#middleearthpixie

this artwork will be accompanied by a fanfic made by the wonderful @middleearthpixie, keep an eye out for when the AO3 collection is finally revealed!

What had begun as a field of twelve bakers had been whittled down to three. And Aislinn kept pinching herself, trying to convince herself she was actually one of the finalists. Over the last few weeks, she’d watched as her fellow competitors fell when their bakes betrayed them by being either over-or-underdone, or by not quite reaching the taste standards the judges had come to expect. The most bizarre dismissal had to be Nori, who’d been voted off the previous week when he’d been caught trying to steal his Kitchen-Aid mixer and several whisks. When pressed, he confessed he’d been swiping things almost since the first day and had amassed quite the collection of mixing bowls and spatulas. It was only because he promised to return every single item, and actually did so, that no charges were pressed against him. All in all, it made for a very interesting week.

But somehow, she’d managed to hold on week after week, despite one spectacular fail when the mousse in her chocolate tarts Showstopper for Desserts Week refused to set. When Elrond cut into one to sample, the filling simply bled from its shell to ooze all over the serving plate, and she would have gone home that week, except Dori had a meltdown no one could have possibly seen coming, that began with Tauriel taking his ice cream from the freezer for what was supposed to be a moment, only to forget to return it to said freezer. When Dori when to incorporate it into his dessert, and found it more soup than ice cream, he dumped the whole confection into the garbage, leaving the judges with nothing to judge. That was the only thing that saved Aislinn that week and although she felt terrible for Dori, who was way ahead of the pack and probably a shoe-in for a finalist spot, if not the overall winner, she was also thankful for Tauriel’s screwup. 

So now it was her, Bard Bowman, and Thranduíl Greenleaf in the finals. 

Thranduíl was still in the tent, his pale gold hair pulling free from its normally sleek ponytail.  Those wispy strands floating about his face were the only indication that he felt the heat. Where she and Bard spent as much time fanning themselves as they did double and triple checking their recipes, Thranduíl went about putting together one amazing bake after another. He had an eye for design and an innate gift for bringing together flavors that had the judges—Gandalf and Elrond—questioning his choices at first, but marveling over them with the first bites. Nothing seemed to rattle him, where as she spent a great deal of time muttering and swearing under her breath. 

“Do you plan to just sleep here tonight?”

Aislinn looked up as Bard strolled back into the tent. He was the surprise, the dark horse in the field. To look at him, Aislinn would think he could barely boil water, as he just didn’t seem the sort to spend much time in the kitchen. It didn't take her long for her to realize how stupid her assumption had been, as he’d proven himself to be a fairly good baker. He preferred simpler bakes, but with unusual tweaks to them, and had won Star Baker three weeks in a row as a result. 

“Are you talking to me?” She tugged the elastic holding her ponytail sort of in place off and as her hair spilled down over her shoulders, she eased the elastic over her hand, wincing as it snapped against her wrist. 

He nodded. “I am, yes. Are you?”

“Not if I can help it. Cakes tomorrow? I have to go home and practice until I can’t stand the sight of such things.”

Thranduíl peered at her over his shoulder. “What is there to practice? We don’t know what the recipe will be, how do you practice?”

“I look over every cake recipe I can find and hope I can remember the little details.”

“Well, Thrandy and I were going over to Ike’s and unwind a little.” He shook his longish dark hair from his eyes. Like Thranduíl, he wore it pulled back when they were baking, but now it fell about his face in shiny, almost-black waves. “Care to join us?”

She hesitated. Tomorrow’s challenge was the technical one, where they would be given a skeleton of a recipe and had to figure out how to bake the good in question. She wasn’t kidding when she’d said she planned on reading cookbooks to practice. But if she was completely honest with herself, a beer sounded far more preferable than cookbooks, so she nodded. “I’d love to, yes.”

“Great.” Bard’s dark eyes gleamed as he smiled. “Get your stuff and I’ll meet the two of you—” he looked over at Thranduíl—“out front.”

She looked over at him as well, and as always, Thranduíl was serene, a slight smile playing at his lips as he said, “I’ll make certain to hurry her along then.”

“Hurry me along?” She shook her head. “I’m ready to go and you’re still cleaning up.”

His smile grew wider, and he winked as he reached behind him to tug the elastic from his hair. It spilled down over his shoulders, a waterfall of gold so pale, it looked almost white. “I’m done. So, shall we?”

Aislinn slipped off her apron to drape it over her station and moved to the rear of the tent, where they kept their personal belongings. She lifted her black backpack to one shoulder, tucked that same, annoying loose lock of hair behind her ear and said, “We shall.”

