, “...I love you too, Irakdashat.”

The young dwarfling felt warm, comforted, as his Uncle left the room. His eyes stung at his brief thought, one of never seeing Da again, one of wondering how he was taken away. But then he remembered he would not be alone, that Uncle would take care of them, and his breathing slowed. As Kili’s wails grew softer, and Ma’s wracking sobs turned to soft gasps, Fili found peace in the warmth of his bed.

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It was a memory that seemed blurry to the fully grown dwarf, the details fuzzy through a child’s eyes, but the howl the faerie made? Somehow that was the same; shriller than his mother’s, a half-scream, but the raw pain of it? Equal. Running towards the figure with the split armour, her legs gave out just before they could touch, and so she clawed her way through the stone path - throwing herself over the metal with such force he wondered if she had hurt her chest. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the dreadful axe, pulled it free with little struggle and threw it aside; she had tried to roll him over, so he might lay on his back rather than his front, but the armour proved too heavy for her. And so she lay over him, sobbing loud enough that the noise echoed and bounced between the towers surrounding them.

“Laisren! Laisren, please, no-” The little words she did manage were choked, spluttering on her tongue, and if he hadn’t felt sufficiently sorry for her; this display left him pitying her. She wasn’t even left with skin to kiss, or hair to stroke, all she had to say goodbye to was bones, dust and armour. A few minutes passed, and the sky grew ever-darker, sunlight slipping away as if to mirror her sorrow. None among them knew best what to do; some suggested finding somewhere less… Desolate to make camp, others wondered whether the faerie would find it disrespectful for them to seek the local blacksmith or armoury; see if they could utilise any of the armour or weaponry. And maybe it was him encroaching upon a sensitive matter, but Fili had retained the urge to comfort in times of need from his young years; to turn the darkest times to dim light. It felt wrong to leave her alone.

Slowly, he moved to sit beside her quivering, whimpering form; lightly clearing his throat and wetting his mouth, which suddenly felt dry, before gearing to speak. “Who was he to you?” He asked, gently, trying to keep his voice as soft as it could go nowadays. At first, he thought she hadn’t heard him, or perhaps she simply preferred to be left alone, but just as he went to move away…

“My older brother, though…” More of that strange dust slipped from her eyes, running off the curves of the chest plate like sand; her voice was so quiet he almost couldn’t hear her. “I used to call him my Athair Beag - it means ‘little father’. He was-” She choked, swiping at her eyes, “He was the only one that cared, the only one that understood… He was all I had left to count on.” There was not just grief in her voice for a family member, but despair, one so deep that it chilled him to the core.

“I-” What on earth could he say? He couldn’t very well tell her everything would be okay, could he? Her situation was incomprehensible. How would he cope if he strolled home one day to find Kili slaughtered, all his people gone, most very clearly dead; and on top of that, to not even have the comfort of his own time, of his own place in history. “I’m sorry for your loss, Shae. Would you like me to-” He grimaced slightly, not sure how she might react if he did roll the body over and the skull detached, or if his arm came out the socket, but it was all he had to offer. “-help you roll him over? So he isn’t laid on his front like that?” He hoped he hadn’t offended her in some way, and thankfully she soon nodded.

Moving the hunk of metal and the bones it contained as carefully as one could, thankfully he managed to turn him without disturbing his remains too horrifically. There was only the sound of rib-bones bouncing around in their metal cage, which disturbed him somewhat, but she seemed a little comforted from knowing he was no longer stuck in the position he died. The emblem on the front of the chest plate was beautiful; a lantern, with gilded patterns up the sides, and a flame that looked real within. Shae placed her hand over it, and it was only then that he noticed the shift in her eyes.

An eerie stillness settled over her, and her expression was no longer grieved, not exactly. “Do the orcs still live?” Her voice turned icily calm, the question held no stutter, no quietness, no shakiness. She spoke so matter-of-factly despite the circumstances and her previous state that it felt a touch intimidating. Like the hard swell of air and the overcast sky before a storm. Balin edged closer, and perhaps that was for the best - he was so often the rational elder voice among them. “Well, yes, but-” “-And are they still widespread? Roaming the lands killing innocents - or might I find a majority of them at Mordor?” That edge rose, the glint in her eyes making them appear less like gold, and more like fire.

“I daresay you’d find them in their tens-of thousands there, lass; no army could oppose them, let alone… One of you.” Bofur’s voice rose above the rest, and while Fili knew he meant no offence, the way he looked her up and down, as though to demonstrate how lithe she appeared next to them, must’ve come across as patronising. “And who are you to speak of my capabilities? I have brought an end to creatures you could not even begin to fathom.” Her voice was harsh, her frame rising quick, beginning to march away from the group and the body with determination in her step.

“Have yer seen war, lass? Felt the bloody air of a battlefield? You may be fae, and I ken yer meant to live long, but I can tell young from old clear as day!” Came the thundering voice of Dwalin, who went after her with ease given her shorter gait. Fili joined, as did his Uncle, Kili and Balin; while the others lingered further behind, perhaps a safe distance away. Shae spun her head around, the glare in her eyes enough to tell she had not seen war, and Master Dwalin was quite correct, but she seemed far too stubborn to admit so. “It does not matter - I will see them dead and not buried; I will leave each one to rot, they will suffer. I will destroy every orc I cross paths with until I’m satisfied-” “-Or until you are dead - and you will be long-dead before you step foot in Mordor.” Thorin’s voice came like gravel, but the faerie did not appear fazed. If anything, quite the opposite, for she laughed. “Ah, yes, and death should be a deterrent, for I have so much to live for.” Sarcastic, and more than a little hysterical, the energy coming off of her seemed to crackle the air and stir the wind. It worried him to hear that she valued her life so little with this revelation.

One great push on the large doors of a great hall and open swung the door. At first, it was too dark to see, and he didn’t miss how she paused in her march, stepping back into the fading light, before summoning orbs of light so bright they made sunspots dance in his vision when he gawked. Thankfully, she pushed them away from her, sending them flying into great lanterns hanging from the ceiling; illuminating the room, and- Good Gods. Fili had never entertained the thought of feeling faint when he was otherwise fit and healthy, but his head spun at the sight laid before them. Let alone Uncle, who gasped and cursed in certain disbelief.

On each wall, hoisted two metres or so above the floor, laid skulls; ranging from tiny, a skull the size of a small dog’s head, to the average of the sizes, the size of a horse’s head, to one monster which sat on the opposite end of the hall from the door. So large it was that it took up all the wall-space, from ceiling to floor. Underneath most of the skulls laid weapons and nameplates; some swords, but most long lances and spears, all of ebony and platinum. Teeth glinted menacingly from their stark, preserved, white maws, sharp enough to pierce skin with even the lightest touch. Sharp, angular lines pulled along their cheeks, made all the more dramatic in the contrasting light. Even in death, they seemed to snarl and bellow roars, jaws pinned open - some with lanterns strung to the wall between their maws as if to imitate the glow of a fire. Sharp points and curled horns sprung up from their skulls like great fans; even the tiniest seemed a fearsome foe to meet. They were… Every last one of them… “Dragons.” Kili breathed, and, for once, that assumption was undoubtedly correct.

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You reminded yourself to be grateful, that even though it didn't seem like much, enough time had passed since the battle to reclaim the Lonely Mountain had torn him, his brother and his uncle apart and with each pass of the days they, like Erebor, were being rebuilt piece by piece.

Sleep did not come easily for Fili. The pain that coursed through him prevented any real rest from coming to him, and tonight was no exception.

He stirred in bed, and although he was trying not to wake you, the groans he attempted to strangle down refused to be unheard. You listened to him carefully bring himself to sit on the edge of the bed, pausing as if bracing himself for the surge of agony that would come when he stood.

The mattress sprung up slightly with the absence of his weight, and you shifted to watch him shuffle slowly to the bathing room, his movements cautious in order to not inflict any unnecessary pain.

The hitchy, calculated gait diverted from the swift and smoothly articulated way the young warrior used to move, making a familiar bitterness boil in your stomach.

With a sigh, impatience and anger washed over you and you prayed to Mahal not to delay his healing any longer.

He is still here with you, the wiser voice answered back, mocking you with the alternative fate not chosen for him, the subtle warning making bile rise up your throat. Still, every time you looked upon the marks that decorated Fili's flesh they reminded you how easily they could've taken him away, your heart bleeding out with his as it stained the snow covered rock on Ravenhill.

Water barrelled into the bathtub and soon steam drifted into your room, disturbing the staleness that lingered from years of laying dormant, a hint of fragrant ointments mixed in from the various bottles that adorned the night table. The whispers of heat in the air ghosted across your clammy skin and called for you to leave the loneliness of your bed, the perpetual worry you felt nagging you to go check that this all wasn't a figment of your imagination.

The cold of the stone floor sent a shiver all the way up your back, your hairs standing on end as your feet padded silently over it until you reached the doorway of the bathing room, the warmth coming from it severely contrasting to the chill that cloaked your heart and mind.

Standing against the frame and hidden in the shadows, you watched Fili drop his soiled bandages to the floor unceremoniously, the look on his face expressing his own frustrations of not being granted a more rapid recovery. His muscles flexed wildly in his back as he stepped a leg over the side of the tub, hissing as he ceased his actions as that alone was too much.

Just as you made to go in to assist your One, he took a shaky breath and willed himself onward, hoisting his other leg over the ledge with a guttural roar that echoed off the damp walls.

He paused again, his pain outshining his determination, and stood in the centre of the tub with his eyes screwed shut and head tipped up to the ceiling. Tired muscles flinched beneath torn flesh and his chest heaved in laboured breaths as he sucked in sharply through gritted teeth. Small beads of water pebbled on his face and back, making his skin appear dewy in the faint glimmer of the lantern he had lit. Although he glowed from the way it highlighted him, the layer of moisture wasn't able to disguise any of the bruises that adorned his body, the droplets only accentuating the deep blue, purple and black colours that leaked out under his skin, mimicking ink being spilled into water.

