âą CRIMINAL MINDS âą
Spencer Reid
and they were roommates part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4
âą LORD OF THE RINGS âą
Legolas Greenleaf
just like the wind series I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X âïžđ
âą PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS âą
Luke Castellan
training with Luke đ
I hate you âïžđ
deception âïž
sweatshirt đ
finally đ
âą SPIDER-MAN : INTO THE SPIDER-VERSE âą
Hobie Brown
hobie taking care of drunk!you đ
"I can't do this anymore," âïž
Miles Morales
the view đ
âą STRANGER THINGS âą
Eddie Munson:
Hawkins Camp pt. I
Finn Wolfhard:
bus rides âïžđ
feeling weird âïžđ
âą HARRY POTTER âą
Fred Weasley
rotten riddles đ
âą ARCANE âą
Sevika:
someone better đ
sevika patching you up âïžđ
Vi:
hot sauce and orange juice đ
baby, it's cold outside đ
âą ELVIS PRESLEY MOVIE âą
Austin Butler:
supermarket đ
stepping on toes đ
around the dining table đ
âą HEARTSTOPPER âą
Kit Connor :
tired of it đ
coming out as bi to kit âïžđ
comforting kit after his tweet âïžđ
boyfriend!kit headcannons đ
kit taking you to the gym đ
plus-sized!reader gets hate on social media, kit comforts her âïžđ
âą MARVEL âą
Tom Holland:
âjust good businessâ series PART I, PART II âïžđ
Peter Parker:
stay with me đ
âą THE GRAY MAN âą
Sierra Six:
the truth âïžđ
âą OUTER BANKS âą
JJ Maybank:
waves series PART I, PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V, PART VI, PART VII, PART VIII, PART IX âïžđ
âi just want an answer, goddammit!â, part two âïž
Rudy Pankow:
âwhat on earth are you wearing?â đ
âą STAR WARS âą
Poe Dameron:
âthe mechanicâ series PART I, PART II (rest coming soon!)
âyouâre trembling,â âïž
âiâm gonna keep you alive whether you like it or not!â âïž
âyour bedhead is really cute,â đ
âi donât owe you an explanation,â âïž
âi thought you were dead,â âïžđ
âą DEADLY CLASS âą
Marcus Lopez Arguello:
marcus tending to your wounds đ
pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader
summary : 2.3k
word count : your experience with the unsub
warning : canon-typical violence (it gets a bit gory, torture-ish, implied sexual violence), swear words > read at your own risk, you are responsible for the media you consume
A/N : thank you all for the support and love on this omggg <333
Emily's a tiny bit of a bitch in this one, whoopsie. y/n cries the whole time, I figured that was what I would do. would you guys like a part 5, maybe Spencer taking care of y/n after such a traumatic experience? some comfort after hurt?
part 1, part 2, part 3
The first thing you noticed when you came to your senses was the throbbing in the back of your head. Your first reflex was to bring your hand up to where you were sure to find blood, but you couldnât move either of your arms. Opening your eyes wearily, you noticed that your wrists were restrained, binding you to an old wooden chair.Â
âWhat the-â Your heart rate picked up as the memory of being hit over the head came back to you. Frantically looking around, your breathing started getting short and ragged when you realised your surrounding were wholly unfamiliar to you. You jerked your wrists to the sides, hoping that maybe the tight ropes would untie themselves.Â
âDonât tire yourself out,â an icy voice drawled from a dark corner. You could barely hear over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears. You cursed yourself when he stepped out of the shadows, greasy locks pushed behind his ears. You should have told Spencer. You should have known.
His face was barely visible in the dim light. The smell of dust and mold which clung to the room suited him well. His gaze on you made you feel dirty and you hated it. You examined the enclosed space you were in and realised you were in an abandoned art room on campus. You'd discovered it once with your friends by accident, years ago. Art supplies, canvases and desks were strewn about in a careless manner. You tried not to think too much about the blood dotting the floor in multiple places.
"Why did you bring me here?" you asked, doing your best to remain calm. He was clearly unstable and you didn't want to trigger him if you could help it.
âDon't worry about that, just know youâre not getting out of here any time soon, honey.â He smiled, a frightening grimace, and licked his lips. Nausea clouded your senses for a second. Tears gathered on your waterline.
âOh yes, I will.â Your voice shook as you spoke and you hated how weak you sounded. His brows raised and he let slip a little, mocking laugh. It made your skin crawl. A tear slipped down your cheek and, humiliatingly, you couldn't wipe it away.
âAnd why do you think that?â he asked, feigning interest. You scowled at him.
âThe FBI is going to find you, you sick fuck. If they couldn't before this, they definitely will now."Â
Your head whipped to the side as he slapped you across the face. He bent down, placing his face mere centimetres from yours. Another tear fell from your eye as you felt your cheek sting and then get uncomfortably warm.
âYou stupid bitch,â he snarled. âYou better watch your tone. You actually think theyâll find you? That's cute."
You swallowed, opting to stay silent.
Spencer knew something had happened as soon as Hotch stepped into the room. Over the years, he'd learned how his boss functioned and how to separate all the micro-expressions he used before assembling them back together and interpreting them. Today, he could tell something was seriously wrong.
He hadn't even thought of you at first. In his mind, you were safe. The unsub had been arrested and proof was being searched for. The guy fit the profile and the profile never lied. So why did Hotch ask him to sit down?
"W- what?"
"I think you may want to sit down for this." Spencer was getting agitated, he didn't like being kept out of the information loop.
"Hotch, just tell us what's going on," pressed Morgan, brows drawn together.
"You know how we asked all the professors to contact us immediately if anyone fitting the victimology didn't show up for class?"
"Yeah," Emily nodded, urging Hotch on.
"We got a call." The Unit Chief's eyes fell on Spencer and the latter knew what he was going to say before the words were uttered. "Spencer, Y/N's professor said she didn't show up to class this morning."
"O-okay, wait, that doesn't mean anything, we arrested a guy, she could just not be feeling well," Emily spoke hastily, concerned about the look on Spencer's face.
"No, we must have the wrong-" Spencer was interrupted by Morgan:
"Wait a second, the profile says-"
"I don't care what the profile says, Morgan! Y/N's first class today is Germanic Ethos and Christian Faith in Medieval Literature, that's her favourite class, she's never missed it in the entire semester! And she was feeling well this morning, we had breakfast together and she would have told me if not! Clearly, we have the wrong guy!"
Silence reigned for a short moment after Spence's outburst. The entire team was left speechless by his behaviour, which was entirely unprecedented. Spencer ran a hand through his hair, letting out a small sigh.
"I- Can you try calling her at least? Before we jump to any conclusions." Emily crossed her arms over her chest. Spencer sent her a dark look before whipping out his phone and pressing on the first name in his contact list. He put it on speaker and let it ring.
"No, no, please," you sobbed, "no more! Please! No, stop!"
Your voice was raw from screaming. Judging by the three shallow cuts he left on your right shoulder, the unsub enjoyed seeing your blood pearl and run down your skin. He also revelled in watching you writhe and scream in pain.
"What did I tell you? Shut the fu-" He raised his hand in the air and you flinched away by reflex only to find the blow never came. You held your breath.
"I'm breaking dishes up in here all night, uh uh! I ain't gon' stop until I see police and lights, uh uh! I'm a fight a man tonight, I'm a fight a man-"
Oh, the irony. You didn't know whether to bless or curse Rihanna.
"What the fuck is this?!" he roared, swivelling sharply on his feet to press the blade of his bloody knife into your cheek. You whimpered quietly. You couldn't help but think of all the infections you would be vulnerable to because of his dirty and rusted weapon. How could someone have so little care for basic hygiene?
"It's- It's my ringtone! It's just my ringtone!"
"A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an! A man, a man, a ma-a-a-an!"
"You little bitch," he hissed, quickly untying your hands and grabbing your throat. He lifted you up by the neck and slammed you into the nearest wall, yelling about what a deceiving, conniving whore you were. You cried out in pain, desperately pulling at his hand which was wound tight around your throat.
"You think your little friends are going to come and get you?!" he mocked, smushing your cheeks with his other hand. "Tough luck, doll, you're all alone and you're going to-"
"Wait!" you spluttered, "Wait!" Your vision had begun going blurry but your mind remained intact. "If- If I don't answer, they'll know something's wrong! And then they'll send everyone out looking for me, for you!"
His grip on your throat lessened and you coughed, forcing air back into your lungs. Your eyes burned with tears.
"What does it matter to you?"
"Look- I- It doesn't matter, my ringtone is about to stop! And they'll come for sure!"
Making a split-second decision, he stomped over to where he'd thrown your bag and sweater carelessly on the ground. You slid down onto the floor, wiping at your eyes. Hastily ruffling through your bag, he pulled your phone out after a second. You lamented all the flyaway papers you'd annotated with bright and lively colours now most likely stained with grime and blood. The unsub answered the call and roughly pressed the phone against your ear. You winced.
"O-Oh, Y/N! It's Spencer, are you alright?!" Big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks at the comforting sound of Spencer's voice. You wanted nothing more than to be near him, away from this living hell. If anyone could understand a message and find you, Spencer could. You were painfully aware of the little time you had left before the unsub got on with his routine and got rid of you. You cleared your throat, wanting to appear natural.
"Hey! Yeah, I'm- I'm fine, I'm heading for my Wax Tablet Workshop, we are going to look at how writing on wax is art which has been abandoned by scholars, like universities."
"O- Okay, sweets, I'll come get you after class okay? We can go for a coffee together!"
"Sounds great, Spence!"
The unsub threw your phone onto the ground next to you and crushed it with his foot. You let your tears fall freely. Spencer had understood. He was coming.
"That was a hidden message, she doesn't have a Wax Tablet Workshop. It's not even a course the university offers." Spencer's brain was working even faster than usual. The BAU team had never seen him like this before. "Garcia, look for all abandoned locations on university campus. Maybe a classroom?" he urged.
The sound of a keyboard typing incredibly fast was heard on the speaker. "I've got one." Penelope's voice was urgent and contained no trace of its usual lightness. "There's an abandoned art studio on the East side of the campus. I'm sending you the address now."
"Let's go," ordered Hotch.
You'd never wear shorts again. Exhausted, beaten, bruised and tied to a chair, you didn't have the energy to do anything more than move your knee when he trailed his finger along it. You were starting to lose hope. There was no clock in sight, but you could guess your time would soon be up. Some part of you wanted to give up. You knew if Spencer were here, he'd tell you to keep fighting, to keep hoping. But you were tired, so, so tired.
You suspected you had a concussion from when he'd knocked out and when he'd slammed you into the wall. Your vision was blurry. Although, maybe that was due to the tears. They hadn't stopped coming since he'd first slapped you. But when his cold hand found your thigh and squeezed it roughly, the kindling fire in you regained strength. No. You would rather die than suffer whatever else he had planned for you. As he started moving his repulsive mouth towards you, you jerked your knee upwards, hard, right into his groin. He roared in pain and doubled over, stumbling backwards.
"Stay the fuck back!" you screamed hysterically. "Don't you dare fucking touch me, you psycho!"
He met your eyes with a frenzied look you'd never seen before and pounced on you. The chair you were sitting on shattered with a loud noise and you screamed, finding yourself lying on top of splintery wood pieces. As he brought his arm upwards, knife facing downwards, towards you, you closed your eyes. You didn't want him to be the last thing you saw. You thought of all the good things in your life, your family, Spencer, Geoffrey, Spencer, your friends, Spencer,...
"Put it down!!!" bellowed a familiar voice. "Put it down now!"
You opened your eyes. The door behind you had been broken down. FBI agents flooded the room, all aiming their guns at the man on top of you. His eyes darted frantically between Agent Morgan, whose voice you'd recognised, and two other agents you couldn't see.
"I want a deal!" the unsub cried out, "I want a deal!"
"No deal," a deeper, more authoritative voice spoke.
The unsub raised his arm again, preparing to strike. You closed your eyes.
BAM!
To this day, you didn't think the unsub expected to be shot. You figured he was expecting to be imprisoned. You didn't see the look on his face when he was shot, only felt the dead weight of his body falling on top of you.
Shrieking hysterically, you struggled frantically to move his corpse off you. Someone shoved him off you, promising you in a soothing voice that you were safe.
"Spencer." His name had never been spoke like that before. It was a haunting sob, a cry for help. He was at your side immediately, ridding you of the ropes around your wrists and pulling you away from the broken chair.
It was only when he called your name a third time that you finally found your grasp on reality again. Spencer pulled you into his arms, being careful not to squeeze you too tight. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder. The comforting smell of him, of home, engulfed and grounded you.
"It's okay," he cooed softly, lips brushing your ear, "you're safe now, he can't hurt you anymore."
"Call an ambulance," you heard someone order in the distance.
Sobbing hard into Spencer's shoulder, you pulled him impossibly closer to you.
"I'm so sorry," you bawled, "I had seen him before on c- campus, like- like your boss said but I didn't want to tell you! I thought he was an- an exchange student!" Spencer shushed you, hands still shaking from taking the shot he took with no hesitation. This would be one of the kills he wouldnât loose any sleep over.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart, you did everything right, I promise you."
"I- I didn't do what you always say," you hiccuped sadly, mouth moving against the material of his sweater vest, staining it with blood and tears. It was an article of clothing which would be ruined for both of you. Spencer would give it to charity a week later, you wouldn't miss it. "I didn't play into his fantasy, I kept telling him you were going to find me, and he was so angry!"
"Baby." This was the first he'd called you that. It stopped you in your tracks. "Listen to me, you did everything right. You may not still be alive if you'd played into his fantasy. You were perfect, I promise. Just breathe, now, alright? Youâre okay."
"Are- are you sure?"
"Yes, baby, I'm sure."
pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader
summary : life on campus with a killer on the loose, the FBI makes an arrest
word count : 2k
warning : canon-typical violence, swear words (one use of the f-word)
A/N : thank you so so much for all the love on this story !!! I'm so glad you all enjoy it <333 I'll probably do a part 4, it may be the last part, idk yet :)
part 1, part 2, part 4
"Spencer, I realise your concern, but lots of women look somewhat like this." It wasn't lost on Spencer what Hotch was trying to do by calling by his first name.
"Hotch, she- she could be right next to them. She fits his type right down to the colour of her eyes!"
"Spencer, man, you need to think rationally." Derek placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Lots of women have that hair colour and length, it's in style right now, right Emily?"
"Yeah, definitely."
"Look, I just- I need to make a call."
When Spencer had called you sometime in the evening, you'd been expecting him to tell you he was going to come home late and to not wait up for him. What you weren't expecting was for his voice to be the most serious and stern you'd ever heard it.
"Don't go outside until I come home, okay?"
