💜whats up its gummy💜

Balin

Two of the elder dwarves sat side by side a ways off from the fire, two brothers deep in conversation. Balin leaned in a little closer toward Dwalin's low voice, firelight flickering off the latter's shaven skull as he uttered more Khuzdul. You shouldn't have, but a string of words you caught had you shifting closer under the guise of laying your stack of kindling. From behind their seated position, you gathered a full sentence from Balin. "I think Thorin is far too hard on the others. The wizard said there is no finer." "You just saw the lass and think there is no finer," Dwalin shot back. "Watch your tongue, you old..." Now there was a Khuzdul term your studies had not availed to you. "She may be a vision, but there's no need to speak of her so." Again, that perhaps you shouldn't rose to your mind, but you ignored the protests from the back of your brain and stood. "Worry not," you replied, habitually resorting to Khuzdul, "I find that very sweet." Bellows of laughter echoed from Dwalin, whose knuckle dusters echoed off his armored lap with a two-handed slap of amusement. "Forgive me, lass, really, I..." Balin returned to your common tongue, apologizing profusely yet stopping abruptly. "My, that's brilliant! This must be what Gandalf meant when he said you were a scholar. Any other surprises for us?" "If there were," you shot back with a teasing half-smile, "they would no longer be if I showed you, now would they?"

Dwalin

At first, Beorn had barely grudged your traveling party entry to his cottage. Now he had fetched basins and his strongest lye soap and even gave up some polish. For you, he had emphasized, but of course the moment the man turned his massive back on you you’d handed it off. Dwalin was sat at your side, removing his knuckle dusters to give them a scrub now that Grasper and Keeper were clean. It occurred to you then and only then you’d never seen his hands bare, caught sight of the ink across his knuckles, fingers, even the backs. The writing did not shock you, though: in fact, it brought you a little chuckle. “I like your battle cry,” you told him. Bewilderment crossed his surly features until you nodded down at his working hands. Dwalin’s frown at that was deep, though this time his eyes sparkled with no frustration. Recognition. “How do you know these runes, lassie? Didn’t take you for one of us.” “I would not claim to be,” you admitted, “I know your words only thanks to my grandmother. Her father was a trader in Dale.” “Ah.” A slow, gear-turning nod. “I- I am sorry.” “Apologize not. You were there,” you reminded him, laying your hand over his, “Nothing I could say makes a shred of difference. I can only hope to fight for you again and again. To the end.”

Thorin

The king’s glaring only earned him a similar look from you in response. What had you done? Nothing. Naught but walk amongst him and his kin, fight alongside them and even save them from those accused cliffs. And there Thorin was unable to see past your and Bilbo’s skin as he condescended to you both with remarks that you did not belong. The dripping rain, the weight of your journey and the faces in your mind’s eye for whom you fought, pulled you down deeper and deeper. “Come, now,” Balin attempted to reason with the petulant king and even his own brother in their native tongue, “This has been a trying evening.” “Have they not all been trying evenings?” Thorin shot back. “What would these two know of our lives, our years of struggle after everything was stolen for us? They should never have come. What reason have they to fight for us? Boredom?” Energy surged back into your sopping wet form, bounding you up onto your booted feet. “Your ignorance blinds you!” You shouted at him with just as much venom. “My mothers are dwarves! They were there, Thorin. They took me in from a village who had done the same for them after my parents were slaughtered by orcs. I was but a baby. They were little girls forced to watch their parents burn. You think I heard no tales? You think this means nothing to me but a game? I would follow anyone if it meant bringing my mothers home, you or any one of these fine dwarrow and if that means nothing to you, perhaps I should ask why you want to rule so badly. Boredom?” Thorin’s stare was icy as ever, though its poison dribbled away. He said nothing, only fixing you with piercing blue you refused to back down from. “I…my apologies,” he finally spoke, returning to the common tongue, “I never realized. Would have never guessed… That is a noble cause. I should not have doubted you.” He spoke no more, but as he strode to the other side of the cave, peeling off this thickest outer layer, he reached out a hand and clapped it to your shoulder, holding it just a moment. The weight of his touch bore a new contract, a sign of equality between you two.