Curses spilled out of his panting mouth when he finally encouraged his broken form to sit in the water, pain still etched over his face as the heat of it lapped at the lacerations on his torso.

Time continued to prevail, but after a few long moments it looked as though Fili began to find a sense of comfort. Only able to see the side of his face from where you stood, you could tell his golden eyelashes were now resting against his ashen cheeks, his brow was less furrowed, and the tendons in his neck were less strained. His arm went slack over the edge of the tub, no longer gripping the side as he waited for relief, and suddenly all was still.

You waited, watching to see if Fili would rub his hand over his face as he so often did, or even reach for his pipe that sat on the table beside the tub since he last used it yesterday, but nothing.

Any patience you did have abandoned you. Panic began to creep up your spine and tears pricked at your eyes, and the same evil that had inflicted this on him whispered doubt in the back of your mind making you desperate to touch him, to check if breath still filled his lungs and blood still flowed through his veins.

As soon as it had come, your worry was whisked away with the next breath Fili took, his chest deflating the air he was holding in a drawn out exhale, his moustache twitching as his lips pursed.

How many times had you lay awake at night, listening to be sure he was still breathing? How many nights had you hovered your hand over his chest, barely touching him, only enough to feel his flaxen curls brush against your palm with each shallow inhalation?

The sudden need to feel him against you was overwhelming, and although you wanted him to sit undisturbed, you were pulled over to him as if his soul was beckoning yours.

Gingerly, your fingertips brushed his arm, careful not to startle him and constantly fearing he would disappear before your very eyes if you were to grip him too tight. Fili didn't flinch, just hummed as your hands made purchase on his aching muscles, a weak smile pulling out his dimples that fought to be seen under the thickening beard that tried to hide them.

His skin felt warm, but you continued to search for proof that he was here, that this was real.

You knelt beside the tub and placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist that hung out of the water, the light throb of his heartbeat drumming against your lips.

You drew in a steadying breath, the scent of his skin overpowering that of the bath salts, and tears began to spill down your cheeks as you nuzzled against him.

"Amrâlimê," he called to you in a strained voice, the low octave of his words vibrating through to your lips that lingered where his pulse thrived.

You couldn't be imagining this, you told yourself. There would be no way you could fabricate the heat of his skin, the sound of his voice, the smell that only he possessed.

His thumb brushed a tear away and you finally summoned the courage to look at him, worried you wouldn't recognize the blue eyes that stared back at you, scared you would look upon him and see the blank, lifelessness of death creeping in on him.

Once again he proved you wrong and the dullness that clouded his eyes broke away as soon as your gaze met his, a tender smile tugging at his lips allowing you to recognize the sparks of vibrancy that were hidden beneath a veil of vulnerability and strife.

Even though a surge of pain ripped through his torso, Fili continued to smile as he leaned toward you to claim your lips. His hand weaved its way through your hair to hold you close to him and he let out a shuddered breath, his bottom lip trembling slightly in his struggle to ignore the torment of his wounds. His grip tightened on the strands of your hair, grasping at you for reprieve, desperate for the solace you brought him.

"Join me," he requested quietly, his breath a whisper on your lips stained with your tears and the wetness from his mouth. "Please," he insisted when he noticed your hesitation, a hopeful look adorning his otherwise wearied face that you couldn't refuse.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Fili chuckled lightly as his other hand that was hot and wet from sitting in the water came up to cup your cheek. "You cannot hurt me, Ghivashel. You are what heals me."

Without another word, you stood and peeled his tunic that you had claimed as yours off your body before stepping delicately into the tub, Fili admiring you with awe and love as you sank into the tepid water. You hugged your knees close to your chest, watching him over your arms that braced them to prevent touching him.

"Closer," he requested, his demand soft.

You shifted nearer, but remained touching only your own body, still terrified that you would inflict pain on him if you did make any sort of firm contact.

His legs stretched out on either side of you, his calves pushing against your lower back to coax you closer despite the movement causing what had quietened to a dull ache to implode into an angry wrath within him.

You knelt between his legs, reaching for his face in an attempt to smooth out the lines caused by agony you thought might stay permanently embedded, wishing you could simply erase what he suffered if not able to adopt it onto yourself instead.

"It's okay, I'm okay," Fili said with little conviction, wrapping his arms around your body to keep you from retreating. "Don't leave, I need you with me," he pleaded, uttering the same words said by you countless times in the earlier days when he lay motionless and hanging on by the thinnest thread of life.

You nodded in response, promising him the world in a simple wordless gesture as you straddled his lap and rested your forehead against his.

You pressed a kiss on the bridge of his nose, moving then to his cheek, your fingers raking through his tousled hair to pull his head against your chest.

All was silent aside from the occasional drip of water, allowing you to listen to the steady sound of his breathing and the gentle thud of his heart pumping with surety.

Your hands roamed his back, your fingertips jumping over the indents and grooves caused by gashes and scars that would forever display his fight with death. It was astounding that a form as strong as his could also be so fragile, that the power he always possessed and made him seem invincible could be stripped away and reduced down to become destructible. He held you tighter in that moment, making you wonder if he could feel the disquiet that surged through you in realizing such harsh truths.

His mouth moved across your chest, tracing your collarbone and the curves of your breasts with his lips and tongue, and the longer you embraced and explored each other the more vigor bloomed in Fili. You could feel him harden beneath you, proving to you even more that he refused to let time cause him to be unbound from you any longer. His hands slipped under your bum to encourage you to lift yourself off of his lap enough to guide his shaft into you, your breath stuttering out in a cry as you lowered back down onto him.

He looked at you with wide, honest eyes, his fingers brushing over the skin on your face as you took in the overwhelming sensation of him.

"Do you believe I'm here, now?" he asked, taking your hand and placing it over his heart while he undeniably filled you, your bodies tethered along with your souls.

His heartbeat resonated through your palm despite the thickness of his chest, his flesh and blanket of hair unable to shield it from you. What else could be more intimate, you wondered. To feel his pulse, to be able to contact the very part where his heart throbs and circulates blood, proving that it is flowing life through him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as air fills his lungs.

Your hands traveled up his neck and held either side of his face, his beard soft against them as you captured his lips with yours, sighing into him as the reminders of his brush with death began to fade. Each kiss and caress continued to convince you of his presence, and your own heart clenched as it beat in time with his, finally allowing itself to believe his existence.

Death would not kiss him today, for only you would steal the breath off his lips.

Remaining unmoving, you sat with him encased in you, safe and unyielding, now wishing for time to stand still and to let you and Fili live in this moment for eternity.

The life you sought to find revived in him was beginning to restore itself, slowly revealing its ability to shed the ropes of mortality that bound him for long enough, ones that clung on in waiting to drag him away forever.

Inhaling him with each breath you drew, your chin rested on top of his head while he buried his face into your neck, and you placed a kiss on his invisible crown as he melted into you more.

Time was cruel, you thought again, and for the first time since being in Erebor you begged for it to slow its unforgiving pace.

———

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The prompt for this month's challenge is: "Have you no regrets?"

Here are some rules → ↳ due date is January 31st ↳ write for whichever Tolkien character/ship you want ↳ the prompt has to be included in your story, and it cannot be changed ↳ there is no word limit, but for stories longer than 500, please use the "read more link" ↳ theme of your story is entirely up to you ↳ stories featuring smut MUST be tagged appropriately (NSFW) ↳ make sure you tag properly in general ( angst, character death etc) ↳ when posting, tag it "maeve's january tolkien prompt challenge", you can also tag me if that's easier for you ↳ if you have any questions, don't be afraid to send me an ask ↳ all submissions will be made into a masterlist after the month is done ↳ the most important rule though, is to have as much fun as possible. be creative, be crazy, write what inspires you and makes you happy! Happy writing!

Good luck, and have fun! Icon Credit: @moonblairr I've taken inspiration from @hellotvshowtrash's challenges as they've always seemed so fun!

Yet, even now, perhaps thousands of years past her time, there was still no vacancy for weakness within her. No time for wavering, for cowering, for fearing. No, never for her. Too much rested upon her skinny shoulders. The crown of her people had never so much as touched her pale locks, not while her mother drew breath, and yet already the weight of it was felt all too keenly. Being chosen as heir had shaped her from the willful slip of a girl with a head full of adventures and dreams. It had made her thick-skinned, powerful, resigned to the position she was expected to fill… Or so she told herself.

Long gone were the times when she imagined herself as a daring adventurer, or a sharp-tongued foreign diplomat… Or even those long-abandoned thoughts, the impossible dreams, the simple girl with a simple little house, unrestricted to find her soul connection; to fall in love without trepidation, to let that love course through her veins and envelop her entirely; to have someone love her, not for the crown assigned to her head or the prettiness of her face, but for the quality of her soul.

But dreams did not matter, not in the end - they could not spring to life and challenge reality. It mattered not what she wanted, only what she was predesignated to become. To be that shining, perfect princess her people had seen, to carry all their burdens and fears with reverence and thoughtful silence - even when her lungs ached to scream - and, truly, she loved her people enough to try. To give away all thoughts of what she might want, to set aside her own personal hopes for that dreaded ‘duty’ she heard so much about. To hold fast with her loyal family members and publicly renounce her traitorous older sister - the power-hungry, delusional Philomena, for her various crimes and twisted ambition…

To pretend it did not break her heart to watch her leave, banished, never to be seen again. And more fool her for the tears she had cried over her, for how she had grieved long into the night her loss as keenly as though she had died - her loyalty was misplaced. For even after she had witnessed her sister return, setting hordes of orcs upon her kingdom, Shae could only despise her traitorous heart for the hint of familial affection it clung to - all would be better if she could only be harder, more keenly fell hatred, if only she were more like her mother.