He knew it was entirely irrational. The unsub only took women in broad daylight, you weren't facing any more risks than usual. But he couldn't take a chance. Not with this. Not with you.
"What? Why?"
"Just- I'll explain everything when I come home, I'll be there in a couple hours, but please, don't leave the apartment. And make sure everything is locked."
"Spencer, what's going on?"
"Can you just-" He paused, forcing himself to remain calm. "Look, do as I say, please. I'll explain everything later, I promise." You hesitated for a moment. Luckily for you, you weren't working at the bar tonight. Luckily for Spencer, you liked him enough to indulge him.
"Okay."
"Thank you."
"Oh my God, no, absolutely not!"
"Y/N, it's for your safety, don't you understand that?!"
"My safety? What about my life?"
This was the first real fight you'd ever had. You'd had disagreements, of course, he didn't like you leaving your empty cups and glasses all over the place. You told him off for waking you in the morning by making too much noise. Sometimes you'd get jealous if Geoffrey slept in Spencer's bed rather than yours. Yes, you'd had your fair share of arguments, but none quite like this.
"I'm not asking you to give up your life, you're being totally-" You scoffed loudly, interrupting him.
"Spencer, you might as well! Do you realise what you're suggesting I do? You want me to give up on going outside, not go to any of my classes, not see any of my friends, not go to work, don't you see what bullshit that is? It's putting a cross on my social life, my education and my work!" You gesticulated angrily as you speak, feeling heat rising to your face.
"I already told you, it's for your own safety." He sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He wasn't even looking at you. A tiny, tiny piece of you wanted to slap him.
"I will not stop living my life because some psycho thinks it's fun to kill innocent girls! I won't!" You crossed your arms over your chest and resisted the urge to stomp your foot.
"You're being incredibly childish right now." You hated how he managed to stay calm. You wanted him to get just as angry as you were, livid even. It wasn't fair that you were the only one getting upset.
"Are you making all the girls who look like me give up everything for the sake of their safety?" Your tone was mocking and mean but you didn't have it in you to care at the moment. He met your eyes at last, lips turned downwards into a frown. Finally, some sort of emotion.
"Don't do that, Y/N," he warned in a low voice.
"No, I think it's a valid question. Is your boss making an announcement to the press that all the girls in Mary Washington University who look like the three last girls should stay inside? Is he?" you pushed. Spencer looked away from you again, shaking his head in disbelief at your attitude.
"No, he isn't."
"Then why do you expect me to do that?!" You threw your hands in the air, beyond frustrated. For a logical person, Spencer's behaviour wasn't making any sense at the moment.
"I don't expect you to do it. I want you to do it, I need you to do it." You could feel his calm facade breaking, piece by piece.
"Why, Spencer, fucking why?!"
"Because!" He finally exploded, jumping to his feet and slapping his palms onto the table. You didn't jump. "Because it's you, Y/N! I can't work this case if I know you're in danger every single day! If I know yours could be the next dead body students ogle at on the university's front lawn! If I know it's your picture they're going to hang up next to the other victims! I just can't do it!"
Oh.
You let yourself fall down on the couch, running your hands over your face. You were both stepping into uncharted territory. You'd tip-toed this line before but had never crossed it yet. And this was not the way to do it. You were not going to cross the border from friendship into something more by screaming at each other. Spencer seemed to read your silence as distress.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell." He softly trudged over to the couch and sat down next to you.
"No, it's okay, I- I kind of wanted you to. I'm sorry for getting so upset." You take his hand in your lap and intertwine your fingers.
"I understand, I'm asking too much of you, it's selfish." He gives your hand a squeeze. "I just can't stand the thought of anything happening to you." You sit in silence for a little while, processing.
"I just can't hide while I wait for other girls to be killed, Spencer, it wouldn't be fair." Sometimes, Spencer hated how good of a person you were. If your morals and personal ethics were some of the things he liked about you the most, he couldn't help but curse them in this moment.
"I don't care about fair," he mumbled, hating how puerile he sounded. You cooed and laid your head on his shoulder.
"I know, I'm sorry."
"I won't promise you anything, but I'll try to always be with someone around campus. I'm usually with my friends anyway. And I can share my location with you all the time if that's reassuring for you."
"I'd like that, thank you. And... what about when you're at work?"
"I can ask Paul to walk me to my car." Paul was the manager at the bar you worked at, Quantequila. His past was a mysterious blend of prison, MMA fighting and crochet clubs. He liked you plenty and you knew he wouldn't mind walking you to your car for a while.
"Thank you."
Over the next week, you did just that. Many students started moving in groups and avoiding being alone at all costs after the FBI released the profile and the pictures of the last victims.
"We're looking for a local white man, early twenties. He may have moved here a year ago, we figure he's either in his first year of BA or MA. This is someone you don't notice, he's shy and introverted, he doesn't participate in class and he won't talk to people if he can help it, especially not women. This man is a loner and does his best to be invisible. We think he stalks his victims for a while before attacking them, so if you start seeing someone you've never seen before in strange places, please notify us. My name is Aaron Hotchner and you'll find the hotline on the screen you're watching this on."
You always had at least two friends with you whenever you were roaming about on campus. Though no one really spoke about the situation, the energy had changed. People were becoming tense and suspicious. Friends were fighting over who should accompany who, when and where. A place which had once gathered so many motivated and joyous students now had those very people looking over their shoulder.
You hated it.
Truly, you didn't want to underestimate this killer, but you were getting tired of it all. You'd wish the BAU would just catch him, but, as Spencer had explained to you multiple times, they had incredibly little to go on. What you knew without him telling you was that they needed another victim to predict his next move. Still, you were a person who appreciated alone time and you had gotten none in the last 10 days. So, when two of your friends who were supposed to walk with you from your class to the subway bailed on you, you weren't that upset.
You put your headphones on, listening to your favourite song of the moment and started walking. You had a tendency of getting lost in your thoughts and didn't notice the sound of heavy footsteps following your own over your music. What you did notice though, was the reflection of someone walking close behind you in a cafe window. You looked over your shoulder, frowning. The sun was in your eyes, blocking your vision, but you managed to perceive an average-sized man with long-ish black hair which hung around his face in greasy strands. Not thinking too much of it, you continued on your way.
You didn't think too much of it when you saw him sitting a few tables away from you when you were studying one afternoon at the library. You were captivated by the Middle English poem under your eyes, wondering what the author had meant with the particular use of the kenning "earth-cave". When you looked up and caught his eyes, cold and unnerving, you didn't overthink it. There were some weird people on campus. Who were you to judge?
When you saw him at your grocery store, though, that was when you started worrying. You were picking up a box of After-Eights for Spencer when you saw him looking at oatmeal raisin biscuits. What really tipped you off was that no one really liked those, so he must have been pretending to look occupied. A chill ran down your spine as all the other places you'd spotted him came back to you. Your lecture hall, the cafeteria, sitting in the lawn under a tree, the main hall,...
You decided that the next time you would see him, you'd tell Spencer. You didn't want him to worry if this turned out to be nothing. Maybe the man was just an exchange student? Or had joined during the academic year?
Two days later, the FBI made an arrest. A man named Ben Colton fitted the profile exactly. In his dorm room, they'd found pictures of women who looked exactly like the last victims and of resembling women on campus, you were part of them. You didn't know that, Spencer had felt you didn't need to be aware of that specific detail. The only problem was that the BAU had no physical evidence tying him to the crimes yet. The arrest had been sanctioned by higher authorities while physical proof was searched for. Police dogs and officers had been tearing through all of his possessions while Garcia had gone through his entire online life. Nothing tying him to the murders had been found.
The general public knew nothing of this, of course. To them, someone getting arrested meant they could go on with their usual lives. The man you'd been seeing left and right had left your mind entirely as you celebrated your regained freedom with your friends.
Of course, Spencer had warned you. They were 99% sure this was the unsub, they just needed the evidence. That didn't eliminate the 1% chance it wasn't him. But 99% chances were good enough for you. You trusted the BAU. Specifically, you trusted Spencer. With your life.
So you started living your life normally again. You left for class a little later because you didn't need to walk with your other friends. You stopped sharing your location with Spencer. You put the volume of your music higher again. You started leaving your pepper spray at home. You started texting while walking again.
Needless to say, you were wholly unprepared for the violent blow to your head as you walked to class one morning. How ironic, you thought as you blacked out, that Mary Goldman had probably experienced the same thing exactly two weeks prior.
Taglist : (all of you who asked for a part three <3)
@princess-ofthe-pages @usuck @theylovemelody @empressgraytea @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillianacristina @venomsvl @user-3113s-blog @pumpkin-cake @redros3y @faunrasthewinterelf @puppykinsthepotato @bookishnerd1132 @bonza-bear @teeshamcbeesha @hades-disappointment-child @princesssparkle2024 @darlingcharling-blog @yasmin12312 @khxna @jamieeboulos
pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader
summary : the BAU team works the case, you get to help
word count : 2.3k
warning : canon-typical violence, mention of violence and sexual violence
A/N : thank you all so much for all the love on part 1 of this !!! I love getting feedback, it's incredibly motivating ! I will probably do a part 3 :)) Also, my cat is sitting next to me as I write this, which I find quite funny
part 1, part 3, part 4
Back at the police station, Spencer had trouble focusing on the case. His mind kept wandering over to you, wondering what you were doing, how you were doing. He was on edge and the entire team could feel it. Hotch pulled him to the side to ask him if he wanted to give you a phone call. Reid refused, but settled on sending you a text, something he never usually did while working. Something he never usually did because he wasn't the biggest fan of technology and also because he couldn't decipher how you were actually feeling without hearing your voice and all the quirks in the way you spoke which gave away your real feelings.
Sent by Dr. Ironed Socks :
< Hey. How are you doing? >
Sent by You :
< Ok, I'm having a tea on the couch. Geoff is in REM sleep on my lap. Thx for checking <3 >
Your text was followed by a pixelly picture of your slightly overweight (Spencer couldn't use that term to describe Geoffrey around you or you'd get upset) orange cat sprawled out on your lap, legs and arms askew, fast asleep. Spencer felt a small wave of relief spread through him. You were okay for now. Geoffrey was looking after you. Later, he'd help you process and give you all the tools necessary to get over such a traumatic event and move on. It was almost as if that was in his job description.
Returning to the room where the BAU team had settled in, Spencer sent Hotch a grateful nod. Hotch moved his lips in what resembled a small smile, Reid couldn't be sure.
"Okay," Garcia's voice resounded from the speaker sitting in the middle of the round table, "I've contacted all of Mary Goldman's professors and it turns out she didn't go to class today. Her first class was at 11:30 but she never showed up."
"None of the students we interrogated on campus had seen her after 10:15," Emily spoke up.
"Spencer's roommate saw her between 10:30 and 11:00," Rossi intervened.
"Okay, we'll get her to come in," Hotch affirmed. Spencer's whole body tensed. You had been the last person to see the victim. His mind was so busy reeling, thinking about everything you'd have to go through as the most promising witness, that he missed Morgan's question.
"Reid?" Derek raised an eyebrow.
"Uh, sorry, what did you say?"
"What was the time of death according to the coroner?"
"14:30," Rossi answered.
"It was 14:26, actually," corrected Reid. Rossi rolled his eyes.
"Okay, so the unsub has his victim between around, let's say 11:15, and 14:26," Rossi shot a pointed look at Spencer, "that's about three hours and 11 minutes. In those three hours, he had time to take the victim someplace where neither of them would be seen or heard, beat and sexually assault her, and finally dump her in smack-dab in front of the university."
"He's definitely organised and wants to send a message," Emily thought aloud.
"But what is he trying to say? Look at what I can do? You can't stop me?"
"Friends," interrupted Garcia, "I'm going to need at least some information before I even try to get anything out of a search. He's taking and leaving them on campus, so I'm guessing he doesn't necessarily need a vehicle. Does he live in the area?"
"Yes, he's local or knows the area, he knows these women and he most likely knows the campus. Search for white males, early twenties with a record of violence and sexual misconduct. Cross-reference that with victims of reported abuse and sexual abuse in the last twenty five years. Run background checks for all university staff. Also have a look at similar victims and MOs in this area in the last five years. This may not be his first time," spoke Hotch.
"On it, I'll get back to you when I've found something."
"Thanks, Garcia."
You'd taken a shower as soon as you'd arrived home. The water was too hot and you'd scrubbed your skin too hard but getting out, you felt a slight bit better. Heavily disliking the way you still felt, you opted for a cup of Earl Grey tea with milk and sugar. Settling on the couch with a steaming cup in your hands, you tucked your legs beneath you and sighed.
Images of Mary's dead body were printed onto the inside of your eyelids. You still couldn't believe it. Your mind reeled as you tried to think of an explanation for it all. Whichever path you followed, you came up empty. You could not comprehend or imagine any reason of taking the life of an innocent person, especially in such a violent way. Luckily for you, you still didn't know the extent of the violence.
A familiar noise pulled you from your dark thoughts. Geoffrey had just jumped down from his cat tree. You watched him stretch and languidly walk over to you. He meowed once before jumping onto the couch, right next to you. You moved your legs so that you were sitting cross-legged and scratched his head. He purred in delight and pressed himself against you. He sniffed at your tea with an unimpressed look before climbing into your lap before letting himself flop down on his side, stretching out his appendages. You cooed as his pink toe-beans stretched too and laid a hand on his belly, scratching gently. The vibrations of his purrs had a calming effect on you.
"Are you trying to make me forgive you for biting my ankle the other day when I wouldn't give you any more treats? You know Spencer says you're a bit overweight, I was just trying to get him to stop body-shaming you, my love..."
A few minutes later, you get a text from Spencer. About thirty minutes after that, you get a phone call from him.
"Hey, would you mind coming to the station? It turns out you're the last person to have seen the victim."
"I'll do the cognitive interview."
"Reid, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Look, yes I'm invested, I know that. But I also know her and-"
"Reid, no. This is the reason we such have procedures."
"But I-"
"Reid." Hotchner's tone translated finality. Spencer's shoulders sank in defeat. He had figured that if he had been the one conducting the interview, maybe it would have been less traumatic for you. He hated the idea of not being there for you, with you, during such a trying moment. He bit his bottom lip.
"I'll do it," volunteered Morgan. Reid felt slight comfort at that, Morgan was one of the few people he would entrust his life to. He could entrust you to him for the interview, even if he didn't like it. Hotchner nodded.
"Reid, you work with Garcia, focus on finding other victims with the same MO to help build the profile." Reid nodded and went to find his colleagues.
When you entered the police station, it was almost like he could feel your presence. He came to find you straight away, not wanting to leave alone even for a second.
"Hey."
"Hey." Reid immediately pulled you in for a meaningful embrace, burying his face in your hair. The smell of your shampoo, conditionner and body wash were bliss to his nostrils. They were a promise that you were here, you were safe, you were okay.
