#melhekh

To have once been a weapon used in many glorious battles including the one in which she gained her name, Deathless excepted to have a strong bond and relationship with her wielder once she gained her Dwarven form. However, since her transformation in Rivendell, there had been no chance for a real connection with Thorin on the journey to reclaim his home and birthright. That didn’t mean she felt no pain when he was fighting the mental battle against Dragon Sickness or didn’t worry about it him during the Battle of the Five Armies. She could remember the intense pain that went through her body when their connection was almost severed by Azog’s blade and how she almost tore through the battlefield on her own to try and get to his side.

Things had calmed down since the battle but everyone was still trying to adjust to life in Erebor after nearly two hundred years passing since the Dwarves were driven out. Even with the calm after war, the mountain was still in chaos trying to get things cleaned up and rule truly established among the kingdom. Deathless and the other gifted weapons found themselves helping in the clean up but that was pretty much it for them as it seemed only the Company was comfortable with them around.

The sword had hoped now she could work on her bond with her wielder and even spent time in the kitchens that morning trying to prepare a treat for him. However, after nearly catching herself and the other cooks on fire and accidentally burning other items they had been preparing, Deathless found herself booted out before she could cause any real damage, the only proof of her hard work being the flour barely seen in her light colored hair and the bits smeared on her cheeks along with a small basket of partially burnt rolls.

A request for Inquisition’s help from the other side of the Waking Sea was met with many frustrated groans. After the total annihilation of  Inquisition troops at Gamordan Peaks Cullen was reluctant to send more of his men underground, yet that was exactly what was asked of them, and refusing could mean losing another ally. Against Josephine’s advice the Inquisitor decided to follow Leliana’s suggestion, and instead of risking another fraction send a small group of agents, hoping that scouts will give them more time to perhaps gather more forces to aid the dwarven lords later, if the need arises. The bitter taste of defeat was too fresh, and the Inquisitor spent many a night wishing she could undo that particular day completely to even consider Josephine's idea.

The same evening Leliana has sent her ravens.

***

Farris’ arrived at Yare, a small village West of Kirkwall, within a week, with only five other men in her team; six in case we count Morel. But the poor elf barely survived the voyage across the sea without throwing up his intestines overboard, and was still green on the face when they entered the tavern to meet with the dwarves. It was better to leave him out of this.

It was too early for the evening crowd to fill the inn. Not like there would be a crowd in the evening. The food might have been fresh and the ale might have been good, but the village was too small for that, and the only income was from travelers and merchants. So they ordered some stew just to avert the innkeeper’s suspicious gaze.

Saw @melhekh‘s post about little fauntlings (Hobbit children) wanting to braid and put flowers in Thorin’s hair:...

“I was thinking a lot about Shire-verse Thorin while I was out running an errand. It’s one of those verses I’d like to write in more often tbh. Cause like; Thorin outside Bag End working in the garden or maybe refinishing the front door or some such thing and a group of fauntlings (Hobbit children) are standing there, watching him expectantly and he’s been trying to pretend they aren’t there but then finally he’s like, “Yes? Can I be of some service?” and they all sort of giggle and hesitate before the boldest one asks, “Mister Dwarf, can we braid your hair? Please? We’ve picked these lovely flowers!” and even though it’s unusual in his culture to allow strangers to do such a thing, he relents because how could he say no to such hopeful, cherubic faces?”

       ‘  A rare sight it is to see some of your breed in the cities of humans. Rumors circulate your person and managed to awake my curiosity. The only question is, how much truth do LINGER in these idle fancies.  ‘   Just like the kind of predator she was, she sneaks up on him from behind, caring little about the effects of her sudden appearance. With the first GLANCE of hers already, she could tell that he was not who he pretended to be, had she seen many of his kind already, but none had this kind of vibe surrounding them as he did. Oh no, Morrigan knew Exactly who he was, he could try to fool her if he wanted, but she was far beyond that already.  

‘  Tell me dwarf, why would a breed of a king’s line work as a normal SMITH for peasants way below his caste ? Obviously, your fathers ego and pride was not given to the next generation. What a odd and curious kind you are. Is EREBOR this boring that you had to flee all the way here? ‘  

Send 🎎 + a question to talk to my muse’s parents@melhekh

“Not DIFFICULT,” Zaknafein answered immediately, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. The weapons master considered the question further, a slow smile breaking across his lips. 

“Just IMPERTINENT. And naïve. Drizzt never had any of the malice that comes naturally to drow. He was different from the very beginning, but it manifested itself in subtle ways.” 

He said nothing of the blood-- of his own suspicions that Drizzt’s goodly disposition may have been inherited. Zak had long rejected the ways of his own kind, looking upon Menzoberranzan-- the city of the drow-- as his own personal HELL. But five-hundred years in that hell had left him jaded, bitter, resentful-- qualities that Drizzt did not seem to possess. 

Zak had not yet decided: had he himself once been so innocent? Or was Drizzt’s heart somehow forged of something PURER than his bloodline?

“They tried so very hard to instill in him that same sense of egotistical ambition-- and paranoia-- that’s so crucial to drow society. But no matter what CORRUPTION spewed from the lips of the high priestesses, Drizzt never ceased to view the world as something curious and wonderful. He was nothing less than a gentle soul. 

“A gifted fighter, too-- the most gifted I’ve ever seen in my many centuries of life-- but he would not raise his blades against any foe without just provocation.”

Unlike Zaknafein-- who so enjoyed RIPPING the corrupt tongues from those high priestesses.

“He was horrified at the thought of killing another drow. Afraid to KILL, in a society where recreational murder is a way of life. 

from here

Thorin turned to face the she-elf that addressed him, eyes narrowed and jaw set. He was not in the least bit surprised that one of her kind could be so presumptuous, but it didn’t lessen the rising frustration that he felt seemingly every time he encountered one of these beings.  

“Do you mistake me for a human child?” he all but spat, certain that she had. “Of what concern is my well-being to you?”

“Your well being to me is the same as every creature about to head into danger’s well being is. Be he man, elf, or dwarf.” Aredhel answered smoothly, hardly perturbed by the gruffness of the dwarf before her. It was no surprise that she clearly was not seen as welcome by him-- but still that did not deter her much.

             ❝ there was no feast or songs that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. we few had survived, and i thought to myself then “there is one I could follow. there is one i could call king”. ❞

;;the one I saw that made me jump 10 ft was from ‘berlin station’ and it is. AHEM. Not out of the realm of soft-core porn