Thinking upon it all was not especially helpful, it was procrastination in its purest form, that much she could admit. If she could think it, she could manifest it into relevance; spark the hope that lived in her chest that she was right. That the company she kept was ignorant of her people and her ways, that they were mistaken - or worse, maliciously pulling her leg. A part of her hoped the stream would never end, that she could forever walk along its tiny bank and evade whatever reality awaited her. Whether that manifested itself as a desolate graveyard or a return to the mundane. And though it was selfish of her, and she didn’t dare allow the cold thought to linger in her head, she couldn’t help considering what fate was worse. Death, destruction and freedom, or preservation, life and chains.

“Hungry?” The voice came from so close to her side that the tip of one of her fine, white shoes caught against a rock, almost sending her reeling into the stream in surprise, if not for the hand that gripped her forearm. The dwarves had kept to themselves - mumbling and talking out of her proximity, and sometimes in phrases she could not understand. Gandalf had been closest to her, attempting to answer questions Bilbo had tried to ask quietly - though he rather failed. Either she had been very deep in her thoughts, or Fili was more stealthy than he came across. “Careful - the others will think I’ve taken to knocking you around, otherwise.” It was a joke, she realised, catching the mirth dancing in his deep blue orbs. It struck her as a bit odd, the familiarity with which he spoke to her - especially while his companions looked upon her with varying degrees of suspicion. But as she righted herself and sent a pointed look towards the hand still encasing her forearm, he seemed to get the hint, releasing her all-too-quickly.

Remembering his reason for interrupting her thoughts, her eyes fell downcast - lingering on the wrapped bundle he held gently. “Is that a peace offering?” Her voice came out colder than she intended and seeing how that seemed to take him back, she remedied her tone with a small smile. Shae didn’t blame him personally for what had happened back in the cave - they acted in self-defence, and were both working from instinct. But she was a sore loser, as much as she loathed to admit so. She prided herself in her independence, in her ability, and since she was the one with a sore arse and the back of her dress covered in… What she sincerely hoped was mud, but the recurring scent of troll told her she may not be so fortunate. Since when had trolls formed caves so close to Ghilemaer? Still, she would be a fool to look unkindly upon simple kindness.

“Not exactly. I merely thought, after being encased in crystal for any amount of time, that I’d be ravenous. Thought it better to offer you food freely, lest you try and fight me for it.” That earned a humoured huff from her, lip curling just a little, in spite of her precarious situation. As demonstrated previously with Bofur - she believed that was his name - blurting out all of her kind were dead, none-too-gently, not all dwarves possessed even half this one’s way with words, and sincere or otherwise, she found that endeared her to him. It didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes - with bright fair features, a charming crooked smile, and arms which had felt very… solid. But she was not stupid enough to mistake a harmless attraction and simple kindness as a basis for complete trust. It hurt not to flirt, though. She took the little wrapped parcel, smiling gratefully before casting her eyes ahead briefly. Not long now.

“Do you believe fighting my only means to obtain what I want?” Shae asked, voice playful, happier to place the ugliness of her awakening further behind her. Hopefully to place this entire ordeal behind her - and it pleased her to see her words render the blonde dwarf’s eyebrows raised, a deep chuckle rumbling through his broad chest. “But I thank you for the food - I’ll need my strength-” Thoughtfully adding, her eyes followed as a giant of a dwarf pawed his holstered weapon at her words, causing an insolent roll of her amber eyes. “-for granting you all sight to behold my kingdom. It would be a drain on my magic at the best of times, let alone to conduct upon a company this size. That and my mother will have my hide for letting so many of you in.” Wincing, she did not linger on thoughts of the vicious Queen Seraphine and the wrath she might extend towards even her heir, and instead unfolded the sheepskin cloth containing her meal.

And calling it a meal was being generous, she soon realised. A few strips of smoked… Rabbit? A clump of cheese with edges that were hardening by the minute, and, thankfully, a light green apple. “I… presume it’s edible for you?” Fili asked, the uncertainty in his voice poignant. Was he asking whether fae ate normal food? “Did you think faeries eat only the finest dripping sweet honeycombs and sugared fruit?” She replied, being more than a little patronising as she took a confident bite into the strip of meat - and no sooner than the taste hit her tongue, she was enveloped in a sudden, and very urgent, hunger.

“All I know of your kind is myth and folklore - and actually, some supposed the fae did not need to… Eat.” His pause was no doubt a result of her, very impolitely, shovelling the rations down her gullet with no stop to taste. It felt as though the lining of her stomach was trembling and twisting with a pang of hunger so violent she had to stop walking to prevent herself from being sick. The apple imposed some self-control, seeing as she could hardly swallow that whole, but oh gods, it was the finest thing to ever part her lips, or so it seemed.

The skin crisp and sour, the flesh sharp but sweet, filled with juice, setting her tastebuds alight like an inferno through a dry forest; she groaned audibly at one point, halfway through her crunching, and if this company somehow hadn’t found her strange before, no doubt they would now. Shaeleign flushed in that deep russet heat she could feel more than see, clearing her throat and wiping her wet lips with the back of her hand. “Or perhaps the fae are especially fond of apples?” That deep voice beside her came out teasing, and she could hear the smirk behind it - it did little to quell the warmth of her face.

“I…” Starting softly, the words died upon her dusky lips, seeing the streams end draw to its end. Excusing herself from the all-of-a-sudden embarrassing conversation with a surprisingly meek ‘thank you for the food’, she quickened her gait to join the front of the group - amber eyes wide and owlish as her mind tried to process the sight before her.

It was the grand gate - taller than any of the trees in this forest, made entirely from intricately carved beams of an ancient oak, with thin lines of moonstone and silver smoothed into the grooves; in its glory, it had shone in both sunlight and moonlight like an oaken star. And yet, her mouth and throat grew dry as sand, as she took in the splintered beams, the rammed-in scattered planks of sacred wood - the gate was less of a gate, and more a frame, littered with splinters, decaying leaves, with pieces of moonstone and silver glinting among the rubble. The orcs had rammed the gate when they infiltrated Ghilemaer, this she knew well; but yet… Repairing the entrance would have been a priority. For it to be in this condition…

Her eyes stung and hurt, it took mustering all her strength to prevent that sand-like substance from spilling from her so-called tear ducts. “There’s nothing here!” One dwarf, somewhere in the middle of the group, cried out. It took her a moment to remember what they would have seen. The grand gate was surrounded by a long, natural-stone wall that curved into a jagged, unsymmetrical circle around the perimeter of the kingdom; for ‘outsiders’, it looked as though that wall was far taller, less straight, until the illusion turned the kingdom into a large hill. A hill that not only appeared ordinary but felt as such, too. Granting ‘sight’ did not exclusively allow someone to see Ghilemaer, but also to interact with anything within its walls.

Tearing her sore gaze away, she took a deep, steadying breath. “Right, who wants to go first?” While none among the dwarves retreated cowardly, none appeared overly enthusiastic to be the first in line. Impatiently, she sighed, and after rolling her eyes, she drew her gaze upon Gandalf. “You claim to be no stranger to magic - perhaps I could start with you?” To her relief, the wizard moved towards her, while the dwarves continued to mutter uncertainly.

“-And if she harms him? Having a wizard among us is our greatest advantage-” “Aye, I’d take him out first if I were her.” Shae ignored their words as best as she could, gesturing for the grey man looming above her to kneel. Even then, she had to strain to reach his face. All fell silent as she felt that familiar flow through her arm - only, rather than her magic manifesting itself as an invisible barrier; this time it glowed. It was as if she’d plucked a single ray of sunshine and rolled it into a ball - a miniature sun. Drifting a mere inch from the wizard’s forehead, the light beckoned forward at her will, slowly, until her hand pressed the light between her hand and Gandalf’s wrinkled forehead. “Are you hurt, Mister Gandalf?” A yell came from the youngest dwarf among them, one of concern, but Gandalf only had a rumble of a laugh escape his mouth as he opened his eyes.

“Oh, not a bit, it rather tingled, and I dare say it’s made my eyes keener.” Gandalf rose faster than she expected, hand rubbing at her wrist as if she could soothe the drain of her magic. It worked much like any other natural resource - if one bled from a papercut, the drain was felt less than if one bled after being stabbed. Her power worked similarly, and she imagined granting sight upon each member of the company would feel much like fifteen tiny cuts in the same place. Shae may not have even felt such a thing, had she been at her full strength. As Gandalf whirled around, remarking the gate with eyes full of wonder, mouth open a crack.

“Convinced I won’t kill you now? I didn’t have you lot pegged as cowards, but-” She started, but felt it best to quiet when the leader of the dwarves came before her, those stormy blue-grey orbs remarking her with impressive impassiveness. “Very well, faerie, do what you must.” The dwarves fell in line after their leader - and, much to her relief, if they wondered about the state of the entrance to her kingdom, they kept it amongst themselves and didn’t bombard her with questions she could not answer.

Towards the end she was feeling woozy - but with only four left she felt rather too stubborn to stop. Somehow the Durin brothers had ended up near the back of the line, with only the hobbit fidgeting anxiously behind them, and they were seemingly or perhaps jokingly bickering over who should go first. “-Aye, it doesn’t surprise me that you’d prefer to be close to the back, you’re after more alone time with-” The dark-haired one started, before erupting into raucous laughter at Fili’s hard shove to his chest. “-Shut it, Kili, the only reason you want to be close to the back is because you’re frightened.” Fili’s voice rose higher into a very unflattering tone at that last word - but Kili smirked all the same as he cut in front of him right as the very rotund dwarf she had been casting upon moved away.