Morgan watched from afar, a small smile playing at his lips. He knew Reid, and the hug you exchanged was both too hasty and too tight to be anything casual.
"Are you okay? I'm so sorry to have to make you come in, but they're going to do- well I wanted to do it but they wouldn't let me, so it's-"
A slightly older, very muscular and gentle man stepped forward, holding out his hand to you. You shook it.
"I'm Agent Derek Morgan. I'm one of Spencer's colleagues. I'll be the one conducting the interview, seeing as there's a conflict of interest with you and Spencer. I hope you can understand that."
You introduced yourself and looked at Spencer before answering Derek.
"Yes, I understand, it's- it's not a problem."
"Great, if you could just follow me, please?"
You licked your lips and sent Spencer a look, which he answers with a nod of reassurance and a small smile, before following Derek.
"You can close your eyes if it makes you more comfortable."
You were sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair. The light above you was ticking at uneven intervals and the room smelt of worry. You didn't know how you could get any more comfortable, but listening to Morgan's even, alto voice helped a bit.
"Okay." You closed your eyes.
"You told Agent Rossi that you crossed the victim somewhere around quarter to eleven. Is that correct?"
"Uh, yes."
"Where did you cross her?"
"In the main hall."
"Where were you going?"
"Um, I had just been to the bathroom and I was heading to my Anglo-American Literary Survey class."
"Okay, can you describe to me everything about the moment when you crossed the victim? What you saw, what you felt, smelled, heard? Was anything out of the ordinary?" You opened your eyes.
"Um, I'm sorry, but could you stop referring to Mary as the victim, please? She has a name, which is Mary Goldman, and a victim wasn't the only thing she was." Derek was slightly surprised at your comment but understood where you came from. Separating from the name was a way for profilers to gain some distance from the horrendous violence. Personally knowing the victim, you didn't have such luxury.
"Of course, I apologise. What did you feel when you crossed Mary? Was anything out of place?"
You nodded in thanks and tried to bring yourself back to that moment. It seemed unreal, how such a small interaction suddenly held such importance.
"O-Okay, uh, my hands are still a bit wet. There weren't any towels in the bathroom. I saw her after she saw me and we exchanged a smile. I thought she looked really pretty today, but I didn't tell her. We really don't know each other that well."
"Okay, that's good. Was she wearing anything out of habit for her?"
"Uhh, no, she was wearing a pleated skirt and a sweater vest. She often dresses like that, I don't know exactly why I thought she looked pretty. I guess she just looked happy. Nothing was out of the ordinary."
"Good. Could you hear or smell anything?"
"Yeah, well, there were the voices of other people in the hall. I can hear girls laughing. I smell Mary's perfume when she walks past me. She always wears the same one, it's Chanel, Mademoiselle Coco specifically, she told me once at a party."
"Okay, do you know where she's going?"
"I- yeah, she's heading for her Behavioural Neuroscience class."
"Is she walking in the right direction?"
"Uh... Yes, yes, she is. She's not in too much of a hurry, though, she doesn't like the teacher."
"So why is she heading there already, then? The class only starts at 11:30."
"She likes to reread the material from the previous week before the class starts."
"Why doesn't she like the teacher?"
"No one does, all he does is read off his slides and he's a jerk when it comes to grading."
Morgan suppressed a smile at your comment.
"Okay, thank you so much, Y/N, this was very helpful."
"Was it? I didn't feel like-"
"Yes, I promise you've just shared some crucial pieces of information."
"O-Okay, if you say so."
All eyes were on Morgan as he entered the briefing room. He put his paper coffee cup down on the table and looked at Hotch.
"Nothing was out of the ordinary. Mary was wearing habitual clothes and the same perfume she always wore. She was heading to the same class, as she did weekly, at the same time. My guess is this guy knew her routine and did a blitz attack. Y/N gave me the number of Mary's best friend, and according to her, Mary didn't have any guys in her life except for her dad and brother."
Hotchner nodded. Spencer couldn't help but feeling proud of you for being able to go through with the interview and to provide such useful information, too. He'd have to congratulate you when he got home.
"Pretty boy and I found three similar victims in the last three years. They weren't connected to this case because they were in another university, just on the other side of the state line. Last year, three girls, university students, were killed, same MO, all disappeared for about three hours before being found dead in front of the university, they attended," Garcia spoke from the speaker. Spencer nodded in agreement to her words.
"What did the police find back then?" asked Emily.
"Nothing, they- uh, did all they could during the month that the three murders happened but after the third victim, the unsub stopped," Spencer answered.
"Stopped?" Emily repeated, brows drawn together in confusion.
"Yeah, he just- stopped killing and disappeared. Our best guess is that something triggered him then and that the same thing triggered him now."
"Oh, another thing," Garcia sounded reluctant to share the information she had, "I looked at all the victims' pictures and... well, I'll just send them to you, that'll be easier."
Spencer's blood ran ice cold as he stared at the four girls on the screen. They all looked exactly like you.
Taglist : (all those of you who wanted a part two <3)
@princess-ofthe-pages @usuck @theylovemelody @empressgraytea @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillianacristina
pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader
summary : you are Spencer Reid's roommate, the team finds out about you when a case brings them to the university you study at
word count : 2.5k
warning : canon-typical violence
A/N : the university is a random one I picked in Virginia, bear with me because I don't know how US university systems work, thanks :) I think this is a part one, there may be a part two or even more, idk, but tell me what you think !
part 2, part 3, part 4
"I- I'm sorry, what university did you say?" Spencer's frantic tone was immediately noticed by his colleagues. Suddenly, he seemed hyperaware of everything in the room. The loud AC, Derek's pen-clicking and the overwhelming smell of Emily's coffee.
"Mary Washington University," JJ answered swiftly, eyes narrowed as she sent Reid a confused glance. The man in question mumbled a few words under his breath and shot up, grabbing his coat and scarf.
"We need to go." His tone, unusually urgent, left no space for debate or questioning. He was out the door within seconds, followed closely by Morgan and the others.
When you'd applied for Mary Washington University, you had known you would have to get an apartment. You lived too far away to even consider taking the numerous trains and buses and subways to get there. So, when you had been accepted into your first choice of universities, you'd started apartment hunting. Or roommate-hunting, to be more precise.
To say you had been unlucky would have been quite the understatement. You'd visited four apartments so far and could not even consider living in one of them for a second. The first had been full of frat boys who made your skin crawl, the second was with an old, far right-wing couple, the third had been two sisters who'd yelled at each other for the whole time you were there and the fourth had been so crowded your were certain it was neither sanitary not legal for another person to live there.
With the deadline of university starting and having to move all your things, you were starting to get quite anxious. But call it chance or fate, one day you stumbled upon an advertisement for an apartment in a nice neighbourhood with one person who seemed quite normal. This person was a state-employee (which meant a stable salary and that meant you wouldn't have to compensate for rent) who travelled often for work and liked to keep mostly to themselves. Not one for big parties, they preferred a night-in and rarely had people over.
So you'd put on your big-girl pants and had walked over to what you hoped would be your last apartment visit. You hadn't been expecting such a young person to open the door because of the way the advert had been written and because of what it said.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid." You noticed he didn't hold his hand out and mirrored his behaviour.
"Hi! I'm here for a visit!" You introduced yourself somewhat shyly, feeling intimidated. This man was at the most five years older than you and he was already a doctor?
He showed you around the apartment, which you liked very much. The rooms smelled like books and tea and everything was kept very clean. On the whole, it was tidy, even if a few books or articles were stacked in some odd places. The bedroom you'd stay in was large and luminous. After the tour, he made you a cup of tea as you discussed formalities.
"Uh, so, youâre a student, right?" he'd asked politely as he added a worrying amount of sugar in his earl grey. You bit back a teasing jest. You hoped maybe one day you'd get to place where you could comment on his daily sugar intake.
"Yeah, um, I'm studying English Literature and Cinema." You stirred your tea, looking around the kitchen. Even though it was painted a dark, forest green, it still seemed luminous in the afternoon sun.
"Oh, that's super interesting! Iâve always found texts in Middle English particularly insightful! I- I read the Canterbury Tales when I was about 10 years old. Itâs fascinating the way in which issues which were already current then are still very present today, like in the Wife of Bathâs tale, for example-â
He cut himself off, leaning back into the couch. He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks dusted pink.
âSorry, you probably donât want me to ramble about what you already know.â
âNo, I think itâs amazing that you would know that, actually. What else did you like in the Wife of Bathâs tale?â
Spencer seemed to brighten up at your words and thus ensued a lengthy discussion of the avant-garde themes evoked by Geoffrey Chaucer. You were fascinated by his knowledge and found his passion especially endearing. Lots of your professors werenât even that passionate when talking of late 14th century literature.
After discussing rent, which you would afford by waitressing at a local bar, lightly touching upon political subjects (on which you seemed to agree on), he finally told you that he was an FBI agent.
"Excuse me?" you spluttered, leaning backwards in shock.
"I'm a profiler with the BAU, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I can show you my badge if you want." He stood up and reached for his bag, but you stopped him in his tracks.
"No, no, that's okay, I believe you. I'm just surprised, that's all, sorry." His expansive knowledge of so many things seemed fitting for an agent of the BAU.
After realising you were the first person who didn't demand his badge as proof of his profession, Spencer granted you a small smile.
"You don't need to apologise. I- I know it can be a bit... off-putting." He sat back down and looked you in the eye. "Is that a problem for you, living with a federal agent?"
You thought about it for a second. As a general rule, you weren't a big fan of cops. Even more generally, you didn't believe in the structure of today's society. But that was a big topic. Plus, a profiler wasn't really a cop, was he?
"No, that's not a problem for me."
You'd moved in a month and a half later. Things had been slightly awkward at first and you'd had to figure out what kind of dynamic Spencer and you had. But eventually, youâd found your rhythm.
When Spencer left for work, you took care of his plants and sent him pictures of Geoffrey. Geoffrey was the cat youâd found on the street and taken in. He was named after Geoffrey Chaucer, author of the Canterbury Tales, your first common point of interest. Spencer had been reluctant at first, but youâd taken him to the vet, where he was tested and vaccinated, and the man had finally accepted him into your shared space. Now, he loved the little creature. Sometimes, youâd call him to ask how he was doing and whether he was safe. Heâd always reply that yes, he was doing fine and no, he wasnât in any danger, donât you worry. Heâd ask how you were doing and if you were staying on top of uni work and if youâd eaten and if Geoffrey wasn't being too annoying. As an orange cat, he had his particular tendencies.
When Spencer was at home, you'd always look forward to getting back from class. There was always that sense of comfort and ease when he was around. You had found a lovely routine quite easily. You'd both work or study, then cook, eat together and afterwards maybe you'd watch a movie or something. You were at a point where you could comment on his daily sugar intake, which he's started correcting since meeting you. He loved the Big Bang Theory and though you weren't such a fan, you loved the little laughs he let out and all the corrections he'd make. In general, you liked when he talked. Even more generally, you liked him. You also liked Friends and though Ross got on Spencer's nerves, he enjoyed being able to discuss it with you afterwards. The two of you got very close without even noticing.
Sometimes, you'd remember he wasn't just your roommate, but also a man. He'd make you a cup of tea and you'd stare at his hands a little too long while he stirred the honey in. Or he'd help you reach for a cup with his impressive height, his front just skimming your back with a shiver. He'd tell you to breathe and sit down when you were upset about something. A few times, he drove you home from a night out with your friends and laid his hand on your knee. He was the only one who remembered how you'd told him you wanted to kiss him.
With you, Spencer discovered many things he had never experienced before. A healthy, comforting and peaceful routine. A supporting, non-judgemental, healthy friendship. Easy laughter in the middle of the night and tired "good morning"s at dawn. Butterflies in his stomach whenever you touched him. A budding romance which kept him awake at night.
So when that was threatened, he just about lost it.
"Oh my God."
"I can't believe this."
"Is this a prank?"
"Did someone call 911?"
"What about her parents?"
"Oh, that's sick."
Voices swarmed around your head, making you dizzy. Your hand rested over your mouth as you stared at the body strewn on the lawn. Much of the student body stood next to you, just as shocked. Mary Goldman had been her name. You'd crossed her just this morning in the main hall and had exchanged small smiles. You had thought that she looked really pretty today, but hadn't told her. You regretted that now. At the moment, her mascara had run down her cheeks and dried and her lipstick and been smudged. Bruises and cuts decorated her bare arms and legs and a big red stain sat on the side of her stomach. The contrast between her dead body and the green, thriving grass beneath her was haunting.
You turned away, feeling sick. You felt your friend's hand on your shoulder, a small source of comfort anchoring you to reality. Facing the road as you turned, you were surprised to see three big black SUVs speeding towards the crowd. You'd been expecting an ambulance, or cops. Not whoever these guys were. They screeched to a stop, drawing everyone's attention. A small dozen of people stormed out, all dressed differently though they all held the same aura of importance, knowledge and authority. You turned back to your friends.
"Who are these-"
You stopped mid-sentence when you heard your name being called out urgently. You'd have recognised his voice amidst a thousand others. He spoke your name like no other. You frantically looked around, pushing your way to the large vehicles. When you finally spotted him, tears started pricking your eyes.
"Spencer," you breathed in a half-sob. His eyes ran you over once, twice, assessing any damage. When he saw there was no physical wound, his shoulders sank in relief. He opened his arms and you rushed inside his warm embrace almost reflexively. Neither of you noticed the numerous pair of curious eyes observing your intimate exchange.
"Oh my God, Spence- What- What are you doing here?" you'd cried into his cardigan. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the comforting scent he always bore. He wrapped an arm around your waist and another around your shoulders, holding the back of your head in a consoling manner.
"We're- We're taking this on as a case, sweets. Are you all right?" He knew it was a stupid question but all the emotions and tension were barely wearing off and he didn't know what else to say. You pulled away but he kept you at arm's length, holding your cold, shaking hands in his warm, steady ones.
"I- Yeah, it's just- I- I saw her this morning! How could she- Why would someone do this to her? To- to anyone?!" Spencer cooed and pulled you into another tight hug as you continued to ramble through your tears. When you'd eventually calmed down thanks to his words of reassurance, he pulled away softly.
Spencer understood what you meant perhaps more than anyone. The sadness, the shock, the anger, the need to understand. He gently wiped away the mascara under your eyes with his thumb.
"I know, I- It's- Even I don't always understand, sweetheart, so don't- Why don't you go home? I'd come with you but-" You nodded, biting your lower lip. He gave you a sad smile. "I promise I'll join you as soon as this is over. You- you can make yourself a cup of tea and process all this and pet Geoffrey, okay? Classes are going to be cancelled either way."