The three of them made their way from the tent, with Bard bidding good evening to the judges and the hosts—the more-than-slightly disheveled Radagast and the elegantly disapproving Saruman—before they crested the hill’s gentle slope. In the distance, the soft gold lights of the Carriage Inn, upon whose grounds the competition was being held, were like oversized fireflies leading their way toward civilization. It was a balmy June night, with just a hint of humidity in the air, and as twilight streaked across the sky, the light morphed from gold to coral to almost purple. 

As the tent receded into the distance, the tension lifted from Aislinn’s shoulders. She knew the men in the tent had gone out and socialized a few times, but this was the first time she’d been asked to join them. 

They passed the inn and the world seemed to change. The bake tent was set far enough in on the inn’s grounds that it was quiet and peaceful there, but as they reached the sidewalk, the city reclaimed them, with the sounds of traffic both foot and motor, the dazzling lights of the shops and restaurants along the way. 

Ike’s was across the street, and they dashed across, only getting honked at once, and Bard tugged open one of the doors and held it, saying, “After you.”

She ducked her head as she stepped into the softly lit old-style pub. The evening crowd was already there, hanging about the bar and the front of the taproom, and a hostess offered up a pert smile. “Three?”

Thranduíl nodded. ‘Please.”

“Of course. Is the dining room all right?”

“The dining room is fine,” Bard chimed over Thranduíl’s shoulder, as if he was afraid the taller man—Thranduíl towered over both her and Bard—would object.

“I was going to say that,” Thranduíl replied, his voice as it always was—even and smooth and low. “You know I don’t like sitting at the bar if I can help it.”

Bard grinned. “Just being careful. Never know when you might decide to surprise us, Thrandy.”

“Are you ever not going to call me that?”

Aislinn looked from him to Bard, who just stared up at Thranduíl. Then, his expression one of utter seriousness, Bard shook his head. “No. You are forever Thrandy from now on.”

A laugh rose in her throat and she mashed her lips together to hold at bay when she saw the pained look on Thranduíl’s elegantly angular face. He closed his eyes briefly, drew in a long, slow breath, and exhaled slowly before replying, “Wonderful. I should have known.”

“You absolutely should have,” Bard winked, then nudged her with a gentle elbow. “Right, Ash?”

Ash? Nobody called her Ash. Until now, anyway. But before she could answer, the hostess, who had been just watching the banter between the two men, lifted three leather bound folios from the slot behind her. “If you’ll follow me, then. I’ll show you to your table.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Thranduíl said, leading the way as they followed the hostess into the somewhat quieter dining room, where she seated them in a far corner. The dining room was not even half-full, and as she slid into her chair, Aislinn said, “You sure you guys don’t want to sit in the bar? Yankees game is on. Judge is on fire this season. Talks are he might break Roger Maris’ record.”

Both men made faces simultaneously and Thranduíl shook his head. “Thank you, but no. Baseball puts me to sleep.”

“Same.” Bard sank into the chair across from her. “You actually like that sport?”

“Yeah. It’s great to have on in the background. You can look away for half an hour and not miss a thing.” 

“Katie will be your server,” the hostess broke in as she pressed menus into their hands, “and she’ll be by in a moment to take your drink orders.”

“Thank you.” Thranduíl said, flipping open the heavy-leather bound folio. “I don’t know why I even bother with this. I get the same thing every time. It’s almost boring.”

“So, what do you boys recommend?” Aislinn asked. Her menu opened with a creak and she stared down, her eyes almost bugging at sheer number of different wines, liquors, and beers offered. 

“Stick with the simple pub stuff,” Bard assured her, flipping to the next page. “The burgers are good, the fries a little greasy, but they’re worth it.”

“Hi, guys. I’m Katie and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” A tiny brunette came up to them, all white teeth and wide eyes. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

Aislinn set her menu down. “I’ll have a Shock Top, please.”

“Certainly. Would you like a glass or just the bottle?”

“Just the bottle is fine.”

That got her looks from both men and Bard offered up a slow smile. “I’ll have the same, bottle only, please.”

“I’ll leave the beer to you two,” Thranduíl said, tapping his bottom lip with a long forefinger, “And I think I’ll have a Grey Goose martini.”

“Two Shock Tops and a martini.” Katie tapped her notepad. “Are you ready to order now, or do you still need a few minutes.”

“A few minutes, please,” Bard said, looking up at her.

Her eyes seemed brighten and it was tough to blame her. Both Bard and Thranduíl were both strikingly handsome, a yin and yang of dark and light and Katie wasn’t the only woman who smiled at either of them. Aislinn bit back a smile of her own at the approving looks each one got from what seemed like every woman in the bar. 