“You know, I’m the youngest in my family - but I don’t believe I’m half as annoying as you seem.” It sounded like an insult, but the amusement in her tone was plain, and both the brothers had a laugh. Kili took a little longer if only because staying still for even a moment proved to be a challenge for him, and Fili seemed to take great joy in shoving him aside before he’d properly opened his eyes.

As her palm hovered before his head, light flitting and flickering akin to a candle in the wind, she noticed he had not shut his eyes like his kin; he was staring at the light with such… awe. Awe was not something she was unaccustomed to, but there was something so pure in those eyes, she almost did not notice his hand moving up to touch the little orb of magic. Not a big deal - he would find that the orb did not hold a temperature, in fact, he would likely feel nothing from it - it was like trying to touch sunshine, or moonlight reflecting from a lake. But then, the strangest sensation came over her, like a finger tracing down her spine - something shivery and light-headed as his index finger circled the orb. It was not customary to feel something, truly, she could not recall a single moment where she had felt a touch quite like it. The only thing she could compare it to was fingertips just tracing the baby hairs of her skin, raising goosebumps in their tickling, sensitive path.

“Would- could you not do that, please? And I need you to close your eyes.” Stuttering and tripping over her words like some silly teenage girl, she rendered in a soft, composing breath, watching as Fili seemed to come to his senses. “Oh, my apologies.” He rumbled, clearing his throat, and she wondered if he was flushed under that tawny beard. Still, he did as she bid, and soon she was pressing the light to him in a swift farewell. Until there was only Bilbo left, and the hobbit was rather tolerant of the whole thing - considering how twitchy and unsure he had seemed before.

Feeling even less steady on her feet, the young faerie did not relish in the thought of moving through that rubbled gate and facing what awaited her. Dread bubbled in her stomach, and her feet felt rooted into the earth below. Bravery, or delusion, propelled her forwards, strengthened her will against the whisperings and, worst of all, the sympathetic looks cast towards her. The faerie truly cursed the hand that landed upon her shoulder - and it surprised her to see Thorin, the leader of this company, belonging to that hand. “You are certain you wish to enter?” For even this man, who suspected her most with so many under his charge, to ask that question with a softness to his gaze she had not yet seen; he knew what to expect, and perhaps wished to spare her a difficult sight. But she steeled herself, lifted her chin high, pride coated her too thick for her own good.

“They are my people - come what may, I will be with them.” Shae tried to sound courageous, but her voice cracked, choked with emotion she refused to let spill. Marching on, she climbed the rubble, walked through the frame, and…

The first thing she noticed was the deafening silence. It was quieter than the kingdom felt in the dead of night, with no ceremonies or special events - when very few were awake. Shae could hear the breeze whistle between the silver glinted buildings that had lost their shine, the bubbling of the stream which leaked through a tiny barred gap in the wall, and a sudden flapping of feathered wings and the distressed calls of a jackdaw as her presence startled it.

Vegetation sprouted everywhere; trees had matured into unmaintained heights, their roots unearthing the stone pathways from flat and smooth, to bumpy and unpractical. Thick ivy coated all the buildings with such ferocity, it was a wonder she could make out any of the glittering surfaces. Pillars had crumbled, the stream had eroded away its fae-made barriers, spilling down upon a green garden and onto a pathway - coating everything in a thin surface of slimy algae. Long, beautiful vines clung from the supporting beams between structures, and the smell was even more pungently earthy than the scent of the forest outside.

The sight was hauntingly beautiful, so utterly bittersweet, that her heart ached and pounded in her chest, and her legs nearly gave out entirely when she climbed a short set of uneven steps - beholding it all with a stranger's eyes. It was then she saw it - the white dust which covered the stonework in the entrance square, it had wormed its way beneath the grooves like mud. At first, she wondered, naively, what it could be; but then her eyes noticed a bone, a bone so crumbled and old it was a miracle it was still intact at all. Then a caved-in skull… And with a gasp so tight it made her lungs feel as though someone had gripped them, she fell back against a dusty, ivy wall; eyes filling and spilling with that silvery-golden dust, so aptly named ‘fairy dust’, that she realised she was utterly surrounded by the biggest horde of faerie dust ever known. That ‘white dust’ was ancient remains - ancient remains of her people, whose bodies had rotted and decorated these streets for aeons - no burial, no beautiful funeral pyre, only her, her abject horror, and a fury building inside her so all-consuming, it turned the dust red under her gaze.

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Yet, even now, perhaps thousands of years past her time, there was still no vacancy for weakness within her. No time for wavering, for cowering, for fearing. No, never for her. Too much rested upon her skinny shoulders. The crown of her people had never so much as touched her pale locks, not while her mother drew breath, and yet already the weight of it was felt all too keenly. Being chosen as heir had shaped her from the willful slip of a girl with a head full of adventures and dreams. It had made her thick-skinned, powerful, resigned to the position she was expected to fill… Or so she told herself.

Long gone were the times when she imagined herself as a daring adventurer, or a sharp-tongued foreign diplomat… Or even those long-abandoned thoughts, the impossible dreams, the simple girl with a simple little house, unrestricted to find her soul connection; to fall in love without trepidation, to let that love course through her veins and envelop her entirely; to have someone love her, not for the crown assigned to her head or the prettiness of her face, but for the quality of her soul.

But dreams did not matter, not in the end - they could not spring to life and challenge reality. It mattered not what she wanted, only what she was predesignated to become. To be that shining, perfect princess her people had seen, to carry all their burdens and fears with reverence and thoughtful silence - even when her lungs ached to scream - and, truly, she loved her people enough to try. To give away all thoughts of what she might want, to set aside her own personal hopes for that dreaded ‘duty’ she heard so much about. To hold fast with her loyal family members and publicly renounce her traitorous older sister - the power-hungry, delusional Philomena, for her various crimes and twisted ambition…

To pretend it did not break her heart to watch her leave, banished, never to be seen again. And more fool her for the tears she had cried over her, for how she had grieved long into the night her loss as keenly as though she had died - her loyalty was misplaced. For even after she had witnessed her sister return, setting hordes of orcs upon her kingdom, Shae could only despise her traitorous heart for the hint of familial affection it clung to - all would be better if she could only be harder, more keenly fell hatred, if only she were more like her mother.

Thinking upon it all was not especially helpful, it was procrastination in its purest form, that much she could admit. If she could think it, she could manifest it into relevance; spark the hope that lived in her chest that she was right. That the company she kept was ignorant of her people and her ways, that they were mistaken - or worse, maliciously pulling her leg. A part of her hoped the stream would never end, that she could forever walk along its tiny bank and evade whatever reality awaited her. Whether that manifested itself as a desolate graveyard or a return to the mundane. And though it was selfish of her, and she didn’t dare allow the cold thought to linger in her head, she couldn’t help considering what fate was worse. Death, destruction and freedom, or preservation, life and chains.

“Hungry?” The voice came from so close to her side that the tip of one of her fine, white shoes caught against a rock, almost sending her reeling into the stream in surprise, if not for the hand that gripped her forearm. The dwarves had kept to themselves - mumbling and talking out of her proximity, and sometimes in phrases she could not understand. Gandalf had been closest to her, attempting to answer questions Bilbo had tried to ask quietly - though he rather failed. Either she had been very deep in her thoughts, or Fili was more stealthy than he came across. “Careful - the others will think I’ve taken to knocking you around, otherwise.” It was a joke, she realised, catching the mirth dancing in his deep blue orbs. It struck her as a bit odd, the familiarity with which he spoke to her - especially while his companions looked upon her with varying degrees of suspicion. But as she righted herself and sent a pointed look towards the hand still encasing her forearm, he seemed to get the hint, releasing her all-too-quickly.

Remembering his reason for interrupting her thoughts, her eyes fell downcast - lingering on the wrapped bundle he held gently. “Is that a peace offering?” Her voice came out colder than she intended and seeing how that seemed to take him back, she remedied her tone with a small smile. Shae didn’t blame him personally for what had happened back in the cave - they acted in self-defence, and were both working from instinct. But she was a sore loser, as much as she loathed to admit so. She prided herself in her independence, in her ability, and since she was the one with a sore arse and the back of her dress covered in… What she sincerely hoped was mud, but the recurring scent of troll told her she may not be so fortunate. Since when had trolls formed caves so close to Ghilemaer? Still, she would be a fool to look unkindly upon simple kindness.

“Not exactly. I merely thought, after being encased in crystal for any amount of time, that I’d be ravenous. Thought it better to offer you food freely, lest you try and fight me for it.” That earned a humoured huff from her, lip curling just a little, in spite of her precarious situation. As demonstrated previously with Bofur - she believed that was his name - blurting out all of her kind were dead, none-too-gently, not all dwarves possessed even half this one’s way with words, and sincere or otherwise, she found that endeared her to him. It didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes - with bright fair features, a charming crooked smile, and arms which had felt very… solid. But she was not stupid enough to mistake a harmless attraction and simple kindness as a basis for complete trust. It hurt not to flirt, though. She took the little wrapped parcel, smiling gratefully before casting her eyes ahead briefly. Not long now.

“Do you believe fighting my only means to obtain what I want?” Shae asked, voice playful, happier to place the ugliness of her awakening further behind her. Hopefully to place this entire ordeal behind her - and it pleased her to see her words render the blonde dwarf’s eyebrows raised, a deep chuckle rumbling through his broad chest. “But I thank you for the food - I’ll need my strength-” Thoughtfully adding, her eyes followed as a giant of a dwarf pawed his holstered weapon at her words, causing an insolent roll of her amber eyes. “-for granting you all sight to behold my kingdom. It would be a drain on my magic at the best of times, let alone to conduct upon a company this size. That and my mother will have my hide for letting so many of you in.” Wincing, she did not linger on thoughts of the vicious Queen Seraphine and the wrath she might extend towards even her heir, and instead unfolded the sheepskin cloth containing her meal.