"I don't want to-" The look in his eyes kept you from arguing further. You nodded, giving him another hug. Before you left, an older man came over to you.
"I'm sorry to bother you, miss. I'm Agent David Rossi. I just had a question-"
"Rossi," interrupted Spencer with a stern tone you'd never heard before. The older Agent raised an eyebrow at him.
"Just one question." He turned back to you. "At what time did you say you saw the victim?" You inhaled shakily, running a hand over your face.
"Uh, it must have been around quarter to eleven. I think- Yeah, somewhere between ten thirty and eleven."
"Thank you, miss." You didn't miss the glance shared between the two men before Rossi retreated.
"Who was that?" asked Emily as soon as you'd left and Spencer had joined them behind the police tape.
"No one," Spencer brushed her off as he kneeled next to the victim. Strangely, he hated the idea of someone who knew you dying. It felt too close to home.
"C'mon, man, you lost your shit this morning, a girl you clearly know very well runs into your arms, you snap at Rossi and you expect us to believe you?" Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Spencer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking up at the rest of the team. All were staring at him patiently. He stood up, swallowing.
"That was my roommate." He informed the team of your name and of how you'd been living together for a few years now.
"Spencer, you've been living with a woman for years and you've never told us?!" Derek was all but hysteric. Hotch reminded him that everyone was entitled to a private life.
"So, are you dating or something?" Emily prodded again. Spencer hesitated a second before answering.
"No." Derek scoffed, appalled.
"You mean to tell me you've been living with a beautiful woman like that for years and nothing's ever happened?!"
"Not everyone is like you, Morgan," Emily reminded with a teasing smirk. Derek sent her an unimpressed look.
"Look, let's all grill Spencer later, we have a case to focus on right now." Rossi, ever the voice of reason, directed everyone's attention back to the corpse laying next to them.
Needless to say, the BAU team did not need to interrogate Spencer or attack him with incessant questions to find much out. They'd seen by his behaviour that very morning how much he cared about you. They'd seen how relieved he had been when he'd seen you safe and sound. They'd noticed you'd only started crying when you'd seen him, a big sign of trust. They had never heard him call another by pet names such as "sweets" or "sweetheart". They'd read both of your body languages like a children's book and translated it easily.
I know it;s barely been posted yesterday, but I definitely need more Jason x biker!reader.
Wonder how it will go on :D
A/N : thanks for the request babes !! and thanks for you patience, this was a while ago !
Jason todd is a doberman boyfriend
he definitely loves going on rides with you
he thinks it's the peak of romance
he might slap your ass if he gets the chance
if you guys have your bluetooth connected, he's constantly telling you how good you look on your bike
"holy shit, your ass looks great from back here,"
"damn, you looked really good while passing that car, babe,"
"you know what you'd look even better riding?"
he'd drive in front of you if having him behind you made you nervous, but he would prefer to be behind, as to be able to have more control on any situation which might arise
he's a doberman boyfriend
and a mirror smashing king
when you're riding, he usually prefers to stay behind you so he can keep an eye on you
if you've seen those tiktoks of people defending their friends on bikes by chasing after cars, smashing mirrors or that kind of shit > 100% Jason
he might chase after a car if it cut you off, tried to merge into you, drove too close to you,... basically if it did anything to disrespect you or put you in unnecessary danger
sometimes that pisses you off though, you're a strong person and you can handle your shit, but he likes to handle it for you
let's say a car tries to merge into your lane and barely misses you because you swerve
and on top of being scared for your life, you're angry, so you start gesticulating around, telling the guy (because of course it's man) to roll down his window so you can yell at him
and he does, but only to flip you off
you decide it's not worth it and speed up to not have to deal with him anymore, telling Jason through your helmets
but Jason has other things in mind
bad, violent, illegal things
picture this huge pile of muscle of a man on an equally huge and scary bike slowly pull up next to you on the highway, murder on his mind
let's be real, the guy is most likely still going to therapy because of this encounter
but Jason sees red, this man put you in danger, and if you hadn't reacted and gotten out of the way- Jason doesn't want to think about that
and on top of that, he'd disrespected you
Jason can't let that slide, so he pulls up next to the car, glowers at the driver through his mirrored visor before tearing his side mirror off and smashing it into the car's window
the driver panics, starts screaming at Jason that he's totally crazy and that he's going to call the cops
Jason grins because both of you have your plates tucked, shaking his head
he finally catches up with you, tapping your ass lovingly as he passes by you
you didn't see what Jason did because you were busy filtering through trafic and trying to calm down
"did you see that guy?" you ask hotly, ranting about how dangerous it all was
"he's taken care of, sweets, don't worry your pretty head about it,"
"oh god, Jason, what did you do?"
he just smiles, feeling good about keeping you safe on and off the road
with him, you get scary dog privileges wherever you go, big doberman bf vibes
just imagine you, happily walking around shopping or whatever and this 6 foot something mountain behind you, glaring at everybody who dares to breathe in your direction
he definitely carries everything, especially your helmet if you guys go and have went somewhere together on your bikes, heâs got huge hands and has this special way of carrying both your helmets in one hand (it's so he can hold your hand with the other)
loves having you as a backpack
loves being your backpack too, although heâs definitely handsy, but only when youâre stopped though !!! he would never put you in any sort of danger !!!
but yeah, if you have boobs, he might grab them at a red light (if you don't, no worries, he'll find something else to grab)
he will come pick you up anywhere, anytime, just say the word and he is there (in record time too)(google maps hates him)
will carry your helmet around his arm for literal miles, even though itâs really heavy and uncomfortable, just so you can backpack
helmet kisses, all the time
he definitely goofs around at long red lights and will come up and hump your bike out of nowhere
of course, everybody is looking and youâre just đ
if you ride a bike but know nothing about bikes (me) he will be your mechanician, garage guy, therapist and more
bike won't start ? call Jason
bike making weird noises ? show Jason
bike needs any kind of service of fixing ? Jason is already there, doing it for you
this is all I have for now, but feel free to request more stuff :)
summary : the Fellowship makes it out of the Mines, but at what cost?
word count : 2.4k
warnings : loss, lil' violence
Pushing through the pain and exhaustion, you rush after Gandalf, running for your lives. You leave the dark chamber and enter a hall full of pillars. Like insects, numerous Orcs appear out of every dark corner and crevasse. They circle you like flies around a lightbulb and force you into a tight circle, protecting Frodo and the three other Hobbits with your bodies. You draw your weapons. The Orcs snarl and jeer at you. Setting your jaw, you glare at the Orcs standing around you, already rejoicing. No, you think. You know this would not be the end. You would not die in a Dwarf mine, of all places. You would bring down as many Orcs as possible before leaving unscathed. You know this is not your time.
Gimli lets out a battle cry. You take this as a signal to attack and surge forward, but before your blade can pierce anything, a red light flickers at the end of the hall. It is followed by a thunderous roar. The Orcs shriek and flee at the sound. You frown in confusion, turning to look at your companions.
The Dwarf booms a loud laugh, thinking he was the one who had scared them off. You do not budge. You know that whatever could scare such bloodthirsty creatures must be even more horrible than them. A bad feeling settles in your lower stomach. Your knuckles turn white around the hilt of your sword.
For a moment, the Fellowship stands alone in the hall, confused and silent. Gandalf stares at the other end of the Hall with stony eyes. You donât understand why he suddenly looks so dark.Â
"What is this new devilry?" Boromir asks, not putting his sword away. Gandalf does not answer straight away. Those few seconds are enough for you and Aragorn to exchange a worried glance. Gandalf closes his eyes, concentrating on the noise. The rumble is heard once again. The wizard's eyes shoot open, electric.Â
"A Balrog," he speaks wearily, "a demon of the ancient world."
You canât believe your ears. Youâd heard of such creatures before, but you didnât know they still existed and could be found in such places.
"Oh, that's just lovely. Even better than Orcs, to be honest," you spit humourlessly. You try to stay optimistic about your chances of survival, but they are dropping faster than your pants if Legolas were to ask. When another roar is heard, you take a few steps back out of caution and walk straight into a wall of muscle. You turn around so fast you stumble slightly to the side. Strong arms steady you by your upper arms. You look up and stare into Legolas' eyes.
"Sorry," you say weakly. He silently nods but doesn't answer, just keeps looking straight in front of him, right over your head. You purse your lips, cursing your height, and turn back around.
"This foe is beyond any of you," the wizard declares, fear evident in his usually bright eyes. The beast growls, still hidden around a corner of the vast hall, throwing fiery light on the pillars. You pull away from the elf, heart suddenly hammering inside your ribcage.
"Run!" you scream, suddenly feeling much lighter on your feet than you did seconds ago. You all take off running for your lives. This time, you run until you stop underneath a small doorway. Gandalf leads you through it. He takes a fearful glance behind you and hisses: "Quickly!"Â
You notice the Hobbits' hesitation to go first and push past them and take their place. You donât have any time to waste. You can nearly feel the heat of the firery demon on your trail. You enter a passageway and run down a narrow, zig-zagging flight of stairs. You realize too late that a large segment of stone is missing. Your upper body falls forward as you curse, arms flailing. Just before your feet follow suit, someone grabs your leg, preventing you from falling to your death. You hang upside down for a second, staring into the unending darkness below. Vaguely, you reflect on what decisions had brought you to this particular moment.Â
Youâre slowly pulled up by strong hands. You kneel on the edge of the stairs and see Legolas getting to his feet. He had been the one to catch you. You send him a small, shaky smile. This is getting ridiculous, you think, I do have a reputation to uphold.
 "Thank you," you nod. He forces a smile and nods back, though his eyes radiate warmth. The rest of the party joins you and you notice Aragornâs concerned expression. You exchage a nod of reassurance. You watch as the torch you held just seconds ago falls into the darkness. You decide this quest was involving too many near-death experiences for your liking.Â
Aragorn makes his way to the front of the march and makes sure you're truyl alive and unhurt with a squeeze to your shoulder before turning around: "Gandalf!"Â
"Lead them on, Aragorn! The bridge is near!" Gandalf calls.
You look across a wide empty space to a long bridge closing the gap between a hall and a cliff face. Behind you, the Balrog roars again. Aragorn goes to talk to Gandalf, but the wizard pushes him away: "Do as I say!" Hurt and confusion are evident your companionâs face. Defensiveness boils in your stomach at this lack of respect. "Swords are of no use here!"Â
The Balrog bellows once more. Breaking into action, the Fellowship descends a flight of massive stairs. You encounter another gap in the stairs. And here I was, finding Dwarf architecture to be so wonderful, you think to yourself, frowning. Legolas gracefully jumps across it and lands on the other side. You do the same, wincing as you land when you feel your previous injuries ache. You see the Elfâs concerned brown orbs run over you but you ignore him. Your injuries were not in the top three of your priorities at the moment.
The Balrogâs cry is heard once more, the closeness sending shivers down your spine. The vibrations send foundations and rocks into the darkness below you. You hear Legolas breathe "Gandalf," just before the said wizard jumps and meets you.Â
Arrows whistle into the air from a faraway ledge on your left, striking the stone at your feet. Legolas is quick to shoot back. His arrow flies through the air and lands in an Orcâs head. The creature falls down from his ledge into the darkness.
Boromir grabs Merry and Pippin before leaping across the gap as well. Arrows follow them from the stairs to the ledge. You steady them when they land.
"Sam," Aragorn looks over at him before picking him up and throwing him across the gap. You catch him, slightly surprised by his weight, and steadily place him down on the ground.Â
Aragorn reaches to pick up Gimli. Gimli holds up his hand in protest: "Nobody tosses a dwarf!" He jumps forward but nearly falls into the darkness below. You throw yourself forward and grab his beard just before he can fall.
"Not the beard!" he wails. Had you not been concentrating on not dropping him to his death, you would have told him to shut his ungrateful mouth. You grunt with effort and pull him up with Legolasâ help.Â
Some steps crumble and fall on the opposite side of the quickly widening gap. Only Aragorn and Frodo remain on the other side. Your stomach tightens. Aragorn pushes Frodo to safety. They climb to their feet and look at the now widened gap that separates them from the rest of you. You swallow deeply. You know they can still make the jump, but the thought Aragorn falling into the neverending blackness below haunts you suddenly.
"Steady. Hold on!" Strider warns the Hobbit.Â
The Balrog is heard approaching from the hall you had just come from. With each roar, you feel the entire Mine shake. An immense rock falls from the ceiling and smashes through the steps behind Aragorn and Frodo, creating another gap behind them. Their stairs begin to wobble and tilt forward. "Hang on! Lean forward!" Aragorn instructs.
"Come on!" you cry out, nerves wracking your body. You can hardly bear this feeling of fear and worry over your friend. Is this how he feels every time I barely escape the arms of death?
The pair shift their weight forward, tilting the stairs across the gap and slamming them onto the steps where the rest of you stand. After a few seconds of tense suspense, they jump across to safety. You breath out in relief when you steady Aragorn. He nods to you, assuring you that heâs all right before you take off again. The Fellowship runs down the stairs as the stone structures collapse behind.
You follow Gandalf around a tall column. Lying ahead of you is a long, thin bridge. Somehow, you know youâve come to the end of the Mine and that the stairs across thatt bridge lead to the outside world. A wall of flame whirls behind you and you feel the heat of it burn against your back as you run.
"Over the bridge! Fly!" the wizard booms. You all take off in the direction opposite of the fire. But instead of following you, Gandalf faces the wall of fire. The rest of you cross the bridge. Once on the other side, you turn back.
You watch in silent horror as the Balrog rises. You see fire and hear death as it roars once again. You can feel the vibrations in your body.Â
"You cannot pass!" Gandalf cries. Never, in all your years of living, had you ever seen such monstrosity. You had seen more than the average. But this was nearly unspeakable. An immense beast made of coal and flames stands before you. As high as a small mountain, with the claws of a hawk and the horns of a demon. It roars, shaking the ground you stand on. Frodo turns around: "Gandalf!" The wizard ignores him.Â
"I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor⊠The dark fire will not avail you! Flame of UdĂ»n!" the wizard bellows.Â
The Balrog strikes down on Gandalf, who narrwoly dodges the blow with his sword, successfully shattering the Balrog's balde. Glowing embers fly. The monster roars in Gandalf's face. Frodo gasps. Gandalf clenches his teeth and yells: "Go back to the Shadow!"Â You cannot believe your eyes.
The Balrog sets foot onto the bridge, brandishing a flaming whip. Gandalf raises his sword and staff together into the air. "YOU! SHALL! NOT! PASS!" he booms. Your eyes widen to the size of Sam's cooking saucers as you watch the wizard defend you. You had never known the wizard to be this courageous or strong.