Katie bounced off and when she returned a few minutes later with their drinks, Aislinn sat back in her chair, lifted her bottle, and smiled. “Here’s to surviving to the final.”

Bard and Thranduíl leaned in to clink glass and bottle against hers and with a grin, Thranduíl said, “Who was surprised that Nori only tried to steal the mixer?”

“Oh, you heard Radagast, he took a bunch of other things,” Aislinn told him, lowering her bottle. “Three weeks ago, Thorin said he was pretty sure he saw Nori pocket a couple of thermometers and a blowtorch. Just stuck the torch down his pants and walked off like it was nothing. But since Thorin had already been voted off, he didn't think anyone would believe him, that it was sour grapes, yada yada. And really, why would anyone stick a blowtorch down their pants?”

“Too steal it, apparently.” Bard took a long swallow of his beer. “Wonder what else he took?”

“I heard when he returned everything, he had bowls, measuring cups—Pyrex and dry—measuring spoons, the blowtorch, and he seemed overly fond of spatulas. I think Saruman said he returns nearly dozen of them.”

“Damn,” Aislinn stared at him in disbelief, “Never mind the mixer, why all those spatulas?”

“Got me.” Thranduíl shrugged. “Although, if I had to guess, I’d say because they’d be the easiest to steal. Slip them into your waistband and go on your merry way.”

Bard chuckled. “I’d be afraid of them slipping all the way down and coming out the bottom of my pants legs. I wouldn’t want to have to explain.”

“Didn’t seem to stop him. But, it’s almost too bad he didn't nick the mixer. If he’d gotten that, he’d be legend.” Aislinn lifted the bottle to her lips for a sip. The beer was cold and light, with just a hint of orange to it. “I’m impressed by the blowtorch, myself.”

“Well, he did say crème brûlée was his specialty,” Thranduíl said, lifting the olives from his martini. He popped one into his mouth, chewed for a moment, then swallowed before saying, “What do you think we’re going to have to make tomorrow for the technical?”

Bard shook his head. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Cake is the best I can guess.”

That earned him a long look from Thranduíl. “Well, no shit, Bard. It is Final Week. Biscuits first. Bread for technical and now cake.” He glanced over at Aislinn. “Pardon my language.”

“Have you heard me when things aren’t going my way?” She took another swallow and set the bottle down. “You must. You’re only right in front of me.”

“You swear?” Bard asked, looking from her to Thranduíl and back. “Is she serious? I can’t see it.”

Thranduíl offered up a grin and slowly nodded. “Yeah, she does. Like a sailor when properly riled. The other week, when her mousse didn’t set… I’m telling you, I didn't know you could string together that many swear words.”

Aislinn shrugged as Bard threw his head back and laughed. “I was mad about that,” she said with a shrug. “I must’ve made that mousse a half dozen times in practice and had no trouble. But when it counts? The whole thing goes to hell on me. I was pissed. The only reason I didn’t get voted off was because Tauriel melted Dori’s ice cream.”

“Really?” Thranduíl asked dryly, one manicured brow arched. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” she told him. “Don’t think I didn't hear you today when your fruit began to scorch while you were reducing it.”

Thranduíl rolled his green eyes. “That was totally different.”

“It was totally the same and you know it.”

He grinned then and nodded slowly. “Okay, you win. It was the same. And I didn't think you heard me. I didn’t think anyone had.”

Bard chuckled. “I didn’t, if it matters at all. I did, however, hear you.” He gestured to Aislinn with his bottle. “And you were colorful.”

“I was mad.”

“I gathered.”

Katie came back then and they ordered a bunch of appetizers in place of actual meals and by the time the food was gone, Aislinn was pretty sure she’d never laughed so hard. After several martinis, Thranduíl broke out impressions of Saruman and Radagast, and then moved on to Elrond and Gandalf that had her and Bard almost crying with laughter. 

It was nearly midnight by the time they decided to call it a night. The humidity had crept up and clouds now blotted out any stars, and Aislinn turned to the others. “Okay, I need to get home and get some sleep. I should’ve known better than to come out with you.”

“Why?” Thranduíl asked, looking from Bard to her. 

“Because I’m going to be beat tomorrow and now I don’t have time to go and memorize my cookbooks. And the technicals are hard enough as it is. Being half asleep and kind of hungover won’t do me any favors.”

Bard gave her a playful nudge. “You’ll be fine. Come on, I’ll split a cab with you. Don’t you live over by Branson Park?”

“How did you know?”

“I overheard you and Nori talking about the best ways to get home that first night.” Bard grinned. “And I’ll bet you he walked off with half a dozen ramekins that same day.”