Oin

Pain lanced your leg, traveling down as though it were in your very veins. Kili helped Gandalf lay you down on the bedroll Oin and Gloin unfolded, careful not to let the arrow embedded in your thigh so much as brush ground or cushion. A grunt escaped you as your back made contact and your legs were settled back down. Everyone winced. None of this was reassuring. Kili and Gandalf left you in the brothers’ care at that. “Is it bad?” You panted up to the healer, whose dark eyes widened at your words. “‘S not exactly good,” he ventured a joke, patting your shoulder gently, “But I’ve seen far worse. May I…?” His gaze and one hand hovered over your trousers. You nodded, and he worked with precision to remove them around the arrow. “We need to work fast to prevent an infection,” Oin commanded his brother, switching to Khuzdul, “Bloody thing went deep, the poor girl. Give her some clove oil and willow, she’ll need it.” “Infection?” You spluttered, coughing and wincing at the pain of your sudden motion and the dryness that struck your throat. Even wider brown eyes met you that time. “You weren’t supposed to understand that, lass! What’s the big idea?” “Tell that to my dwarf nanny if I live,” you fired back, “But now is not the time!” “Right you are, lassie,” Oin replied, nodding and accepting his brother’s offered remedies with a new respect in his eyes.

Gloin

“Come on, off with it. I promise I’ve done it a hundred times.” Gloin’s auburn brows furrowed, then his expression relaxed again. “I know you would probably rather your brother do this, but Thorin was hurt rather badly and I told him to attend to the king first.” Nodding slowly, Gloin peeled off his jacket and made to unlace his tunic. “I respect that, lassie. I’m just used to the way Oin does things. He told me you’ve a lot of new methods.” “New methods he signed off on, I will have you know! This is the best way to prevent infection,” you fired back, laying the dwarf on his chest and running a wet cloth over his bleeding wound, “Unless you’d rather keep your pride intact than your shoulder blade?” “Smart girl,” you heard Gloin mutter from his supine state. “I am,” you replied smugly, making your own linguistic switch and rubbing a healthy dose of your next solution over the wound, “aren’t I?” “Now wait just a damn minute!” Returning to your native tongue, Gloin started to flail as if to rise, but you clapped a firm hand over his back and took up your needle and thread. The wound was as numb as it would ever be. “Where in Mahal’s name did that come from?” “My lips, friend,” you teased, still smiling as you drew your thread in and out of the gash, closing the flesh, “but if you mean when did I learn Khuzdul, let me just say that your lovely brother is not the first dwarven healer I’ve worked with. Nor you my first client of the same people. How was that for a distraction, though? You’re all sewn up already.” Gloin readily took your hand when you offered it, eyes positively glittering up at you with new sight as he rose.

Bifur

“You might have some trouble with that one.” Bofur was helping you get to know everyone as you stopped for your first night of the journey, names and faces spinning in your head. You loved Gandalf dearly and his trust was a blessing, but what had he gotten you into? Naught but the opportunity of a lifetime, really, the chance to prove yourself in ways you never thought possible. At least you were fair with names. “Your cousin, no? Why? Should I be afraid?” Being a woman among men was never a light undertaking. Gandalf and Bilbo would never let harm come your way, but still. Principles went a long way, and you really were going a long way with this lot. “Not at all!” Bofure quickly assuaged your worries, waving gloved hands. “Ever since his injury, he’s just not quite right is all. Can’t remember half the words he once knew. May not be able to speak to you in this tongue.” “That is fine by me,” you replied, waving him off and turning to the cousin in question, “Tell me, how did you get such a battle scar if I may know?” Bifur’s eyes positively lit up and a smile like you’d never seen crossed his face. “Who are you that speaks like we?” “The wizard chose me for a reason,” you explained, “And I this quest. I may not look it too much, but I am half-dwarven myself. Never have I met so many of my kind as now.” Still grinning, Bifur patted the space at his side, urging you to scoot closer. “Let me tell you a story of a real warrior.” With a grin yourself at the way he preened, you urged him to share it all.