Gandalf sinks his staff into the bridge, causing a bright flash of blueish light to flash. Nostrils flaring in anger, the Balrog steps further onto the bridge.Â
The stone bridge collapses with the beastâs weight as it moves towards the wiazrd, and breaks before the wizard's staff. The demon falls backwards into the chasm, its glowing whip still in hand. Gandalf, drained, leans on his staff and watches the Balrog fall to its death.Â
He turns around to walk back to you. You let out a sigh of relief and run over to him. But just as you were about to reach him, the flaming whip reappears from the depths of the abyss and wraps itself around Gandalf's ankle, dragging him over to the edge of the bridge. He clings onto the stone but struggles to keep his grip. You run to his aid and take his hands in yours. Frodo rushes forward but Boromir restrains him. "No! NO!" you hear the Hobbit cry out. His voice send chills through you.
You hastily try to pull the wizard back onto the bridge, but he keeps pulling you forward. You desperately push your heels into the ground, but it does little to stop you from getting closer and closer to the edge of the bridge. The darkness of the abyss approaches quickly and fear starts to cloud your mind. You take out your dagger and plunge it into the ground before keeping a hold around it. The blade slices into the skin of your hand and you hiss. Suddenly, the blade breaks and youâre pulled backwards. You let go of Gandalfâs hand and grab onto the edge of the bridge, crying out in pain when your ribs stretch. You watch helplessly as Gandalf is pulled into the darkness.
"Gandalf!" Frodo cries.
"Fly you fools!" the wizard screams his last words.
As though through a mist, you hear cries of your name. You are holding on to the edge of the crumbling bridge, but your fingers are slipping quickly with the sweat. Deciding you will not persih in territory belonging to Dwarves, you pull yourself together.
Grunting with the effort, you swing your leg over the stone. Hands grab you, pulling you backwards onto the safety of the bridge. You are quickly pulled to your feet and away from the ledge. You tread on someoneâs feet close to you but donât have time to apologize. Frodo runs forward, but you block his path with your broken blade. "LET ME THROUGH!" he yells at you. You shake your head, your lips pulled down into a sad frown.Â
"GANDALF!" the unbelieving Hobbit cries heartbreakingly, sinking into the ground. His cries make your skin crawl. You feel Aragorn's disbelieving eyes on you.Â
You take a look around, breathing heavily. Legolas stands a few centimetres away from you, having pulled you away from the ledge. His brows are pulled together in what seems like confusion and disbelief. Frodo is crying on the ground, his little shoulders shaking with sobs. The other Hobbits are trying to console him while they wipe their own tears. Gimli and Boromir stand frozen in shock.Â
A whistling arrow narrowly misses the elf standing next to you. You are reminded of where you are: "We need to get out of here," you decide. You will your voice to be strong and stable even if you feel the exact opposite.
You help Frodo up and start walking towards the stairs. Aragorn nods at you after a second. You walk up the stairs in silence, the only sound being the snifflings of your companions.
You can only wonder how you will manage to continue without Gandalf.
summary: the Fellowship fights off Orcs and a cave troll
word count: 1'700
warnings: violence, mentions of wanting to throw up, wounds
"Alice. Alice! Alice! ALICE!" Your ears ring. The side of your face stings. You slowly open your eyes and see Aragorn kneeling beside you, his hand repeatedly hitting the side of your face. Hair falls into his worried face.Â
"I'm up, I'm okay." You wince and sit up quickly, not forgetting the ongoing battle. Your vision swims before you and you hold on to Aragornâs shoulder. You place a hand behind your head and hiss at the pain. When you look at youâre fingers, you find them full of blood. You gag and brush it the sticky liquid off on your pants. You let yourself get pulled up into a standing position by Aragorn.
"Are you alright?" he asks worriedly, holding onto your shoulder to make sure you do not fall. You nod and try to smile, even though it looks more like a grimace.
"Never better," you croak. He nods slowly, although he looks like he doesn't believe your lie, and lets go of you. Your vision seems more stable and you take that as a win. He turns back around and helps Boromir fight off the Orcs that had been trying to get to you while you had been vulnerable.
Your dizzy gaze focuses on Gimli, who stands upon the tomb of Balin. You watch as he violently swings his axe into the troll's shoulder. The monster cries out in pain and turns around, smashing the tomb to pieces and easily knocking the dwarf to the ground. Gimli gets back up like a warrior and continues to swing his axe at the beast. Sadly, one dwarf against a cave troll does not stand a chance. Taking in a deep breath, you run forwards. You dodge a few blows and rush to his aid, stepping on the tomb's remains and jumping up into the air. You plunge your blade into the troll's back. You violently pull down on it before landing on the ground with a grunt. You try not to think too much of the squelching noise. You look up, satisfied, at the bleeding wound right down his spine. The creature cries out again and swings his arms and chains blindly, effectively knocking over a numerous amount of goblins.
You and Gimli exchange a nod before you turn back around and plunge your blood-covered blade into an Orc's neck. Another one comes up from the side and wraps his hand around your throat. You gasp before bringing your sword up and effectively cutting his arm off. He lets out a roar of outrage right before your plunge your sword into his heart. He falls to the ground with a sickening thump.
You are too occupied fighting another particularly bloodthirsty Orc to see that the frustratingly alive troll raises his mace and brings it down on the three other Hobbits, causing them to jump aside. Frodo is separated from Merry and Pippin. The troll then follows Frodo, finding him a small and easy target to let out his built-up anger and frustration on.
The young Hobbit tries to evade its eyesight by hiding behind a pillar. Aragorn sees what danger the Ring-Bearer is in and cries out his name. Desperately, he tries to fight his way to the Hobbit, but it is too late.
Just as Frodo peers around the pillar, he is met with the horrible monster. It roars right in Frodo's face. You fight harder and manage to roughly cut your opponent's stomach open, its contents spilling out and onto the ground. The Orc collapses with a screech of pain. You push the urge to vomit down and start running as fast as you can in Frodo's direction. You would have reached the Hobbit in time if the troll hadn't lifted him into the air. You let out a gasp as your hand flies to your mouth.Â
Frodo bravely slashes at the troll's hand with Sting. With a howl of pain, he drops Frodo to the ground, twisting his injured hand and staring down at it. Frodo lies on the floor, seemingly unconscious.
The beast raises its weapon and begins to swing, but Aragorn jumps down into the recess. Youâre mere seconds behind him. Aragorn grabs a spear off the ground and stabs the troll. It doesn't pierce the skin but it does keep him at bay. You pick up an axe and throw it into the monster's thigh with surprising strength. Aragorn sends you an impressed side-eye. You pop your shoulder as the troll lets out a loud roar of pain. Setting your jaw, you keep your sword in front of you and push Frodo behind your body.
Pippin and Merry begin to throw stones at the troll's head. The troll swings his arm down and hits Aragorn's side, sending him flying across the room. You let out a cry of his name as he collapses onto the floor. Anger boils through your blood as you see your friendâs unmoving body. Frodo races after him and tries to rouse him, but Aragorn is too stunned to move.
Not wasting a second, you rush after him and place yourself between your vulnerable companions and the troll. The monster follows and stops right in front of you. You swallow deeply but do not back down. The anger in you overpowers the fear, as it often does.
The beast looks angry. He wants Frodo, you can see it in his eyes. But you won't let that happen. The troll knows it. He snarls in your face, some snot landing on your boots. Unluckily for him, you arenât known to succumb to intimidation.Â
When he gets no response, except for an unimpressed look, he roars in your face with all his might. You look him in the eye and bellow right back. It's undignified. It's animalistic. It's raw. It's survival. This is not just a mere battle anymore, you are fighting for the lives of the Ring Bearer, your best friend and yourself. You will protect Aragorn and Frodo at all costs. You would rather die than hand either of them over to him.
The trollâs surprise does not last long. He swings his mace at you with full force. You drop to the ground, feeling your knees burn as it narrowly misses your head. You jump back up and stab the monster's leg again. You can feel every muscle in your body aching. All of the bruises, all of the cuts. The cut in your head throbs with each movement.
Your hits become more and more sloppy, but you do not give up. You are just about to deliver one particularly violent blow to his hand when the beast swipes at you and knocks you off your feet. You back violently hits the gravel. You cough as you try to catch your breath.Â
Frodo begins to run away but the troll blocks his path with its spear. There is nowhere for the Hobbit to go. The beast takes his aim and before anyone can do anything, it stabs Frodo in the chest.
Gandalf turns instinctively. Merry and Pippin stare in shock. You gasp, not believing your eyes. Frodo groans, his eyes wide. The cave troll gapes in surprise at what he has done.
Merry and Pippin glance at each other, their faces determined. Gandalf is frozen on the spot, shocked. You get to your feet and race towards the troll, a newfound energy running in your veins. The two Hobbits leap onto the beastâs back, stabbing him tirelessly, screaming. Gandalf stares silently across the room, stunned. You plunge your sword into the beast's legs and pull down, leaving deep gashes.
Sam rushes bravely towards his friend. Broken from their shocked trances, Aragorn, Boromir, and Gandalf fight madly to reach the Hobbit. You swing yourself onto the troll's back. All trace of grace leaves your form. You start stabbing his head with your sword repeatedly. You clothes are soon coated in blood. The smell makes you want to throw up but you don't give up.
Frodo slumps to the floor, the spear sticking out of his chest. His expression turns into an ugly grimace.
The troll flails around and grabs Merry, swinging him around and throwing him to the ground. Gandalf and Gimli take turns slashing at the troll and dodging his jabs. You fall off the troll when he suddenly turns around, landing with a sickening thud. Your ribs feel like theyâre on fire. You groan but stand back up. Legolas takes aim.
Pippin has taken your place stabbing the troll's head and opens its mouth. Legolas shoots his arrow up into the brain through the mouth of the troll. You could vomit at the sight of the blood pouring out of the beast's mouth, but resist. The troll stops fighting and its hand fumbles towards its mouth where the arrow found its home.
You run to catch Pippin as he falls out of the troll's grasp. With a long, pained moan, the troll collapses to the ground, dead. You carefully place the Hobbit back down on his feet.
There is a moment of dead silence, save for labored breaths. All the enemies are lifeless or have fled. After a second, everyone rushes towards Frodo.
"Oh no!" Aragorn cries, kneeling near Frodo. Your stomach sinks. You donât think you can handle seeing him dead. Your fellow Ranger turns the Hobbit around, expecting to find him lifeless, but Frodo is gasping for breath.
"He's alive!" Sam squeals, smiling. Sighs of relief are heard. You breathe again.
"I'm all right. I'm not hurt," Frodo says, grinning slightly through the pain.
"You should be dead! That spear would have skewered a wild boar." Aragorn gasps, bewildered.
You finally understand why Frodo survived: "I think there's more to this Hobbit than meets the eye." He pulls his shirt up to reveal a Mithril shirt, glimmering in the dim light. You smile.
"Mithril! You are full of surprises, Master Baggins." Gimly grins.
Suddenly, the sounds of Orcs are heard in the distance.
"To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!" Gandalf yells. You let out a small sigh, wanting nothing more than to just collapse and sleep for eternity, but follow the others. You do not see the concerned looks Legolas throws you.
summary: the Fellowship is ambushed in Moria
word count: 1'618
warnings: violence
The Fellowship follows Gandalf into a large open space. You cannot see anything beyond the wizard and wonder where you find yourself. You spot what looks like pieces of broken columns. The wizard raises his staff.Â
âLet us risk a little more light,â he speaks softly. As his orb of light becomes stronger, an immense stone hall full of tall pillars and arched ceilings are illuminated. Your lips part in surprise as you look around you.
âBehold the great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf,â presents Gandalf. Gimli draws in a sharp breath.
âNow thereâs an eye-opener and no mistake,â gasps Sam, bewildered. You canât help but agree, despite all the chaos, the hall is magnificent. A newfound respect for Dwarf architecture and Dwarves in general awakes somewhere inside you. The Fellowship walks across the hall slowly. Through another doorway, Gimli spots a ray of sunlight.
"Haugh!" he cries out as he runs into the chamber.Â
"Gimli!" you whisper-shout, rushing after him. You suck in a pained breath when you see the contents of the large room, heart hammering inside your chest. The smell is overwhelming and you resist the urge to gag. Corpses upon corpses litter the ground. Weapons are strewn everywhere. Gimli freezes and kneels by a crypt in the middle of the room. A single stream of sunshine illuminates it. Gandalf walks forward and peers at the tomb's surface.
"No! No!" Gimli cries. He chokeson  a sob. "No!"Â
You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it, hoping to give him at least some sort of comfort. Gandalf's fingers trail across the writing on the tomb. Boromir places a hand on Gimli's other shoulder. You exchange a heavy look.
"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria," Gandalf reads, "He is dead then. It's as I feared." Gimli continues to wail helplessly. His cries break your heart.
The wizard gives his staff and hat to Pippin, bends down, and takes a large and battered book from a corpse's hands. He opens it and clears the dirt from its pages.
Gimli, still sobbing, starts singing softly: "Kilmin malur ni zaram kalil ra narag. Kheled-zĂąram⊠Balin tazlifi." You listen somberly to his lament before removing your hand from his shoulder and trudging over to Aragorn and Legolas.Â
"We must move, we cannot linger!" Legolas presses. You both nod along to his words.
"They have taken the bridge... and the second hall," Gandalf continues to read. Gimli abruptly stops sobbing and looks up to Gandalf blankly.
"We have barred the gates⊠but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes." Pippin, still holding the wizard's hat and staff, backs away slowly. "Drums⊠drums⊠in the deep." He turns a smudged, bloodstained page. You glance around the room uncomfortably, as do the others. "We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark."Â
Your stomach feels as though it is turning itself inside out. You don't want to hear what the Dwarves had written any more. You walk to the door at the entrance of the room. Your ears ring slightly as you lean against a door, wary of the arrows stuck inside it. The smell of death is overwhelming. You feel like you can't breathe.
Pippin stumbles back and sees a corpse with an arrow lodged in its chest, sitting by a stone well. He turns towards it. You glance at him over your shoulder but look away, trying to steady your breathing and get rid of the everlasting urge to throw up.
"We cannot get outâŠ" He glances at the last, single line, a scrawl fading out at the bottom of the page. Gandalf looks up in the heavy silence. "They are coming."
The silence is broken by Pippin. Curious, the Hobbit reaches out and lightly twists the arrow in the corpse. The skull slips off, falling into the well with a resounding crash. Gandalf whips around, a furious look gracing his features. The rest of the Fellowship jumps at the loud sound.
Pippin turns to face the wizard, looking guilty. As he does, the rest of the corpse slips into the well, dragging with it a chain and bucket. Crashes and bangs echo from hall to hall far below. Pippin winces at each wave of noise, as do you. You feel sick to your stomach.