And calling it a meal was being generous, she soon realised. A few strips of smoked… Rabbit? A clump of cheese with edges that were hardening by the minute, and, thankfully, a light green apple. “I… presume it’s edible for you?” Fili asked, the uncertainty in his voice poignant. Was he asking whether fae ate normal food? “Did you think faeries eat only the finest dripping sweet honeycombs and sugared fruit?” She replied, being more than a little patronising as she took a confident bite into the strip of meat - and no sooner than the taste hit her tongue, she was enveloped in a sudden, and very urgent, hunger.

“All I know of your kind is myth and folklore - and actually, some supposed the fae did not need to… Eat.” His pause was no doubt a result of her, very impolitely, shovelling the rations down her gullet with no stop to taste. It felt as though the lining of her stomach was trembling and twisting with a pang of hunger so violent she had to stop walking to prevent herself from being sick. The apple imposed some self-control, seeing as she could hardly swallow that whole, but oh gods, it was the finest thing to ever part her lips, or so it seemed.

The skin crisp and sour, the flesh sharp but sweet, filled with juice, setting her tastebuds alight like an inferno through a dry forest; she groaned audibly at one point, halfway through her crunching, and if this company somehow hadn’t found her strange before, no doubt they would now. Shaeleign flushed in that deep russet heat she could feel more than see, clearing her throat and wiping her wet lips with the back of her hand. “Or perhaps the fae are especially fond of apples?” That deep voice beside her came out teasing, and she could hear the smirk behind it - it did little to quell the warmth of her face.

“I…” Starting softly, the words died upon her dusky lips, seeing the streams end draw to its end. Excusing herself from the all-of-a-sudden embarrassing conversation with a surprisingly meek ‘thank you for the food’, she quickened her gait to join the front of the group - amber eyes wide and owlish as her mind tried to process the sight before her.

It was the grand gate - taller than any of the trees in this forest, made entirely from intricately carved beams of an ancient oak, with thin lines of moonstone and silver smoothed into the grooves; in its glory, it had shone in both sunlight and moonlight like an oaken star. And yet, her mouth and throat grew dry as sand, as she took in the splintered beams, the rammed-in scattered planks of sacred wood - the gate was less of a gate, and more a frame, littered with splinters, decaying leaves, with pieces of moonstone and silver glinting among the rubble. The orcs had rammed the gate when they infiltrated Ghilemaer, this she knew well; but yet… Repairing the entrance would have been a priority. For it to be in this condition…

Her eyes stung and hurt, it took mustering all her strength to prevent that sand-like substance from spilling from her so-called tear ducts. “There’s nothing here!” One dwarf, somewhere in the middle of the group, cried out. It took her a moment to remember what they would have seen. The grand gate was surrounded by a long, natural-stone wall that curved into a jagged, unsymmetrical circle around the perimeter of the kingdom; for ‘outsiders’, it looked as though that wall was far taller, less straight, until the illusion turned the kingdom into a large hill. A hill that not only appeared ordinary but felt as such, too. Granting ‘sight’ did not exclusively allow someone to see Ghilemaer, but also to interact with anything within its walls.

Tearing her sore gaze away, she took a deep, steadying breath. “Right, who wants to go first?” While none among the dwarves retreated cowardly, none appeared overly enthusiastic to be the first in line. Impatiently, she sighed, and after rolling her eyes, she drew her gaze upon Gandalf. “You claim to be no stranger to magic - perhaps I could start with you?” To her relief, the wizard moved towards her, while the dwarves continued to mutter uncertainly.

“-And if she harms him? Having a wizard among us is our greatest advantage-” “Aye, I’d take him out first if I were her.” Shae ignored their words as best as she could, gesturing for the grey man looming above her to kneel. Even then, she had to strain to reach his face. All fell silent as she felt that familiar flow through her arm - only, rather than her magic manifesting itself as an invisible barrier; this time it glowed. It was as if she’d plucked a single ray of sunshine and rolled it into a ball - a miniature sun. Drifting a mere inch from the wizard’s forehead, the light beckoned forward at her will, slowly, until her hand pressed the light between her hand and Gandalf’s wrinkled forehead. “Are you hurt, Mister Gandalf?” A yell came from the youngest dwarf among them, one of concern, but Gandalf only had a rumble of a laugh escape his mouth as he opened his eyes.

“Oh, not a bit, it rather tingled, and I dare say it’s made my eyes keener.” Gandalf rose faster than she expected, hand rubbing at her wrist as if she could soothe the drain of her magic. It worked much like any other natural resource - if one bled from a papercut, the drain was felt less than if one bled after being stabbed. Her power worked similarly, and she imagined granting sight upon each member of the company would feel much like fifteen tiny cuts in the same place. Shae may not have even felt such a thing, had she been at her full strength. As Gandalf whirled around, remarking the gate with eyes full of wonder, mouth open a crack.

“Convinced I won’t kill you now? I didn’t have you lot pegged as cowards, but-” She started, but felt it best to quiet when the leader of the dwarves came before her, those stormy blue-grey orbs remarking her with impressive impassiveness. “Very well, faerie, do what you must.” The dwarves fell in line after their leader - and, much to her relief, if they wondered about the state of the entrance to her kingdom, they kept it amongst themselves and didn’t bombard her with questions she could not answer.

Towards the end she was feeling woozy - but with only four left she felt rather too stubborn to stop. Somehow the Durin brothers had ended up near the back of the line, with only the hobbit fidgeting anxiously behind them, and they were seemingly or perhaps jokingly bickering over who should go first. “-Aye, it doesn’t surprise me that you’d prefer to be close to the back, you’re after more alone time with-” The dark-haired one started, before erupting into raucous laughter at Fili’s hard shove to his chest. “-Shut it, Kili, the only reason you want to be close to the back is because you’re frightened.” Fili’s voice rose higher into a very unflattering tone at that last word - but Kili smirked all the same as he cut in front of him right as the very rotund dwarf she had been casting upon moved away.

“You know, I’m the youngest in my family - but I don’t believe I’m half as annoying as you seem.” It sounded like an insult, but the amusement in her tone was plain, and both the brothers had a laugh. Kili took a little longer if only because staying still for even a moment proved to be a challenge for him, and Fili seemed to take great joy in shoving him aside before he’d properly opened his eyes.

As her palm hovered before his head, light flitting and flickering akin to a candle in the wind, she noticed he had not shut his eyes like his kin; he was staring at the light with such… awe. Awe was not something she was unaccustomed to, but there was something so pure in those eyes, she almost did not notice his hand moving up to touch the little orb of magic. Not a big deal - he would find that the orb did not hold a temperature, in fact, he would likely feel nothing from it - it was like trying to touch sunshine, or moonlight reflecting from a lake. But then, the strangest sensation came over her, like a finger tracing down her spine - something shivery and light-headed as his index finger circled the orb. It was not customary to feel something, truly, she could not recall a single moment where she had felt a touch quite like it. The only thing she could compare it to was fingertips just tracing the baby hairs of her skin, raising goosebumps in their tickling, sensitive path.

“Would- could you not do that, please? And I need you to close your eyes.” Stuttering and tripping over her words like some silly teenage girl, she rendered in a soft, composing breath, watching as Fili seemed to come to his senses. “Oh, my apologies.” He rumbled, clearing his throat, and she wondered if he was flushed under that tawny beard. Still, he did as she bid, and soon she was pressing the light to his head. Soon, there was only Bilbo left, and the hobbit was rather tolerant of the whole thing - considering how twitchy and unsure he had seemed before.

Feeling even less steady on her feet, the young faerie did not relish in the thought of moving through that rubbled gate and facing what awaited her. Dread bubbled in her stomach, and her feet felt rooted into the earth below. Bravery, or delusion, propelled her forwards, strengthened her will against the whisperings and, worst of all, the sympathetic looks cast towards her. The faerie truly cursed the hand that landed upon her shoulder - and it surprised her to see Thorin, the leader of this company, belonging to that hand. “You are certain you wish to enter?” For even this man, who suspected her most with so many under his charge, to ask that question with a softness to his gaze she had not yet seen; she knew that they all knew what they would find. She steeled herself, lifted her chin.

“They are my people - come what may, I will be with them.” Shae tried to sound courageous, but her voice cracked, choked with emotion she refused to let spill. Marching on, she climbed the rubble, walked through the frame, and…

The first thing she noticed was the deafening silence. It was quieter than the kingdom felt in the dead of night, with no ceremonies or special events - when very few were awake. Shae could hear the breeze whistle between the silver glinted buildings that had lost their shine, the bubbling of the stream which leaked through a tiny barred gap in the wall, and a sudden flapping of feathered wings and the distressed calls of a jackdaw as her presence startled it.

Vegetation sprouted everywhere; trees had matured into unmaintained heights, their roots unearthing the stone pathways from flat and smooth, to bumpy and unpractical. Thick ivy coated all the buildings with such ferocity, it was a wonder she could make out any of the glittering surfaces. Pillars had crumbled, the stream had eroded away its fae-made barriers, spilling down upon a green garden and onto a pathway - coating everything in a thin surface of slimy algae. Long, beautiful vines clung from the supporting beams between structures, and the smell was even more pungently earthy than the scent of the forest outside.