“Couldn’t find a way to carry the whole dozen, could he?” Thranduíl asked dryly. “He must have an entire new kitchen by now.”

Bard held up a hand to signal for a cab, saying, “He’s probably got two of everything by now. At least, until he returned all that he took,” as he flagged down a cab, then added, “So, what say you, Ash?”

“Ash?”

“Yeah. Ash.” He smiled as a yellow cab drew to a halt at the curb and he pulled open the rear door. “It suits you. Come on. You don’t want to have to rely on Thrandy here to get you home safely, do you?”

“Why not?” Thranduíl asked, staring down at Bard as if he’d been gravely insulted. “She’s as safe with me as she is with you.”

“Okay, enough, both of you.” She looked from one to the other, then rolled her eyes and slid into the cab’s backseat with a light, “’Night, Thrandy. See you tomorrow,” and to the cabbie, added, “One-twenty Duane Street, please.”

Bard lowered himself into the seat alongside her as Thranduíl said, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you both tomorrow,” and closed the door behind Bard.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, Aislinn looked over at him. “I really misjudged him, you know.”

“Thrandy?” He waited for her to nod, then nodded himself. “Yeah. A lot of people do. He comes across like a spoiled rich kid, and being as quiet as he is doesn’t help. It just makes people think he’s a dick.”

“You knew him before coming here?”

“Yeah.” Bard grinned. “We were roommates in college.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“That must’ve been a fun dorm room.”

“It was… interesting…” 

He turned toward the window as the storefronts slid by, and tapped the glass idly. “So, what do you do when you’re not trying to win this competition?”

“Me? I’m a nurse, actually.”

He looked over at her, eyes wide. “Really?” 

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. I’d think you wouldn’t have much free time for baking.”

“It keeps me sane, is what it does.” She shrugged. “What about you?”

“I’m a commercial fisherman.”

“Get out, really?”

He nodded. “Really. My family’s been in the industry since the beginning of time, it seems. My boat is being captained by my second while I’m here and I’m trying real hard to not obsess over it.”

“And how’s that going?”

“It’s really not, but I’m trying.”

She laughed at the note of worry that crept into his voice. “Well, we’re almost done. Two more challenges and then you can go back to your boat.”

“My family will be disappointed. They seem to like having me around more.”

This was the first he’d mentioned a family, and Aislinn felt a pang of disappointment. “They must miss you when you’re out on the water.”

“Yeah. It’s a little easier now, since they’re older, but still…” He sighed and looked over at her. “I missed a good chunk of their lives when they were little ones. My wife—” 

She waited for him to go on, remained quiet until he cleared his throat and continued, “It was easier when she was still here. For them, I mean. I don’t think they missed me much then.” He looked over at her, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “But now, it’s just them and me, and they won’t ever say anything, but I’ve a feeling they’d be just as happy if I retired and stayed home baking all day.”

“What happened to your wife?”

“Cancer. Ovarian.” He shook his head slowly. “Four years ago.”

“I’m so sorry. That sucks.”

“You know, I never know what to say when someone says they’re sorry, and I don’t mean that in a dickish way. I really don’t know what to say to it.”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s totally okay if you don’t.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but that doesn’t seem right, either. But, yeah. She fought it for almost a year, but, you know how it ends. She died and I’m raising three kids and I have no idea what I’m even doing, even now.” A soft laugh bubbled to his lips. “But, they’re patient and I muddled through and I think we’re doing okay now.”

“How old?”

“Bain’s my oldest. He’s almost twenty now. A junior at NYU. And there are my girls Sigrid, who’s eighteen and finishing up high school in June, and Tilda, who’s fourteen and a freshman. What about you? Married? Kids?”

“No. And no. It’s just me and the fish in my apartment.” She shook her head. “Work leaves me with neither the time nor the energy to date, and that’s fine. Seems to me there’s nothing but weirdos out there. I hear enough dating horror stories at work to make me kind of glad it’s me and the fish.”

“Don’t let Thrandy know you’re single,” Bard cautioned as the cab drew to a halt outside a brownstone apartment building. “He’s got a crush on you, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her cheeks growing warm at his compliment. “But, married men really don’t interest me.”

“I’m just kidding you, Ash. He’s a happily married man with a mortgage, a son in college, and a dog. He’s not looking to cheat on his wife. Although, you’re cute, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was tempted, you know.”

Unexpected heat swept into her cheeks. “Shut up. He would not.”

Bard winked as the cab pulled up to the curb. He got out to let her out and when she stepped up onto the sidewalk, he winked again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ash.”