Gandalf slams the book shut. "Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" he booms. You frown at his words. He pulls his hat and staff from the Hobbit's hands roughly without sparing him a glance.Â
"Hey, easy. It was an accident!" you defend the small Hobbit, ignoring the urge to retch. Gandalf grunts in response. You roll your eyes and walk over to Pippin. You ruffle his hair and give him a small grin: "Don't worry about it, it could have happened to anyone. And him," you whisper, pointing to the wizard, who had turned away, "he's just a bitter, old man." Pippin grins back at you, but it does not last.
Drums are heard booming. Your heart falls into your stomach and you feel the colour leaving your face. Gandalf slowly turns back around, Pippin following his movements, staring down into the well. More drums. Your heartbeat hammers inside your ears.
"Frodo!" Sam cries. The Ring Bearerâs sword is glowing blue.Â
"Orcs!" Legolas yells. Fear is evident in the Hobbits' features. Deciding this was not the time to vomit, you push the urge back down and take in a deep breath. You rush to the doors to have a look at what might be happening outside. An arrow flies right into the door, mere centimetres from your face. Your eyes widen slightly and you jerk your head back. Aragorn drops his torch and runs over to you.Â
"Get back! You stay close to Gandalf!" he yells to the Hobbits. You start pushing a door shut with a grunt. Aragorn copies your actions, pushing the other door closed. A loud bellow is heard from the other side. You recognize the sound immediately.
"They have a cave troll, how wonderful," you state sarcastically.
Legolas picks up some weapons from the ground before throwing them to you and Aragorn. You barricade the door shut to the best of your ability. Normally, you would do anything but trap yourself in, but you had no other choice. You stand back and unsheathe your sword.Â
The Fellowship stands at the ready. Gandalf throws his hat to the side and pulls out his sword. He lets out a battle cry. The Hobbits brandish their short-swords. Sting glows blue in the dimly lit room. Gimli jumps on top of Balin's tomb and brandishes his axe.
"Argh! Let them come! There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!" he hollers. You canât help but admire his resilience. His words give you strength as you turn to the door.
The creatures on the other side of the door start breaking it down. Weapons crash through splintering spaces. You stand back, the grip on your sword so tight your knuckles start turning white. Legolas stands poised, ready to shoot.
When the first clear gap is broken through the door, Legolas shoots. A chilling cry rings out. The Elf nocks another arrow as Aragorn shoots.
When the creatures finally break through your final defense, the battle begins. You take in a shaky breath before charging forward. A wave of armour-clad Orcs runs forward, yelling out battle cries. Aragorn pulls out his bow. He and Legolas nail Orcs with their arrows while you and Boromir cut others with your swords. Gimli aims for the stomach. With a cry, Gandalf runs into the fray, the Hobbits following closely. You behead an Orc and black blood spews forth, splashing in every direction. The urge to vomit resurfaces as you spit out the disgusting blood. You wipe the sticky liquid off your lips and gag. Sam pauses in the midst of the battle, his eyes glued to something very tall. You follow his eyes and sigh. Itâs huge.
The cave troll smashes through the doorway with a growl, heavy chains leading from his wrists to an Orc's hand. Legolas shoots it in the shoulder. The arrow looks ridiculously small against his immense body. The beast howls in pain and claps a large hand to the wound. Sam is frozen on the spot. Just as the troll swings his mace down at the Hobbit, you cry out his name and he dives under its legs and crawls away. The troll turns around spots him once more.
You heart pounds as you realize that the Hobbit is cornered. In a moment of sudden braveness, you run behind the beast. You behead the Orc holding on to his chains and take ahold of them yourself. You start pulling it away from Sam with all your strength. But with one hand pulling the heavy metal and another fending off Orcs, you don't make much of a difference. You yell for Boromir and Aragorn to come and help you. They arrive just as the beast raises his arm to strike. The three of you pull with all of your strength and he falls over before he can hit Sam.
The frustrated cave troll turns around and spots the three of you. Boromir and Aragorn have the right reflex and let go of the chains. You do not. The monster throws his arm to the left and you are whipped you across the chamber. You land in the recess of the wall, black spots dangerously dotting your vision. The last thing you see before you blackout is an Orc, standing over you, ready to strike a fatal blow.
summary: the Fellowship begin their journey in Moria
word count: 1'623
warnings: none
âWe now have but one choice.â Gandalf voices your thoughts, words echoing in the mines hauntingly. Frightened and agitated faces are revealed as he lights the orb atop his staff, basking everyone in white light. âWe must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.â
After your eyes have adjusted to the cool light, you look up to see Legolas as the owner of the hand youâd been holding. You untangle yourselves with small, shy smiles. Your stomach does something strange, but you blame it on the mines. Silence reigns, and even the smallest of sounds can be heard. You hear every intake of breath clearly.Â
âQuietly now,â continues Gandalf, âIt is a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed.â The wizard starts walking and the rest of the Fellowship follows in silence. Frodo hands you back your cloak with a small smile, thanking you for having lent it to him. You return the smile, grateful to be able to find some warmth once again.Â
You find yourself next to Aragorn as you walk, following behind everyone else. You pull your cloak around you, shivering slightly in your wet clothes.Â
âI thought you had drowned,â Strider admits quietly, eyes trained on the path ahead of you. You swallow, unsure of what to say. âIt was Legolas,â he continues, âHe said you could still be saved. We dived in immediately. The water was freezing, and I thought that if you hadnât drowned, then maybe youâd succumbed to hypothermia. You were still as Legolas carried you into the mines and white as snow. By the Valar, Alice, I was so scared.â He coughs after his voice breaks.
You arenât certain as to why he is telling you this and you ponder your words before speaking.
âThank you, my friend,â you breathe. âI would have hoped that the first time Legolas held me would be more romantic, but it is the way of things, I guess.â You try to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. There was no use in dwelling on the past, it could not change the present or the future.
âAlice, I am being serious.â
âSo am I, I would have wanted a candle, maybe-â
âYou could have died!â he hisses, grabbing your elbow to make you look at him. You stop in your tracks. In the dimly lit hall, you can barely make out the fear shining in his eyes. You know he worries about you, as you do him. But this look is new for the both of you. The two of you had never been faced with near death like this before.
âAragorn,â you speak softly. âYou could have died as well. So could have Legolas, or anybody else. This is what we signed up for. We knew the risks before joining the Fellowship. Today, it happened to be me. Tomorrow, it may be someone else. This is something we must be prepared for at all times. We cannot dwell on what may or may not have happened.â You place your hand on his shoulder. âThere is nothing I would have done differently, you know this. Thank you for saving my life.â
He nods and starts walking again.
âYou would have done the same for me.â True. âBut I wasnât alone, Legolas played his part.â You squeeze his shoulder. Feeling he needs to be alone with his thoughts for a while, you quicken your face until you join Legolasâ side.
Legolas picks up on your shivering in an instant, frowning in concern.
âMy lady, youâre freezing,â he notes as he unfastens his cloak and drapes it around your shoulders. You look up at him with slightly wide eyes as his warmth and scent envelops you. You decide that your new favorite trees are pine trees.
âYou must be too, you dived into the lake as well.â You go to give him his cloak back, but he stops you.
âI do not feel the cold as you do.â You drop your gaze to the ground as you walk. Being a half-elf had its perks, many of them. It also had its downsides, which painfully reminded you of your human genes.Â
âThank you,â you speak earnestly.
âYou are most welcome.â
âI do not mean just for this, also for saving my life and for everything else too.â His eyes trail over your face and you feel the tips of your ears burn.
âIt has been my pleasure, my Lady.â
âI think it is time you would call me by my name.â Your shy gaze meets his surprised dark orbs with a smile.Â
âOnly if you promise to call me by mine.â
âI promise, Legolas.â You like the feel of his name on your lips.Â
âThen I shall call you by your name, Alice,â he smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue easily, enchantingly. You want to hear him say it again immediately.
The Fellowship enters a large cavern. You watch attentively as the wizards rests his hand upon a rock with dark, silver veins running through it.Â
âThe wealth of Moria was not in gold, or jewels,â he explains, âbut in Mithril.â He tilts his staff down towards the pit behind you. You all turn to look down, faces illuminated by the light emanating from the depths. A vast rock wall drops deep, down below, illuminating row upon row of ladders and scaffolding, old and dilapidated, disappearing into the mining shafts below. Merry leans forward slightly to look closer, but Pippin puts a warning hand against his chest. You gaze down until the light disappear, surprised by such beauty and handicraft in the Dwarf world. Youâd heard of Mithril, of course, but had never wondered how it was extracted or produced.
âBilbo had a shirt of Mithril rings that Thorin Oakenshield gave him,â Gandalf remembers.
âOh, that was a kingly gift,â muses Gimli, impressed. You do not know what relation Dwarves in general have to Mithril, you only know it is extremely precious and rare.
âYes!â agrees Gandalf, âI never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire.â You see Frodo send him a bewildered side-eye and bite back a smile.
You resume your walk and climb up some incredibly steep steps on the side of another cavern. Vaguely, you wonder how Dwarves and their little legs were able to move up such steep stairs. You send Gimli a look and find him doing alright. You slip and nearly lose your footing when a warm hand presses against your lower back. You send Legolas a thankful smile over your shoulder as you press on. Pippin slips too but is caught by Merry.Â
The flight of stairs leads to a crossroads in the mine. The doorways loom before you, tall and imposing. Gandalf glances between them, looking puzzles.Â
âI have no memory of this place,â he admits quietly. He takes his hat off with a frustrated huff. You send him a disbelieving look, panting slightly from the stairs. Aragorn catches your eye, and you share a glance. Sighing, you sit down on a large stone. The rest of the party follows your lead, taking the chance to rest. Legolas sits beside you, stretching out his legs. Pippin and Merry start bickering. They stop when Frodo stands to look down into the cavern below you. Seeing a small figure leaping from stone to stone in the dark, he startles.Â
âThereâs something down there!â he cries to Gandalf.Â
âGollum,â the wizard states casually.
âGollum?â Frodoâs eyes are wide as he gasps.
âHeâs being following us for three days, now,â you speak, impressed Frodo hadnât noticed. You figured everyone knew, even though no one had mentioned it. By the lack of surprised features around you, only the Hobbits had not noticed.
âItâs a pity Bilbo didnât kill him when he had the chance!â Frodo spits. Gandalf sends the Hobbit a sharp glance. But before he can say anything, you sit up, shaking your head.
âPity? Frodo, it was pity that stayed Bilboâs hand.â Your brows furrow in frustration at the Hobbitâs ignorance. You force yourself to stay calm. âMany that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?â Frodo looks down at his feet silently. You soften your tone: âDo not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. Even the very wise cannot see all ends.â
âMy heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or for ill,â says Gandalf. âBefore this is over, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many.âÂ
You lean your head back against the wall against, your shoulder touching Legolasâ. Closing your eyes, you listen to Aragorn and Boromirâs quiet conversation. A few moments later, Gandalf looks at one of the doorways with a newfound hope.
âOh, itâs that way!â he exclaims. You smile in relief as you get to your feet.
âHeâs remembered!â rejoices Merry. The Fellowship begins its descent of the dark staircase behind the doorway. Gandalf puts his hat back on.
âNo, but the air doesnât smell so foul down here.â The wizard rests a hand on Merryâs shoulder: âWhen in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose.â
summary: the Fellowship enters the Mines of Moria
word count: 2'078
warnings: person nearly drowning
As the night gets colder and dark, you grow more and more restless. Both your fingers and ears are numb, and you can feel your feet starting to go as well. As Gandalf tries to remember the password, the Fellowship rests. Legolas leans against the dead tree, keeping an eye on the lake. You can feel his gaze swooping over to you from time to time. You shiver and stand up, rubbing your arms. Walking over to the elf, you stand beside him.
âDo you anything resides in the water?â you ask, your words coming out in white puffs.Â
âI cannot be sure, but I feel somewhat of a presence,â he answers, eyes diving into yours. You nod. Standing close to him, you can feel the heat emanating off his body. Unconsciously, you edge closer and closer to him until your sides are nearly pressed up against each other.
âYouâre freezing,â Legolas breathes, wrapping the side of his cloak around you. You donât bother denying it as you lean further into him, mumbling a thanks. His arm settles around your shoulders, keeping his cloak around the both of you. If you werenât so cold and tired, you would think about the comforting weight of his arm around you a lot more.
âAw, look at them, Mister Frodo. Arenât they adorable?â Sam whispers, discreetly pointing in your direction. Despite your ears being numb, your hearing was still intact.Â
âYes, Sam, they are.â You can feel the blush warming your cheeks and ears knowing Legolas hears them too. Both of you stay silent.Â
âOh, itâs useless!â cries Gandalf after a while, standing in frustration. You bite your lip and look up at the archway again. Frowning, you realize it says âspeak friendâ and not âspeak, friendâ. You donât know much about dwarfish punctuation, but you do know a sly riddle when you see one.Â
âItâs a riddle.â You untangle yourself from Legolas to go stand in front of the door. All eyes turn to you, shining with hope. âYou literally speak the word âfriendâ and enter. Thatâs the password. Mellon.â As you speak, doors start to make themselves visible. After a moment, they swing open with a deep rumble. You smile to yourself.
âCould you not have come to that conclusion earlier? Perhaps sometime in the last few hours?â Gandalf asks, lips pursed. You scoff.
âI apologize, wizard, the next time the fate of this quest depends on a riddle, I shall try to hurry as you are apparently incapable of solving one,â you deadpan. You donât see Gandalfâs reaction because a stir in the water catches your eye. You find it strange, considering it had been still for the last few hours. You decide to ignore it as the Fellowship enters the Mines. Aragorn is the last one to enter and you notice him staring suspiciously at the water too. You exchange a look, confirming each otherâs thoughts. Something was down there. Gandalf places a luminous orb at the top of his staff.
Gimli addresses Legolas as you walk in: âSoon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves! Roaring fires, mal beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin!â
The wizard blows on the sphere, and it starts glowing, thus illuminating the entrance to the mines with a whitish glow. You stop dead in your tracks. Your eyes perceive still and bony silhouettes laying around in corners of the room. Cobwebs cover everything. All hope of warmth and joviality leave you as you take in your surroundings. It becomes clear to you something terrible had happened here. The air is nearly as cold as outside and a foul smell burns your nostrils.
âAnd they call it a mine! A mine!â Gimli roars, having seemingly not seen what lay around you. You turn to face him, mindful of where you step, and meet Legolasâ gaze. By his face, you can tell heâs come to the same conclusion you have.Â
âFriend,â you speak to Gimli, âthis is no mine. It is a tomb.âÂ
Gandalf shines his light upon the bodies of Dwarves strewn across the floor. You flinch as Gimli sinks to his knees, crying out: âOh! No! NO!â
You squeeze his shoulder, trying to provide some comfort, as your other rests on the hilt of your sword. You mind races with questions. Why had the Dwarves been attacked? By whom? When? Were the attackers still here? Were they watching you right now? Were any Dwarves still alive?