Bofur

“So he says ‘If you say that in front o’ my wife again, I’ll throw ye out!’ but what does that lummox do?” Bofur’s stories were the best: wild, hilarious, and full of songs, gestures, and voices his talents were beyond capable of bringing to life. “He keeps going! Took four men to hoist him up and toss him out the door!” Laughter exploded around the hatted dwarf, who grinned with gusto. Bofur’s energy, those twinkling hazel eyes, all of it was infectious. A great wonderful cake of joy you wanted a big slice of. Standing up at his side, you readied a story of your own. “And this was in Bree? How did I miss it? Well, though, all of that reminds me of a tavern I was at near the Blue Mountains. The man they had waiting the tables was quite the pig, and you would not believe what the dwarves along the bar were saying of him! All beneath his nose, of course.” You went on to quote a long string of various insults and accusations, doing your best through your long-unused Khuzdul to imitate the lilt of each voice. Wide eyes surrounded you, but no laughter ensued; your smile fell. “I… I’m sorry, I thought it was funny—” “Don’t worry about them, lass, they’re just too stunned to laugh!” Bofur broke the silence, slinging an arm around you to clap a hand to your opposite shoulder. “I’m laughing plenty, though! Where on earth did you get that, you wee wonder? I always knew you were one of us!”

Bombur

Mealtime had come and passed, your company’s lovely dear of a chef having retired upon cleaning duties’ delegation. His warmth had drawn you to take a seat at his side, filling out the rest of the log as he…took up a stick? Dragged it across the dirt? Ah, he was drawing. Or should you say writing to be more specific. Runes of varying familiarity to you emerged in recognition, including one…name of a flower? “Are you, writing about flowers?” “Aye,” Bombur agreed, momentarily lowering his hand to look at you, “It’s an old poem. My favorite, in fact, about the bitterroot blooms surviving through winter and rock.” “That is beautiful,” you gushed, scooting a tiny bit closer, “Will you read it to me?” Aye, of course I…” A pause as Bombur glanced down, lips slowly parting again. “Wait, how did you know all that?” “I am full of surprises,” you teased, elbowing him, “Now go on, I want to hear it!”

Dori

Silence wrapped around Dori's and your shoulders as you took in the warm flow of calming tea. The only sound to illuminate your fireside was the rustle of the night breeze between the lowest-hanging leaves at first, but a sigh broke through the veil of calm. The sound led your eyes to your neighbor, whose own lids fluttered shut with... exhaustion? "These travels, they are weighing upon you?" Nodding, Dori inhaled. "It's the young ones. Fighting over whose boots were whose, 'my feet are far bigger than yours', stealing things of each other's—animals, they are!" "And there you are taking care of them," you replied with a nod of understanding and another sip of chamomile. "Exactly," he breathed. "No one takes care of you. Well, I intend to change that. Come." Blue eyes widening at your beckon gesture, Dori froze for three heartbeats, then shuffled over until his warmth brushed your hip. "Let me sing you an old lullaby I learned." Slow, melodic Khuzdul filled your little silent night, Dori leaning back to peer at you like you'd grown dragon wings. He let you finish before asking with great shock and a widened stare where you learned such a song. "Years ago my nanny was a dwarf. She taught me much more than that. Do you have any pains that need remedy?" Dori shook his head. "I just want to stay here and listen to you."

Nori

Thorin, Bilbo, and Gandalf were bidden to join Lord Elrond in the reading of the moon runes, leaving the remainder of your company to take their leisure as seen fit. Most of the dwarves had gone off to start a fire, while you had decided to change into a bit more comfortable of a dress first. After all, you were no longer in the counsel of Elrond for the time being! Flickers and curved shadows led you back to your destination, your troupe’s remainder already well into their raucous gathering. Shouts and wild laughter echoed off fine stone walls, some drunken words of Khuzdul even spilling forth. “We’ll see which of us gets her in his bedchambers by the evening’s end.” Nori, was that? A charmer for certain, but you’d be damned before letting any man—or dwarf or hobbit or elf or anyone—treat you as so easy. “Well,” you replied to Nori in his language, “That eliminates you. Anyone else care to play a fool?” Bofur, Bifur, and even Dwalin burst out cackling. Bombur laughed so hard he almost rolled over, and Ori just swung his head between you and Nori like you’d been tossing a ball. “I take it you didn’t exactly learn Khuzdul to seduce any of us, then?” Nori replied. “Try ‘translating ancient tomes’,” you shot back with a smirk, taking a seat between Ori and Dori.