The sight was hauntingly beautiful, so utterly bittersweet, that her heart ached and pounded in her chest, and her legs nearly gave out entirely when she climbed a short set of uneven steps - beholding it all with a stranger's eyes. It was then she saw it - the white dust which covered the stonework in the entrance square, it had wormed its way beneath the grooves like mud. At first, she wondered, naively, what it could be; but then her eyes noticed a bone, a bone so crumbled and old it was a miracle it was still intact at all. Then a caved-in skull… And with a gasp so tight it made her lungs feel as though someone had gripped them, she fell back against a dusty, ivy wall; eyes filling and spilling with that silvery-golden dust, so aptly named ‘fairy dust’, that she realised she was utterly surrounded by the biggest horde of faerie dust ever known. That ‘white dust’ was ancient remains - ancient remains of her people, whose bodies had rotted and decorated these streets for aeons - no burial, no beautiful funeral pyre, only her, her abject horror, and a fury building inside her so all-consuming, it turned the dust red under her gaze.

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Yet, even now, perhaps thousands of years past her time, there was still no vacancy for weakness within her. No time for wavering, for cowering, for fearing. No, never for her. Too much rested upon her skinny shoulders. The crown of her people had never so much as touched her pale locks, not while her mother drew breath, and yet already the weight of it was felt all too keenly. Being chosen as heir had shaped her from the willful slip of a girl with a head full of adventures and dreams. It had made her thick-skinned, powerful, resigned to the position she was expected to fill… Or so she told herself.

Long gone were the times when she imagined herself as a daring adventurer, or a sharp-tongued foreign diplomat… Or even those long-abandoned thoughts, the impossible dreams, the simple girl with a simple little house, unrestricted to find her soul connection; to fall in love without trepidation, to let that love course through her veins and envelop her entirely; to have someone love her, not for the crown assigned to her head or the prettiness of her face, but for the quality of her soul.

But dreams did not matter, not in the end - they could not spring to life and challenge reality. It mattered not what she wanted, only what she was predesignated to become. To be that shining, perfect princess her people had seen, to carry all their burdens and fears with reverence and thoughtful silence - even when her lungs ached to scream - and, truly, she loved her people enough to try. To give away all thoughts of what she might want, to set aside her own personal hopes for that dreaded ‘duty’ she heard so much about. To hold fast with her loyal family members and publicly renounce her traitorous older sister - the power-hungry, delusional Philomena, for her various crimes and twisted ambition…

To pretend it did not break her heart to watch her leave, banished, never to be seen again. And more fool her for the tears she had cried over her, for how she had grieved long into the night her loss as keenly as though she had died - her loyalty was misplaced. For even after she had witnessed her sister return, setting hordes of orcs upon her kingdom, Shae could only despise her traitorous heart for the hint of familial affection it clung to - all would be better if she could only be harder, more keenly fell hatred, if only she were more like her mother.

Thinking upon it all was not especially helpful, it was procrastination in its purest form, that much she could admit. If she could think it, she could manifest it into relevance; spark the hope that lived in her chest that she was right. That the company she kept was ignorant of her people and her ways, that they were mistaken - or worse, maliciously pulling her leg. A part of her hoped the stream would never end, that she could forever walk along its tiny bank and evade whatever reality awaited her. Whether that manifested itself as a desolate graveyard or a return to the mundane. And though it was selfish of her, and she didn’t dare allow the cold thought to linger in her head, she couldn’t help considering what fate was worse. Death, destruction and freedom, or preservation, life and chains.

“Hungry?” The voice came from so close to her side that the tip of one of her fine, white shoes caught against a rock, almost sending her reeling into the stream in surprise, if not for the hand that gripped her forearm. The dwarves had kept to themselves - mumbling and talking out of her proximity, and sometimes in phrases she could not understand. Gandalf had been closest to her, attempting to answer questions Bilbo had tried to ask quietly - though he rather failed. Either she had been very deep in her thoughts, or Fili was more stealthy than he came across. “Careful - the others will think I’ve taken to knocking you around, otherwise.” It was a joke, she realised, catching the mirth dancing in his deep blue orbs. It struck her as a bit odd, the familiarity with which he spoke to her - especially while his companions looked upon her with varying degrees of suspicion. But as she righted herself and sent a pointed look towards the hand still encasing her forearm, he seemed to get the hint, releasing her all-too-quickly.

Remembering his reason for interrupting her thoughts, her eyes fell downcast - lingering on the wrapped bundle he held gently. “Is that a peace offering?” Her voice came out colder than she intended and seeing how that seemed to take him back, she remedied her tone with a small smile. Shae didn’t blame him personally for what had happened back in the cave - they acted in self-defence, and were both working from instinct. But she was a sore loser, as much as she loathed to admit so. She prided herself in her independence, in her ability, and since she was the one with a sore arse and the back of her dress covered in… What she sincerely hoped was mud, but the recurring scent of troll told her she may not be so fortunate. Since when had trolls formed caves so close to Ghilemaer? Still, she would be a fool to look unkindly upon simple kindness.

“Not exactly. I merely thought, after being encased in crystal for any amount of time, that I’d be ravenous. Thought it better to offer you food freely, lest you try and fight me for it.” That earned a humoured huff from her, lip curling just a little, in spite of her precarious situation. As demonstrated previously with Bofur - she believed that was his name - blurting out all of her kind were dead, none-too-gently, not all dwarves possessed even half this one’s way with words, and sincere or otherwise, she found that endeared her to him. It didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes - with bright fair features, a charming crooked smile, and arms which had felt very… solid. But she was not stupid enough to mistake a harmless attraction and simple kindness as a basis for complete trust. It hurt not to flirt, though. She took the little wrapped parcel, smiling gratefully before casting her eyes ahead briefly. Not long now.

“Do you believe fighting my only means to obtain what I want?” Shae asked, voice playful, happier to place the ugliness of her awakening further behind her. Hopefully to place this entire ordeal behind her - and it pleased her to see her words render the blonde dwarf’s eyebrows raised, a deep chuckle rumbling through his broad chest. “But I thank you for the food - I’ll need my strength-” Thoughtfully adding, her eyes followed as a giant of a dwarf pawed his holstered weapon at her words, causing an insolent roll of her amber eyes. “-for granting you all sight to behold my kingdom. It would be a drain on my magic at the best of times, let alone to conduct upon a company this size. That and my mother will have my hide for letting so many of you in.” Wincing, she did not linger on thoughts of the vicious Queen Seraphine and the wrath she might extend towards even her heir, and instead unfolded the sheepskin cloth containing her meal.

And calling it a meal was being generous, she soon realised. A few strips of smoked… Rabbit? A clump of cheese with edges that were hardening by the minute, and, thankfully, a light green apple. “I… presume it’s edible for you?” Fili asked, the uncertainty in his voice poignant. Was he asking whether fae ate normal food? “Did you think faeries eat only the finest dripping sweet honeycombs and sugared fruit?” She replied, being more than a little patronising as she took a confident bite into the strip of meat - and no sooner than the taste hit her tongue, she was enveloped in a sudden, and very urgent, hunger.

“All I know of your kind is myth and folklore - and actually, some supposed the fae did not need to… Eat.” His pause was no doubt a result of her, very impolitely, shovelling the rations down her gullet with no stop to taste. It felt as though the lining of her stomach was trembling and twisting with a pang of hunger so violent she had to stop walking to prevent herself from being sick. The apple imposed some self-control, seeing as she could hardly swallow that whole, but oh gods, it was the finest thing to ever part her lips, or so it seemed.

The skin crisp and sour, the flesh sharp but sweet, filled with juice, setting her tastebuds alight like an inferno through a dry forest; she groaned audibly at one point, halfway through her crunching, and if this company somehow hadn’t found her strange before, no doubt they would now. Shaeleign flushed in that deep russet heat she could feel more than see, clearing her throat and wiping her wet lips with the back of her hand. “Or perhaps the fae are especially fond of apples?” That deep voice beside her came out teasing, and she could hear the smirk behind it - it did little to quell the warmth of her face.

“I…” Starting softly, the words died upon her dusky lips, seeing the streams end draw to its end. Excusing herself from the all-of-a-sudden embarrassing conversation with a surprisingly meek ‘thank you for the food’, she quickened her gait to join the front of the group - amber eyes wide and owlish as her mind tried to process the sight before her.

It was the grand gate - taller than any of the trees in this forest, made entirely from intricately carved beams of an ancient oak, with thin lines of moonstone and silver smoothed into the grooves; in its glory, it had shone in both sunlight and moonlight like an oaken star. And yet, her mouth and throat grew dry as sand, as she took in the splintered beams, the rammed-in scattered planks of sacred wood - the gate was less of a gate, and more a frame, littered with splinters, decaying leaves, with pieces of moonstone and silver glinting among the rubble. The orcs had rammed the gate when they infiltrated Ghilemaer, this she knew well; but yet… Repairing the entrance would have been a priority. For it to be in this condition…

Her eyes stung and hurt, it took mustering all her strength to prevent that sand-like substance from spilling from her so-called tear ducts. “There’s nothing here!” One dwarf, somewhere in the middle of the group, cried out. It took her a moment to remember what they would have seen. The grand gate was surrounded by a long, natural-stone wall that curved into a jagged, unsymmetrical circle around the perimeter of the kingdom; for ‘outsiders’, it looked as though that wall was far taller, less straight, until the illusion turned the kingdom into a large hill. A hill that not only appeared ordinary but felt as such, too. Granting ‘sight’ did not exclusively allow someone to see Ghilemaer, but also to interact with anything within its walls.

Tearing her sore gaze away, she took a deep, steadying breath. “Right, who wants to go first?” While none among the dwarves retreated cowardly, none appeared overly enthusiastic to be the first in line. Impatiently, she sighed, and after rolling her eyes, she drew her gaze upon Gandalf. “You claim to be no stranger to magic - perhaps I could start with you?” To her relief, the wizard moved towards her, while the dwarves continued to mutter uncertainly.