Legolas bends down and pulls an arrow out of a corpse. He examines it closely before rapidly pulling it away from his face in disgust. âGoblins,â he spits.
Your shoulders tense immediately, and you draw your sword. Gimli gets to his feet, wiping at his eyes. Legolas nocks an arrow, pointing it at the endless dark hall in front of you. Aragorn and Boromir hold their swords at the ready, eyes alert.Â
âWe make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here,â Boromir decides. For once, you agree with him. The decision should have been left up to Frodo, he knew too little of the world outside the Shire. The Hobbits navigate towards the door, unnoticing of the lake stirring dangerously.
âNow get out of here, get out!â pushes Boromir.Â
âNo! Wait! Watch out for the-â You are too late. A long, dark and slimy tentacle rips through the surface of the black lake and wraps itself around Frodoâs leg, starting to pull him into the water.
âFrodo!â the three Hobbits squeal. Sam yells out Striderâs name in panic. All of you rush forward.Â
âHelp!â Frodo cries as he is pulled closer and closer to the lake.
âGet off him!â Sam screams as he hacks at the tentacle with his dagger, âIra!â The Hobbits try to hold Frodo back as more tentacles wrap around him. You rush forward, swinging at the tentacles furiously. The air is cold and wet but you ignore it, speechless, as more tentacles appear from beneath the water and start gesticulating in the air.  The creature finally releases Frodo and disappears under the water. Hastily, you pull Frodo to his feet and push him in the other Hobbitsâ direction. You turn back around in time to see multiple tentacles fly out of the water, rushing towards you. One crashes into your stomach, sending you flying to the side. Pain soars through your body as you land harshly at Gimliâs feet. The Dwarf pulls you to your feet and you thank him with a nod, your eyes fixated on the scene before you. The other tentacles slap the Hobbits away and wrap themselves around Frodoâs legs. The Ring-Bearer is pulled into the air, screaming.Â
âFrodo!â cries Merry. Legolas rushes onto the lakeshore and takes aim. Never missing his mark, the arrow lands in the tentacle wrapping itself around Frodoâs face. The beast hisses in pain.Â
âHelp!â Frodo hollers, as though the entire Fellowship wasnât trying to do exactly that. Boromir and Aragorn attack the beast with swords, knee-deep in the water. The monster wildly swings Frodo around in the air. You run into the water, slashing and stabbing at the multiple limbs. Everything is a mix of gray and silver, the moonlight being the only source of light in the darkness of the night. Despite everyoneâs efforts, Frodo is lowered towards what you make out to be the beastâs mouth, lined with teeth. With a rush of adrenaline, Aragorn finally slices through the tentacle holding most of Frodoâs weight. The Hobbit falls into Boromirâs arms. The man tosses the Ring-Bearer to you, being the closest to the shore. You catch him with a grunt and take off as fast as you can towards land. You are aware of the tentacles following you closely, hearing them slosh behind you.Â
You know you wonât make it to safety before being pulled underwater. The water around your legs slows you down too much. In a split second, you gather your strength and throw Frodo the furthest you can. You barely see him being pulled out of the water by Legolas before something slimy wraps itself around your ankle. It pulls you back with a jolt and you fall down, water pooling around your abdomen. You try to cut the tentacle off as if pulls you in further, but the wet hilt of your sword slips out of your grasp. You curse loudly. The beast keeps pulling you in and within a second, youâre entirely submerged in water. You pull at the tentacle wrapped tightly around your leg, struggling in the murky waters. Your world becomes even darker as youâre pulled further and further. You can make out panicked voices at the surface but cannot discern what is said. The need for air suddenly becomes overwhelming as you start thrashing around the water. You continue desperately pulling at your leg, barely noticing the arrows flying through the water, into the beast. I canât breathe. I canât breathe. I canât breathe.
You try to hold your breath and not let any water into your lungs. You stop thrashing, energy leaving your body as faint overcomes you due to the lack of oxygen.
Legolas finally dives into the water, followed closely by Aragorn. The tentacles had finally retracted and given the Fellowship time to stop worrying about being pulled in themselves. The Elf grabs your shoulders as Aragorn manages to slice off the tentacle holding on to your ankle. He winces as he thinks of the scar youâll bear because of this. Legolas pulls your unconscious body to the surface and leans your head back onto his shoulder as he rushes you into the mines. Boromir meets him there and helps the Elf lie you down. Aragorn drops to his knees besides you and turns you over onto the side, eyes wide with panic. Legolasâ throat bobs as he sees his stoic friend lose his calm over your still body. Aragornâs breath is ragged as he lightly shakes your shoulders.Â
âAlice,â he hisses, giving your back a few claps. âAlice, come on!â he urges, shaking your shoulders once more. Legolas steps forward to hold him back when your body jerks. Holding yourself up on your elbow, violent coughs wrack your body as you cough up water. Legolas places a hand on the small of your back as you sit up, shivering as you catch your breath. Aragorn sits back and lets out a relieved sigh, looking at you with a look you canât quite decipher. You rest your head against your knees after catching your breath and close your eyes. Youâd almost died. You try to not think too much about it at the moment, there are other things going on. You would process this when you would have the time.Â
âIs it dead?â you rasp.
âNo,â Gandalf answers sourly. You donât miss the relief shining in his eyes as he speaks.Â
You are ushered to your feet by Boromir as he looks past you, face pale. You immediately understand once you look over your shoulder. The beast looks as if it had doubled its number of tentacles. Legolas helps you to your feet and you gasp as all the tentacles throw themselves at you simultaneously. You stumble backwards into Legolasâ chest. He steadies you with a hand on the hip.Â
Aragorn shouts at everyone to get back. You grab Merry and Pippin and pull them deeper into the mine. Boromir grabs Sam and drags him to where you stand. Frodo and Gimli soon join you as well. Legolas backs away slowly after shooting one last arrow. It finds home in the beastâs eye and the creature recoils under the water with a mighty roar. You all shuffle further backwards, feeling this wasnât quite over yet. You are proven right when the beast, frustrated, reaches out of the lake and tears the doors down. You watch in silent horror as the passageway caves in, slabs of rocks and mud effectively trapping you inside the mine.Â
You sadly watch the last rays of moonlight disappear, leaving you in total darkness. Heavy breathing and small gasps can be heard in the silence. Out of instinct, your hand searches for something to latch onto. It finds another hand and you intertwine your fingers. The person squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. Small comforts such as this are much needed in times like these.
summary: the Fellowship leaves Rivendell and try to take the pass of Caradhras
word count: 2'300
warnings: none
The Fellowship departs the next morning at dawn. Elrond bids you all farewell and you follow Frodo out of Rivendell. Aragorn and you follow the others last, keeping an eye on everyone. Very few words are exchanged during the first hours. You admire the scenery as you travel through woods, hillsides and plains. The sun beats down on you as you walk, making you take off your cloak and unbutton the first buttons of your blouse. Near noon, you finally stop for lunch on a hill.Â
As Sam cooks food over a fire, most of the Fellowship rests. You sit next to Aragorn, dilligently smoking his pipe, and watch amusedly as Boromir tries to teach sword fightin to Pippin and Merry.Â
âTwo, one, five,â Boromir instructs with each move of his sword, âGood. Very good.â
âMove your feet,â you advise as you reach for Aragornâs pipe. He sends you a look as you take it out of his hand and inhale deeply. Eyes twinkling with mischief, you blow out the smoke in his face. He grunts as he waves the smoke away, taking the pipe back from you with a scowl. You chuckle, turning back to the Hobbits providing entertainment.
âYou look good, Pippin!â calls Merry.Â
âThanks!â
âFaster!â pushes Boromir. As they continue sparring, you watch Gimli walk over to Gandalf, looking irritated.
âIf anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note theyâre not, Iâd say we were taking the long way around,â he sneers, looking over the map sprawled out in Gandalfâs lap. âGandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome!â
âNo, Gimli,â Gandalf frowns. âI would not take the road to Moria unless I had no other choice.â Before you can wonder why the wizard seems to admant to avoid the mines, a mouvement in the sky catches your eye. You stand and walk over to a stony ledge on the hill, staring at the sky. In the distance, you perceive a dark shape moving rather quickly in your direction. Legolas joins your side, squinting at the horizon.Â
âIs that-â You are interrupted by the Hobbits attacking Boromir after having accidentally been nicked by his sword.
âFor the Shire!â Pippin yells, âHold him! Hold him down! Merry!â The Hobbits wrestle Boromir on the dry ground, laughing. A small smile makes its way to your face. Sam ignores the ruckus and walks over to you and Legolas.
âWhat is that?â he asks loudly.Â
âNothing!â Gimli quickly assures, âItâs just a whiff of cloud!â You roll your eyes, expecting nothing less from him.
âItâs moving fast,â Boromir notices as he brushes the dust off his clothes.
âAnd against the wind,â you add, squinting at it. Your eyes widen once you realise what it is. Legolas confirms your thoughts when he cries out: âCrebain from Dunland!â
Everyone falls into action. You grab Merry and Pippin and shove them under a bush, making sure they were well hidden before running over to the fire. You stomp on it a few times, effectively extinguishing it. Your eyes roam the hilltop for anything else that needed to be hidden to erase any trace of your presence. Suddenly, a force takes hold of your waist and pulls you to the ground under a leafy bush. You land harshly on your back and your breath is knocked out of you. You look up to see Legolas all but laying on top of you, shielding you and your white blouse with his green cloak. Your breathing is raspy as you try to force air back into your lungs. You are acutely aware of how Legolas is pressed against you. You know he must be holding some of his weight up because you can still breathe and you find yourself very thankful. His elbows rest on either side of your face and you can feel one of his knees between your thighs.
He looks to the side, at the sky and the black birds circling the hill. His hair tickles your face with the movement. Youâre surprised at the nice, pine-like smell emanating from it. The birds fly off but you all stay hidden for good mesure. You finally gain control over your breathing, relieved that your presence went seemingly unnoticed by the birds. Legolas looks down at you and you meet his eye, though none of you speak. Youâre pulled into a pool of chocolate and caramel, so warm and sticky that you have trouble tearing your gaze away from his.Â
Soon, the threat is deemed over, and the Fellowship starts coming out of hiding. Legolas crawls out from under the bush and you follow him closely. He stands and holds out his hand for you. You gratefully take it and let him pull you to your feet. Meeting his eye once more, you thank him. He nods with a smile.Â
âSpies of Saruman,â Gandalf says bitterly. Youâre reminded of the conversation youâd overheard and of the turning of the white wizard. âThe passage South is being watched. We must take the pass of Caradhras.â Gandalf looks grim as he announces this. You gulp as you turn to take in the immense, snow-covered mountain. You have a bad feeling about this.Â
Due to your elf lineage, you can walk on top of snow. This is a useful ability in such times, and only Elves possessed. You walk next to Frodo, partly shielding him from the cold with your cloak. The trek up the mountain had been hard on the Hobbits and you dread the rest to come. You arenât even half-way up yet.
Suddenly, Frodo loses his footing and goes rolling towards Strider, following last. Your fellow Ranger pulls him to his feet and pats the snow off him. Frodoâs hand goes to his neck by reflex, searching for the ring. Finding it missing, his eyes widen. You start searching for it and find it glistening in the snow right next to Boromir. He picks it up by the chain and holds it in front of his face. The entire Fellowship stills, the atmosphere tensing.
âBoromir,â Strider warns lowly. The man doesnât answer, seeming in a trance. All eyes are on him as you take a step in his direction.
âIt is a strange fate we should suffer so much feat and doubt over so small a thing... Such a little thing,â he speaks softly. Your hand finds the familiar hilt of your dagger, slightly numb fingers curling around it. Strider catches your eye and motions for you to wait. Boromir reaches out for the ring.
âBoromir!â Strider booms. Boromir pulls his hand back with a jerk, as if pulled out of a daze. âGive the Ring to Frodo,â Aragorn demands.Â
âAs you wish, I care not.â Boromir trudges over to the pair and hand the Ring over to the Hobbit. You and Strider exchange a look before you let go of the grip you hand on your weapon. Boromir tousles Frodoâs hair and resumes his climb. You let out a breath you didnât know you were holding. Questions cloud your mind as you continue your climb. Could the Ring affect you if even without touching it? Could it affect other members of the Fellowship at a distance?
Soon, the wind starts picking up. You tighten your cloak around you, teeth chattering as you painstakingly make your way along a narrow path against the cliffside.Â
âCuiva nwalca Carnirasse; nai yarvaxea rasselya!â (Wake up, cruel Redhorn! May your bloodstained horn fall upon enemy heads!) a windy voice roars. Your eyes widen in fear.
âThere is a fell voice in the air!â calls Legolas from up front. You shove a strand of hair which had escaped with the wind back into your hood.
âItâs Saruman!â Gandalf cries over the loud wind. Stones and snow fall on the path you were walking on. You can feel the very mountain trembling beneath your feet. You all flatten yourselves against the side of the it.Â
âHeâs trying to bring down the mountain!â you scream over the sound of distant avalanches, âGandalf, we must turn back!âÂ
âNo,â he insists. You can see his snow-covered bushy brows furrowing underneath his hat. âLosto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho, i âruith!â (Sleep, Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath!) he cries. The moutain seems to calm itself and tentatively, you unstick yourselves from its side. You turn to look ahead when you are hit by an avalanche which buries you all in the snow.
For a moment, you see nothing but a dull gray. All is silent. You do your best not to panic and take shallow breaths. Despite your racing heart, you manage to stay somewhat calm and start wiggling your body. In a few seconds, your arms dig up to the surface of the snow. Light and sound come back to you and you manage to take in a deep breath. You thank the Valar the snow was light and easy to dig. A shadow stands over the hole youâre buried in, cloak flying wildly in the wind. You make out Legolasâ concerned face as he reaches down to you. You take his cold hands with your own and let him pull you out. Heart racing, teeth chattering, you thank him with a nod.Â
Both of you walk around, trying to find Gimli, the only one who hadnât emerged from the downfall of snow yet. When you do find him, Legolas and you begrudgingly pull him out. When the dwarf is free, you join Aragorn in ridding the Hobbits of snow. All of them were shaking like leaves, teeth chattering even more than yours. You glance worryingly at Frodo, whoâs skin is turning dangerously blue. You shrug off your cloak and wrap it around him, rubbing his arms up and down to try and warm him up. His purple lips try to utter a refusal, but you shake your head.
âYou need it more than I do,â you argue. Accepting the favour, he thanks you with a nod. You pat his head as you turn to the others, shivers wracking your body.