Ori

“Come on, Ori, out with it! You know you can tell me anything,” you heard Dori tutting over his youngest brother. Chuckling, you kept up mending Balin’s spare trousers where a rock had caught them, gaze returning quickly to your handiwork. “Has someone done something? Your brother again? …No? Well, come on, help me help you.” “What if she hears me?” Well now, that had to be you. No other ‘she’s around for miles, most likely. Had you done something to offend the youngest in your company? Your face fell at the thought, focus on your needle wavering. Ori was the sweetest among you; hurting him would be a wound upon your heart greater than any of the others. “Well, then, come on, like we practiced.” Dori’s voice was lower in Khuzdul— not uncommon, but a fascinating effect regardless. You’d noticed it with your own voice, too, when you spoke the language yourself. “I like her. Very much. I just…don’t know what to say.” “You don’t have to say anything you have not already,” you told him, pushing up off the rock that was your seat and revealing yourself, “I will say something, though: I count myself very lucky for hearing this. I like you just as much.” Ori dropped to the dirt in a dead faint, but at least he was smiling as he fell.

Fili

"You don't understand!" A raised voice alerted your attention, diverting you from washing. Swimming closer to shore, you paddled until landing on a rock. Ducking behind its bulk enough to remain decent, you squinted slightly to make out the speaking figures. "What will Uncle Thorin say?" "Why do you care?" "I would prefer not to be blamed for the collapse of the kingdom." Khuzdul altered a voice, but that quiet, young strength rang through, not to mention calling the king ‘uncle’— the princes were speaking. ‘Twas Fili raised his voice from what you could gather, daring to rise only slightly from your place grasping the rock. "And I thought I was the dramatic one. Did Mother not have a choice? Did they not always tell us unities strengthen kingdoms? Maybe they'll think it's symbolic of Dale or something." You had to suppress a chuckle at Kili's Khuzdul even through his serious words, the more casual phrasing and stilted pronunciation well indicative of hasty lessons, not royal teaching. "You think I should tell her then?" There was no suppressing the gasp that tumbled from your lips at Kili's response: your own name. At that, the elder prince nodded. "Should I tell her I love her?" "Not if I tell you first!" You shouted from the rock in ecstasy, keeping yourself barely decent as you waved one arm. Kili burst out in loud, joyous laughter and Fili just beamed at you with a light in his eyes you had never before seen. "And there is why," he switched tongues, "intelligent and, I love and fear, always something new to learn about you."

Kili

Gandalf had offered his services in your defense, taking up a place against a trunk to have a pipe while you took solace in the stream. You had a rotation of aid: he, Ori, Balin, Gloin, Oin, Bombur, or Bilbo always did this for you as the ones you trusted not to venture a peek. Upon redressing and crossing the bank and little gap of meadow before camp, though, you lightly prodded Gandalf. Turning, he saw you gesture for him to stop with a halting wave of your hand and complied, hesitating as voices rose over your not-so-distant horizon. “You think the wizard would actually do some magic to stop me walking over there right now?” Nori remarked in harsh yet clearly amused Khuzdul. “Cut that out already!” Another voice, Dori’s, followed suit and was just as quickly trailed by a bonk that sounded suspiciously like Bombur’s wooden spoon upon the head. “He’s got a point,” another more hesitant voice sounded, words faltering in classic learner’s fashion. You hadn’t fully shaken it off, either. “If I was allowed past the defenses I’ve a few arrows I’d like to shoot her way.” The fortunes of the hunt were upon you that day— you’d left your own quiver near your wizard friend while you bathed, only to take it up when you were dry. Smirking and thanking Oromë, you drew. “Not if I shoot you first,” you replied, focusing all your will into your pronunciation despite the arrow nocked and pointed squarely at the younger dwarf prince. A great circle of laughter bellowed around Kili and your imposing figure, even Bilbo smiling at what he’d gathered and Gandalf chuckling to himself as he passed and calmly took a seat again, puffing on his pipe. “There goes your shot with her, laddie!” Gloin cackled. “But not hers at you, it seems,” Bofur added.