“-And if she harms him? Having a wizard among us is our greatest advantage-” “Aye, I’d take him out first if I were her.” Shae ignored their words as best as she could, gesturing for the grey man looming above her to kneel. Even then, she had to strain to reach his face. All fell silent as she felt that familiar flow through her arm - only, rather than her magic manifesting itself as an invisible barrier; this time it glowed. It was as if she’d plucked a single ray of sunshine and rolled it into a ball - a miniature sun. Drifting a mere inch from the wizard’s forehead, the light beckoned forward at her will, slowly, until her hand pressed the light between her hand and Gandalf’s wrinkled forehead. “Are you hurt, Mister Gandalf?” A yell came from the youngest dwarf among them, one of concern, but Gandalf only had a rumble of a laugh escape his mouth as he opened his eyes.

“Oh, not a bit, it rather tingled, and I dare say it’s made my eyes keener.” Gandalf rose faster than she expected, hand rubbing at her wrist as if she could soothe the drain of her magic. It worked much like any other natural resource - if one bled from a papercut, the drain was felt less than if one bled after being stabbed. Her power worked similarly, and she imagined granting sight upon each member of the company would feel much like fifteen tiny cuts in the same place. Shae may not have even felt such a thing, had she been at her full strength. As Gandalf whirled around, remarking the gate with eyes full of wonder, mouth open a crack.

“Convinced I won’t kill you now? I didn’t have you lot pegged as cowards, but-” She started, but felt it best to quiet when the leader of the dwarves came before her, those stormy blue-grey orbs remarking her with impressive impassiveness. “Very well, faerie, do what you must.” The dwarves fell in line after their leader - and, much to her relief, if they wondered about the state of the entrance to her kingdom, they kept it amongst themselves and didn’t bombard her with questions she could not answer.

Towards the end she was feeling woozy - but with only four left she felt rather too stubborn to stop. Somehow the Durin brothers had ended up near the back of the line, with only the hobbit fidgeting anxiously behind them, and they were seemingly or perhaps jokingly bickering over who should go first. “-Aye, it doesn’t surprise me that you’d prefer to be close to the back, you’re after more alone time with-” The dark-haired one started, before erupting into raucous laughter at Fili’s hard shove to his chest. “-Shut it, Kili, the only reason you want to be close to the back is because you’re frightened.” Fili’s voice rose higher into a very unflattering tone at that last word - but Kili smirked all the same as he cut in front of him right as the very rotund dwarf she had been casting upon moved away.

“You know, I’m the youngest in my family - but I don’t believe I’m half as annoying as you seem.” It sounded like an insult, but the amusement in her tone was plain, and both the brothers had a laugh. Kili took a little longer if only because staying still for even a moment proved to be a challenge for him, and Fili seemed to take great joy in shoving him aside before he’d properly opened his eyes.

As her palm hovered before his head, light flitting and flickering akin to a candle in the wind, she noticed he had not shut his eyes like his kin; he was staring at the light with such… awe. Awe was not something she was unaccustomed to, but there was something so pure in those eyes, she almost did not notice his hand moving up to touch the little orb of magic. Not a big deal - he would find that the orb did not hold a temperature, in fact, he would likely feel nothing from it - it was like trying to touch sunshine, or moonlight reflecting from a lake. But then, the strangest sensation came over her, like a finger tracing down her spine - something shivery and light-headed as his index finger circled the orb. It was not customary to feel something, truly, she could not recall a single moment where she had felt a touch quite like it. The only thing she could compare it to was fingertips just tracing the baby hairs of her skin, raising goosebumps in their tickling, sensitive path.

“Would- could you not do that, please? And I need you to close your eyes.” Stuttering and tripping over her words like some silly teenage girl, she rendered in a soft, composing breath, watching as Fili seemed to come to his senses. “Oh, my apologies.” He rumbled, clearing his throat, and she wondered if he was flushed under that tawny beard. Still, he did as she bid, and soon she was pressing the light to his head. Soon, there was only Bilbo left, and the hobbit was rather tolerant of the whole thing - considering how twitchy and unsure he had seemed before.

Feeling even less steady on her feet, the young faerie did not relish in the thought of moving through that rubbled gate and facing what awaited her. Dread bubbled in her stomach, and her feet felt rooted into the earth below. Bravery, or delusion, propelled her forwards, strengthened her will against the whisperings and, worst of all, the sympathetic looks cast towards her. The faerie truly cursed the hand that landed upon her shoulder - and it surprised her to see Thorin, the leader of this company, belonging to that hand. “You are certain you wish to enter?” For even this man, who suspected her most with so many under his charge, to ask that question with a softness to his gaze she had not yet seen; she knew that they all knew what they would find. She steeled herself, lifted her chin.

“They are my people - come what may, I will be with them.” Shae tried to sound courageous, but her voice cracked, choked with emotion she refused to let spill. Marching on, she climbed the rubble, walked through the frame, and…

The first thing she noticed was the deafening silence. It was quieter than the kingdom felt in the dead of night, with no ceremonies or special events - when very few were awake. Shae could hear the breeze whistle between the silver glinted buildings that had lost their shine, the bubbling of the stream which leaked through a tiny barred gap in the wall, and a sudden flapping of feathered wings and the distressed calls of a jackdaw as her presence startled it.

Vegetation sprouted everywhere; trees had matured into unmaintained heights, their roots unearthing the stone pathways from flat and smooth, to bumpy and unpractical. Thick ivy coated all the buildings with such ferocity, it was a wonder she could make out any of the glittering surfaces. Pillars had crumbled, the stream had eroded away its fae-made barriers, spilling down upon a green garden and onto a pathway - coating everything in a thin surface of slimy algae. Long, beautiful vines clung from the supporting beams between structures, and the smell was even more pungently earthy than the scent of the forest outside.

The sight was hauntingly beautiful, so utterly bittersweet, that her heart ached and pounded in her chest, and her legs nearly gave out entirely when she climbed a short set of uneven steps - beholding it all with a stranger's eyes. It was then she saw it - the white dust which covered the stonework in the entrance square, it had wormed its way beneath the grooves like mud. At first, she wondered, naively, what it could be; but then her eyes noticed a bone, a bone so crumbled and old it was a miracle it was still intact at all. Then a caved-in skull… And with a gasp so tight it made her lungs feel as though someone had gripped them, she fell back against a dusty, ivy wall; eyes filling and spilling with that silvery-golden dust, so aptly named ‘fairy dust’, that she realised she was utterly surrounded by the biggest horde of faerie dust ever known. That ‘white dust’ was ancient remains - ancient remains of her people, whose bodies had rotted and decorated these streets for aeons - no burial, no beautiful funeral pyre, only her, her abject horror, and a fury building inside her so all-consuming, it turned the dust red under her gaze.

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“Plug yer noses, breathe through yer mouths, and quit yer fretting! Bloody spoilt wee princesses, not known a day of true hard work-” Gloin’s head came poking through the darkness, red-hair briefly illuminated in the pale yellow light of the morning. Fili felt a clever retort clinging to his tongue, one weighing whether looting a cave previously occupied by mountain trolls qualified as ‘hard work’ - he for one did not see the point. Perhaps he was more easily convinced away from such endeavours by the rumbling of his belly and the soreness of his eyes from a missed night’s sleep - but on the other hand, his pride reared its head at the description of ‘spoilt’ - he was certainly not coddled. Had Gloin ever met his mother? If he and Kili had been playful and carefree thus far, it was merely because they had needn’t fear their mother’s temper and her will of iron on this journey. As much as he cared for (and, admittedly between himself and Kee, missed) their mother, she, at times, seemed scarier than the tall tales of orcs, goblins and trolls told in their youth to keep young dwarflings quaking in their bedsheets.

As though to prove precisely how unspoilt he was, his feet marched ahead - fearlessly, he imagined. Though the image of him pinching his nose and breathing through his mouth was perhaps less regal to those outside himself. “Come, brother, unless you’re too fearful.” His voice honked, nasally from his pinched nostrils, before he chose to remove his fingers and attempt to adjust to the stench - noticing how Kili came bounding into the cave, eager to prove his courage - or, again, stupidity - Fili thought with a slight smirk.

The cave was remarkably unextraordinary in appearance. Great congealed mounds of hideous brown and maroon - piled high enough to make Fili idly wonder how the trolls physically managed to get their crap to touch the ceiling. The reek was terrible enough to make the air in the cave feel balmy, like a sweaty summer’s day, as opposed to the typical damp cold stone walls such as these held. The flies which buzzed and crawled along the walls, floors and rugged ceiling of the hole did nothing to dispel the feeling of heat, and decay, and death. Bones of various humanoid creatures and animals littered the floors, picked clean apart from the odd dangling piece of skin. Much to his disgust, the blonde-haired prince trod on what he could only assume, given the long hair and flabby pink skin, was a piece of human scalp - that was enough to turn even his steel-clad stomach. “Apparently there is a creature who keeps their quarters messier than even you, Kili. I shall have to inform our mother.” Fili jabbed, watching with mirth as his brother’s face turned into light-hearted offence.

Before Kili could retort, Thorin spoke up. “A troll cave is no laughing matter - think on what your fate could have been if luck had not been on our side.” With that, Fili’s mirth shrank, and a more serious eye upon the bones and waste and junk filling the space made him realise that they could just as easily have joined the ranks of these lost souls. Only Fili would not call it luck so much - rather a quick-thinking hobbit and a conveniently timed wizard - still, he felt it best not to correct his uncle if his current mood was any indication of how well that would be appreciated. Instead, the dwarven prince moved closer to their leader, watching with a keen eye as Thorin pulled a wrapped weapon covered in a sticky, thick layer of cobwebs, followed by another, from within what might have been a weapons display rack in another life. Now, it looked like metal so rusted that a touch might have disintegrated it, mangled and curled almost to beyond recognition.