Bilbo

“Will this ever cease?” Hearing his huff, you turned to face the hobbit, who sat with crossed arms and furrowed brows. There was no need to ask him why, not when three dwarves currently passed around his pipeweed pouch, tossing it above their heads and stopping to open the snap and give it the occasional sniff. “Oh, Bilbo,” you cooed, resting a hand on his shoulder, “You are simply too sweet for them. Watch this.” He looked up at you with skepticism-furrowed brows, watching the way you cupped your hands around your mouth and frowning even further at your guttural, foreign shout. “ALL OF YOU!” You bellowed in Khuzdul. “STOP THAT THIS INSTANT! Return that pouch or face my mace!” Goggling, Nori immediately lowered his hands, Bilbo’s leather pouch almost dropping to the pine needle-littered forest floor. Before he could say anything, you walked between the gaping forms of the princes, who had joined in on the mocking game, and snatched your prize from Nori’s filthy little hand. Presenting it to Bilbo, you smiled sweetly at him. “Call me again if they try to get your goat.” Flushing, Bilbo grasped your offering, his eyes fixed firmly upon you with all their awe.

you all had stopped for the night again when it got too dark outside to keep walking. you found your spot in the cave, you took off your coat, laying it down on the hard, cold flooring, the inside of the coat touching the dirt.

you treasured those night moments so much, when you could just put your coat down, lay on it and roll yourself into it like a burrito and sleep through the night like a baby, cause no one asked you here to change for a look out. it was like they didn’t trust you with that, but honestly you couldn’t even be mad. at least not until the whole ‘cruise’ is over, the dwarves win back erebor and everything settles down.

but as you lay down, your hair was all over your face again,making you have to roll out of that perfect burrito you had made yourself to push them out of the way, but when you wrapped the coat around yourself again, they had fell onto your face again, making you growl in frustration.

you had not thought it through when you agreed at the last minute to indeed go with the company for the adventure and of course you had to forget something. and it was exactly what you needed tonight, and everything and sometimes even during the day. and it was something—anything you could pin your hair up with.

you’ve even tried sticks when you got desperate enough, but the quick washes in the lake weren’t enough later on to wash out all the wood parts that tangled in your unbraided hair for days. guess brushing the curls out with just hands wasn’t enough anymore and you lost your hair brush on the way during some major fighting.

“you’re miserable” you heard a voice say next to you. it was fili, sitting in the distance and sharpening his knife. he must be the first to have an lookout shift, because all the other dwarves were out hard.

“yeah, pretty much” you sighed, brushing your hair out of your hair for god knows which time, but it didn’t help at all, making you let out a frustrated cry in defeat. “maybe it’s good i didn’t take a mirror with myself, i would annoy myself further”

“let me help” fili said, putting down the knife he was sharpening and walking towards you with that beautiful smile on his lips.

”okay” you said oblivious to what he truly meant by this gesture. oblivious to what it means. you sat up, putting the coat over your shoulders and letting him brush his calloused fingers through your tangled hair.

it felt nice, really nice actually, his tough, dwarvish hands being surprisingly gentle with you, something you wouldn’t expect from a warrior like him.

be parted your hair, making sure each and every tangle is brushed out, each and every wood and leaf or whatever dirt was there, had been taken out.

“what is it?” you asked as you saw him hold a golden bead so similar to ones in his own hair. you were so curious about it, hearing little of dwarvish culture and stuff, learning a tiny bit since you joined the company, but not much just yet.

“it’s a bead. we dwarves like to put those in our hair” he said, but a suspicious blush creeped on his face making you raise your brow “oh, that’s really nice” you said, taking a mental note to get to know more about this, cause you had a feeling there was more to the topic.

the next morning you woke up like every other day, putting the little stuff you had into your bag and going towards the others to where they made a small breakfast before the road ahead.

but when you came towards them, all the conversations suddenly paused, all 13 eyes boring into you—since gandalf wasn’t here, having went somewhere yet again.

“what’s… going on?” you asked, but no voice answered you, just staring.

you sat down uncomfortably, taking your breakfast and eating it quietly. what was going on?

when the company alongside you got onto the road ahead, you looked for anyone you could ask about it. about what’s going on.

after a moment of thinking you spotted kiki walking alone, an unusual sight since him and fili usually talked the whole way, or at least walked beside each other.

you jogged up to the dwarf, catching him soon and patting on the shoulder. “what’s going on?” you said “why everyone treats me so weirdly suddenly?”

kili looked down at your shorter hobbit form, chucking “so you and my brother huh?” he said, his voice full of mischief but his words confused you.

“what? no, where you got it from!?” you blushed hard

“he courted you…” kili said “wait, don’t tell me my dear brother didn’t tell you what hair braiding means for dwarves? oh you got yourself good” he laughed

“wait, WHAT!?” you said freezing in your spot.

“oh i think you have to talk with your mate now” he teased, unserious as always, walking away and leaving you with your own thoughts about fili.

you had to talk to him, soon. i mean… the flutter in your heart told you that you ain’t gonna be too mad about fili’s gesture.

A soft groan drew her attention back to the single cot that took up most of the tent, and she leaned forward in the rickety chair that someone had produced at the very beginning of her vigil, already reaching with one pale, slender hand to take hold of the larger, rougher one that lay on the mattress. Her breath caught when the thick fingers of that hand flexed around hers before taking a firm hold, and she swallowed harshly as she looked up and found a pair of deep brown eyes already staring back at her.

For a heartbeat, all other sounds, everything outside of the tent slipped away as she held that gaze. But it all came crashing back in when Kili groaned again, louder this time, as his eyes slid closed once more.

"I knew it," the Dwarf grumbled, his voice cracked and worn from exertion but still sending thrills through her just to hear it again. She tilted her head in confusion when Kili added, "I must have died, after all."

"Why do you say that?" she asked, and watched as Kili's mouth twitched into a wry, sad smile.

"Because the last time I was on death's door, all I saw was her," he murmured, and Tauriel's heart skipped at the longing edge to the words. "She saved me then, and she came to save me again, but she must have been too late. It was all too late, and I never ... I didn't get to -"

Kili broke off with a strangled sound, his lower lip trembling and his eyes squeezing tighter shut, and Tauriel's chest ached at the sight. Unthinkingly, she lifted his hand to her face and pressed her lips to the Dwarf's dirt-streaked knuckles. At the sensation, Kili's eyes flew open, and he gazed up at her in wonder, in disbelief.

"It's real," she murmured, and smiled shakily as Kili's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "I'm real. You're really alive, and I'm really here."

Kili gaped at her for a few seconds before he surged upwards, trying to sit. Instantly, he hissed, his face pinching in pain, his hand flying to press against his ribs, right over his wound. Worried that he might worsen the significant injury he'd sustained in those awful, heartwrenching moments, Tauriel took firm hold of his shoulders and eased him back into the pillows, moving to perch on the edge of the cot so that they might be closer.

Kili was panting through clenched teeth as he settled back, and though he kept one palm pressed to his abdomen, he lifted the other towards her, and ever so gently cupped her face. The noise that ripped from her throat was high and broken, and Kili's eyes softened at the sound. But she managed to smile at him as she leaned into the touch, her own hand raising to cover his, holding it in place. And as his breathing slowed again, Kili slowly, reverently, ran his thumb along her cheekbone, brushing at the single tear that had managed to escape.