On the other side of the cave, Bofur, Gloin and Nori were setting about burying a small chest of shimmering golden coins for safekeeping - “We’re makin’ a long-term deposit!” Gloin exclaimed, no doubt as a response to Dwalin’s stoic, almost unreadable expression. Fili would say his look was one bordering on exasperation, but one never could tell with Dwalin. Fili was far more interested in the blades - while Gandalf said they were Elven, a fact which had his uncle perturbed and hesitant, Fili could not help but admire the craftsmanship of one dagger in particular. Wiping it free of cobwebs with the back of his sleeve, admiring the silver curve of the hilt, he pulled the wrappings away and almost felt his eyes gleam at the sharp edge of the blade, the slight curve to it which promised a beautiful cut. At that moment, he decided he didn’t mind much if it was forged by elves. Surely, it would serve better tucked away for him to use; than left to rot in some stinking cave. It wasn’t like he lacked blades, mind - but what was one more? He still had plenty of hiding places in mind.

Thorin turned to leave, unsatisfied with staying for much longer, and truly, Fili did not fancy loitering about for much longer. But something, right in the very corner of his peripheral vision, glinted in the light his uncle’s torch cast when he moved. It was a split second, but that second was enough to fill him with curiosity. “Wait, just a moment - what is that?” Even he could hear the perplexed tone to his voice, his outstretched finger pointing into the darkness at the very back of the cave. Watching where he stepped, Fili relied on the torch of Thorin, hot on his heels, to guide his way. Right behind another tower of steaming substances, the very edge of the… thing, must have glinted in the light. But what was it, he wondered.

It was not unlike a crystal - but one so massive, so much larger than any he had ever seen, that surely it could not be possible. Large enough that their hobbit could have laid flat on his back and stretched his arms as far behind his head as possible, and only then would that have made the length of it. The width was equally as impressive, if Fili had to guess, it was about as wide as both of his arms if he attempted to wrap himself around it. It was a strange colour, too. He had never seen a crystal of light turquoise before, and to see the puzzled, awed expressions on the faces of the elder dwarves who were crowding around the corner (who, quite frankly, were far more knowledgeable on such matters than he) told him he wasn’t far wrong.

“I have never- not in all my years, not even in great Erebor, seen a gem of such magnitude… Such a thing can't come from the earth!” Balin stumbled over his words, more than taken aback, and though Fili felt… Frightened? To touch it, his legs moved forward as though he was bewitched. It was a feeling like jumping into a lake when one was unable to swim, knowing he could sink beneath the water like a rock, but desiring to feel the cold and the wet upon his skin all the same. Perhaps he was more shaken up from the troll incident than he thought, for perhaps he’d gone mad, but the prince swore the crystalised walls of the gem pulsed with energy? It radiated something. His hand fell upon it, and he shouldn’t have been surprised that nothing happened, but he was all the same. Slightly warm to the touch, his hand felt thick with dirt, dust and cobwebs upon the surface. Sweeping his hand across, casting a streak which revealed the gem was a thousand shades of blue, green and white. Fili stood, utterly transfixed, dumbstruck - and about to lean in closer to get a better look-

“Come away! Get back!” Suddenly, there was Gandalf, and his large arm was pushing against his chest and shoving him back - and had he not been half as strong as he was, he would have fallen right on his arse from the force of it, but thankfully he managed to catch himself before he fell - or crashed into the tower of solidified troll shit. The wizard touched the gem, before retracting his hand and muttering something even he could not hear, and he was closest. “-It cannot be… It is not possible.” Fili eventually caught some of Gandalf's quiet mumbles, the words then sending his eyes searching the equally confused glances of the company.

“Gandalf? What is this folly, what is that? A gem?” His uncle broke the silence after a near minute passed off only the wizard’s whispers. To which Gandalf the Grey, cryptically, placed his hand upon the streak his own had cleared moments ago. “This is no gem, Thorin Oakenshield, something far more... Exceptional. A fossil, undoubtedly, a creature long dead. But the casing is not natural. It has power to it - magic, magic beyond the likes I have seen.” Gandalf’s words struck a chord, erupting a chorus of muttering among the dwarves. When Fili thought of fossils, his mind was cast to shells and the tiny bones of extinct creatures embedded in rock. Or perhaps to the perfectly preserved giant dragonfly in amber, which he recalled the inn closest to his childhood home displayed above the bar. The crystal before them did not resemble either of those things, not to him. Those things had felt dead, so dead that they became objects of fascination - curiosities for one to ogle at. Whether it was magic, as Gandalf said, or something else, he felt his palm tingle at the memory of the warmth that surface had held.

Against his better senses, Fili removed his overcoat of furs - brandished it before him, and wiped it up and down the ‘fossil’ to clear it of debris, bracing a hand along the edge near the top as he removed the now filthy furs, taking a look within before Gandalf could even think to stop him. And what he saw beggared belief. It was female - that much was abundantly obvious by the ornate gown that may have been silver, white, or a light blue. It was hard to say for sure with the crystal being coloured cold; turning all to a wispy blob - bigger in some refractions and smaller in others, she appeared to float among her frozen world. But what she was, he could not say. Fili has never seen anything like her.

His first instinct would have been to call her elven with her lithe frame and light hair. But that hair, long and coiled, appeared even lighter than the white-blonde of some elves, even in the blue-light - he imagined it would look like unspoilt, crisp snow, like moonlight’s glow, free from her prison. That, and she was far shorter than the typical elf - taller than Bilbo, but shorter still than Balin. Her ears stretched into a finer, thinner tip than elves from what he could see; like a honey-toned short dagger. In truth, her complexion was so warm - like honey in a jar, or the sun-kissed maidens said to reside south where the light was warm and bronzing. Truly, she may have been the most beautiful maiden he had ever set eyes upon. He could well have mistaken her for Varda Elentari, the Queen of the Valar and Lady of the Stars - whom the elves were said to worship as a Goddess. Such was his surprise that the hand he had used upon the top of her diamond coffin to brace himself slipped, the sharp edge catching and slashing his palm clean open.

His blood dripped in fat, heavy droplets down the surface of light blue, his palm stung hot and angry and throbbing as he stumbled back. Assessing the damage, he turned his head towards the others; all of whom were staring, not at him, but at the mass before them. And looking himself, he felt his own eyes turn to the size of dinner plates. Mahal above. A crack, about the size of his hand, had bloomed from where he cut his hand - and down it went, breaking and splintering along the trail of his blood. It was as though it was not solid crystalised amber after all, but ice cracking under the heat of fresh blood. His pupils followed the crack with such anticipation when it reached the floor, creating the tiniest of drops against the floor, that he nearly flew out of his skin when the entire thing shattered. A million aquamarine diamonds crashed to the floor, clattering and bouncing, as the figure they had held within equally collapsed into a heap.

It was stupid - truly and utterly thick-skulled of him - to have shot forward to grab the dead maiden as he did. As if she could have been alive and felt pain from crashing to the floor - but, touching her, scooping her away from the crystal which crunched beneath his feet like broken glass, light as she was it was like lifting a sack of flour… it dawned him too late that her body was limp, flaccid - she had ought to have been stiff as a board, rigid and dead and forever frozen in the preserved pose she had held for who knew how many years. He should have dropped her then and there, he saw his uncle surge forward from where he and the company had been… Frozen? Perhaps too shocked to move, or unable to? And when he looked back down at the woman, her eyelids were not closed with those darker eyelashes curling off the top of her cheeks, but open. And they were gold, a mixture of yellow topaz and golden coins, and there was something cold, hard and sharp pressed against the thin skin at his neck.

She… Pulled the elven dagger from where it had sat at the side of his breeches and had pressed it right against his neck. What was wrong with him, that he was more impressed than concerned that after, what, a few thousand years? The first instinct of this woman was to steal his weapon and hold him hostage with it. “Càit a bheil mi? Cò th 'annad? Bruidhinn - no gearraidh mi thu fosgailte!” Fili did not understand a word she said, she spoke in a language likely far forgotten - but her voice, while aggressive and provoked, was akin to the twinkling of a harp; musical, light and accented, it was unlike any spoken word he had ever heard, and he was dumbstruck. Even more so when the members of his company surged forward, only to be stopped, as though an invisible barrier stood between them - with a glance down, he saw her free palm outstretched toward them.

“I- I cannot understand-” The others could not proceed, but all the same Gandalf called out, stunted and clumsy - attempting to converse with the woman - though even he, with his knowledge, seemed to struggle with speaking what was likely an ancient language. “A bheil thu a ’bruidhinn an teanga cumanta?” The woman cast a look towards the wizard, not relenting in her pressure upon his throat, before turning her fiery gaze back towards him.

“Where… Is this? What time? Who…” Her voice trailed into a whisper. Initially, Fili thought her grasp on the common tongue was poor, and she was unable to express what she meant to say, but then he saw it. The outstretched arm was trembling - which hardly astonished Fili. How anything could even be alive, let alone up and attempting to fight, moved far beyond anything he knew to be real. Whatever she was, she had to be weak - she had to be using everything she had to prevent the company from reaching him. Taking advantage of the weakness he had only speculated, he very suddenly dropped his arms, and from the shock that crossed her face, perhaps she had been too focused on offence and answers to think of what or who was keeping her aloft. Though the knife was now away from his throat, and her hand had fallen; the dwarf could not help wondering if he had done a wicked thing. The creature had collapsed, a single streak of red blood running from her left nostril - her mouth drowned of colour such that he wondered if she were dead.