âWe must get off the mountain!â Borromir hollers over the wind, âMake for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!â
âThe Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!â counters Aragorn. Cold wind flies into the back of your shirt, attacking the bare skin of your back. You set your jaw to avoid your teeth from chattering too much. You try to ignore the cold burn of your face and your hands as your hair whips around you in the wind. You donât notice Legolas watching you with worried eyes.
âIf we cannot pass over the moutain, let us go under it! Let us go through the Mines of Moria!â Gimli booms. You discern fear shining in Gandalfâs eyes and wonder once more why he wants to avoid the mines so badly.Â
âLet the Ring Bearer decide!â the wizard calls after a few seconds. Frodoâs eyes widen. You are hit with a wave of sympathy for the small Hobbit hit in the face with so many responsibilities.
âWe cannot stay here! This will be the death of the Hobbits!â you cry to Gandalf. Frodo seems spurred on by this.
âWe will go through the mines!â he decides. You hope he made the right decision.
âSo be it.â Gandalf nods remorsefully.
Once you had climbed down the mountain, you walk to the entrance of Moria. The night is cold, but less than the mountain, without the wind and snow beating at you. You find yourselves on a path between a large wall and a dark lake.Â
âThe walls of Moria,â breathes Gimli, impressed. You look around with a raised brow. Cold, dark and humid. Very inviting indeed.
You continue your trek to the entrance of Moria alongside the lake. Suddenly, a ripple in the water appears out of nowhere. Frodo pulls his leg back with a jolt and you frown.Â
âDwarf doors are invisible when closed,â informs Gimli. You keep your thoughts on dwarf architecture to yourself and put your cold hands on the freezing walls, searching for something, anything. The others follow your lead and move along the wall. Gimli knocks his axe against the stone.Â
âYes, Gimli, their own master cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten,â Gandalf speaks. You scoff lightly.
âWhy doesnât that surprise me?â mocks Legolas. You exchange a smirk and look away. Gimli grumbled but doesnât rebute.
Gandalf seems to find the door. âNow... letâs see. Ithildin-â His fingers run over faint silver lines beneath the dirt coating the wall. âIt mirrors only starlight and moonlight.â
Just as the Fellowship looks up to the evening sky, the moon, as if having heard, shows herself from behind the clouds. The silver lines grow bright, forming the outline of a door formed of two columns beneath an arch with a star in its center. You admit to yourself the beauty of the design.Â
âIt reads âThe Door of Durin, lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.ââ Gandalf reads aloud.Â
âWhat do you suppose that means?â Merry asks.Â
âOh, itâs quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open.â Gandalf tries a password. All of you wait expectantly, but nothing happens. The wizard tries another password. Still, the doors remain closed. He tries anothey password still, but the stone does not budge.Â
âNothing is happening.â Pippin states the obvious. Gandalf sends him an irritated look.Â
âI once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men and Orcs,â he laments.
âWhat are you going to do, then?â Pippin questions.
âKnock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words.â Gandalf huffs, sinking down onto a piece of stone.Â
You sigh, pulling your tunic closer to your body in a feeble attempt at warmth. This is to be a long night.
I reblogged her late last year and my 2024 has been very satisfying work-wise and (secure enough to not stress out) money-wise so far. Money Snake is wise and good.
A/N: pls this gif is so funny
word count: 4'100 (it's a long one)
warnings: light violence, misogyny
You are guided to the infirmary so that your wounds can be tended to. The elf tending to you is gentle as he wipes at your cuts and lathers ointment on your bruises. Afterwards, you are shown to the room you would reside in until the arrival of Aragorn and the other Hobbits. There was also talk of a council taking place soon and Gandalf had insisted that both you and Aragorn would need to attend.Â
The room is beautiful, much nicer than any room youâve ever stayed in since you became a Ranger. The five floor-length windows on the right side of the room give view to beautiful waterfalls. The bedding is crisp, white and fluffy. You immediately know youâre going to sleep incredibly well. The rest of the room is decorated with a wide bookcase, a large wardrobe and some plants. A small washroom is adjoined to the room. The elves of Rivendell had been courteous enough to give you some new clothes consisting of beautiful long silk gowns. You are reminded of your childhood, in which you wore the same attires. After taking a bath and washing all the dirt, mud and blood out of your hair and off your skin, you pick out a sage green gown. You leave your hair naturally and smile at your reflection in the mirror before a soft knock on your door is heard. You walk over and open it immediately, finding a young elleth on the other side. She shyly smiles up at you.
âMiss, I was told to inform you of the arrival of your companion, the Ranger.âÂ
âThank you, little one.âÂ
She nods before scurrying off. You close the door to your room and set out to find Aragorn.Â
As you pass by a spectacularly large door, you hear two familiar voices.
âHis strength returns.â You recognize Lord Elrondâs voice. Heâs probably talking about Frodo. You stop in your tracks.Â
âThat wound will never fully heal. He will carry it for the rest of his life,â Gandalf adds. Deciding this might be an interesting conversation, you press your back against the cold wall and listen attentively.
"And yet to have come so far bearing the Ring, the Hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its evil," Elrond points out, sounding impressed. You canât help but agree. You had felt its power emanating off Frodo in dark waves, you couldnât imagine what it must be like to carry it all by yourself.
"It is a burden he should never have had to bear. We can ask no more of Frodo," the wizard reminds.
"Gandalf, the enemy is moving," Elrond argues, "Sauron's forces are massing in the East. His eye is fixed on Rivendell and Saruman, you tell me, had betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin." You frown, you had always thought Saruman uncorruptable.
"His treachery runs deeper than you know," Gandalf sighs, "Saruman has crossed Orc with Goblin. He's breeding an army in the walls of Isengard. An army that can move in sunlight with great distance and speed. Saruman is coming for the Ring." You want to slap yourself as you realize why Gandalf had been delayed. He had been in Isengard. You curse yourself for speaking to him so badly, and you curse him for not telling you the truth. You would need to apologize.
"This evil can not be concealed by the power of the Elves. We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard. Gandalf, the Ring cannot stay here," the elf speaks. Gandalf doesn't answer.
The sound of hooves on pavement pulls you away from the interesting exchange. Your gaze turns to the yard on your right and you see about a dozen individuals arriving by horse. They must be here for the council, you think. A few men, some elves and some dwarves dismount their horses, looking around in awe at the striking scenery.
As they take it all in, an elf catches your eye. He looks between you and the half-open door, raising a golden eyebrow. You place a finger on your lips, stomach twisting into a knot at the idea of being found out. He nods discreetly and turns away, joining the other elvesâ discussion. You breathe out a sigh of relief and watch the large group being escorted to another courtyard.
"This peril belongs to all Middle-Earth. They must decide now how to end it. The times of the Elves is over, my people are leaving these shores. Who will you look to when we've gone? The dwarves? They hide in their mountains, seeking riches, they care nothing for the trouble of others," Elrond continues bitterly, drawing your attention back to their conversation.
"It is in men, that we must place our hope," Gandalf tells him. The Elf Lord all but snorts.
"Men? Men are weak. The race of men is failing. Too much of their blood had been spilt. Its pride and dignity forgotten. It is because of men the Ring survives. I was there, Gandalf. I was there three thousand years ago when Isildur took the Ring. I was there the day the strength of men failed. I led Isildur into the heart of Mount Doom, where the ring was forged, the one place it could be destroyed. It should have ended that day, but evil was allowed to endure. Isildur kept the Ring. The line of kings is broken. There's no strength left in the world of men. They're scattered, divided, leaderless," he just about spits. You raise your eyebrows, impressed at the strength of his words.Â
"There is one who could unite them. One who could reclaim the throne of Gondor," Gandalf states. You nod knowingly: Strider. Or rather, Aragorn. You had been pestering him to just consider taking the throne of Gondor for literal decades, but he always gave you this look. YouÂ
"He turned from that path a long time ago. He has chosen exile," Elrond drawls, ending the conversation. You walk off before either of them can catch you listening in on their conversation, its contents turning over in your mind.
Your name is called out, pulling you out of your thoughts. You turn around and are met with Aragornâs glowing figure. He had clearly been in the hands of a healer elf too. And had a bath. Youâre incredibly relieved to see him safe and sound. But after your disagreement, youâre not so sure what to say.
âAlice,â he greets, pokerfaced. You stomach churns.
âAragorn.â You lift your chin, looking him in the eye defiantly.
âYou left.â There is no judgement or accusation in his tone. He is simply stating a fact.Â
âI had to get Frodo the help he needed.â
âIâm glad you did.â He takes a few steps forward and you sigh out in relief. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hugging him hard. He chuckles and returns the embrace with just as much energy. Neither of you like it when you fight, and though it is rare, it is bound to happen once in a while with the stubborness you both share. You start walking side by side, no particular destination in mind. You are glad to be in each otherâs company again. When you spend so much time with another person, you tend to take their presence for granted. Even a short period of distance can remind you how much you care for that person.Â
Aragorn touches your hair and shoulder.Â
âYou look better than when I last saw you.â You scoff.
âSo do you. You should have seen me when I arrived here, I barely recognized myself in the mirror.âÂ
âI am glad you made it out alive, I heard that you fought off the Wraiths. That is no small feat,â Aragorn praises. You duck your chin and knock your shoulder with his, feeling shy at the compliment.
âI shall tell you one thing, I vow to never help another Hobbit. It is too much trouble. And you, surviving with only Merry, Pippin and Sam for company is no small feat either,â you joke. He chuckled, shaking his head.
You fall into a comfortable silence as you reach an opening in the hall. Itâs dimly lit and smells like old books and humidity. You and Aragorn sit down on a bench, discussing your last few days in hushed tones. You start to tell him about the conversation you overheard previously but are interrupted by footsteps.
You shut your mouth immediately, observing a light-brown-haired man step into the hallway. He doesnât seem to notice either of you as he analyses the painting hanging on the wall opposite of where you were sitting. He walks over to a large stone you hadnât noticed before. As he approaches it, you realize what lays atop the stone : the shards of Narsil.
The man gasps quietly and he picks up the hilt and brandishes it.Â
âThe blade that cut the Ring from Sauronâs hand,â he breathed. You tense up at his actions, wondering how he could dare touch, much less brandish such a piece of history. He runs his index along the blade and draws a drop of blood.Â
âStill sharp,â he whispers, licking the tip of his finger. Your lips curl in disdain.Â
Slowly, his head turns in your direction, finally sensing your presence. You have never been good at controlling your facial expressions, which tend to translate your exact feelings. Aragorn raises a brow at the man.Â
Seeming embarassed, the man purses his lips and places the hilt back.Â
âNo more than a broken heirloom.â The hilt slips off the stone and falls to the ground with a loud clatter. The man walks away.Â
âWhat a delightful man,â you scoff, picking up the blade and carefully placing it back in its rightful place. Aragorn shakes his head and places his hand on his heart. You turn to look at him and see Arwen walking towards the both of you. You send her a smile.
âYou have a visitor,â you speak to Aragorn, squeezing his shoulder before leaving the two of them.Â
The next morning, the council takes place. Your usual clothes had been washed and returned early in the morning, along with your weapons. What the elves had failed to give you was the place in which the council was taking place. You roam through similar halls, trying to find the right place when the same young elleth from yesterday runs up to you.
âMy lady!â she cries. You stop in your tracks and turn around.
âOh, thanks the Valar! Could you help me find-â
âYes, yes, follow me!â she orders hastily, running in the opposite direction of where you had been heading. Youâre on her heels in a second. You finally reach the right room and you turn to thank her before she all but pushes you inside. You stagger for a second, thrown off your feet before you regain your balance.Â
Men, Dwarves and Elves are sitting on wooden chairs in a large circle around a table. You spot Gandalf, Elrond and the Hobbits among them. Naturally, all eyes are on you. You spot Aragorn pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slightly. You curse your luck. Noticing an empty seat between your companion and the elf youâd seen before, you walk over to it, head held high. Lord Elrond purses his lips but starts speaking.Â
"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it, you will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." Wary looks are exchanged in the circle. You share a glance with Aragorn.
"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." Elrond motions to the marble stand in the centre of the circle. Frodo stands from his seat next to Gandalf and places it in the middle of the table without a sound. The wizard smiles reassuringly at the young Hobbit as he walks back to his place. You follow his small figure with your gaze, a small smile on your lips. You truly do admire him. He catches your eye and shyly smiles back. Everyone but you, Aragorn and Gandalf leans forward, trying to get a better look at the small golden jewel.Â
"So it is true," Boromir, the man from the corridor, whispers. "Is it a gift," he declares, standing up, "a gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?" he continues, circling the table slowly. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, given the forces of Mordor pay by the blood of our people for your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him!" You are impressed by his ignorance of the matter and entitlement to speak about it.
Strider, who you feel growing more and more aggravated by the second, finally blurts: "You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master." You nod along to his words.
"And what would a mere Ranger know of this matter?" Boromir sneers. Your blood boils at the tone of his voice. The elf that you had silently exchanged with before jumps to your Striderâs defence before you can: "This is no mere Ranger, this is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, you owe him your allegiance."Â Boromirâs shocked face brings you more pleasure than you would care to admit.
"Aragorn? This is Isildur's heir?" Boromir raises a shocked eyebrow.
"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas continues, his jaw squared.Â
"Havo dad, Legolas, mellon nin," (Sit down, Legolas, my friend.) Strider asks softly. Legolas slowly sits down, but not before Boromir can sneer: "Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king." He sits down and glares at Strider.
"Aragorn is right, we cannot use it." Gandalf ends the tense silence.
"You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed." Elrond says. Gimli stands up: "What are we waiting for?" He grabs his axe and crashes it against the Ring. Shards of the wood and metal go flying everywhere, and if it were not for your Elven reflexes, you would have ended up with a shard of steel nailed between your eyes. The dwarf is thrown back onto the floor, but the Ring stays untouched. You canât help but wander how and why these people who know so little about the Ring have been invited to decide what to do with it.
"If you had bothered to do your research, Dwarf,â you spit, âyou would know the Ring cannot be destroyed by any craft that we possess! It was made in the fires of Mount Doom and only there can it be destroyed!"
Everyone sends you surprised stares. Gimli just about growls at you as he sits back down. Aragorn sends you an exasperated look. You ignore all of them, your jaw set. Elrond nods along to your words although he looks deeply irritated by your outburst.
âOne of you must do this,â the Elf Lord declares. Silence.
âOne does not simply walk into Mordor,â Boromir stated the obvious, shaking his head. âIts black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the Great Eye is ever watchful. 'Tis a barren wasteland mixed with fire, ash and dust. Every breath breathed is poison fumed. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."
Legolas shoots up. âHave you heard nothing of what Lord Elrond just said? The Ring must be destroyed!â
âAnd I suppose you think youâre the one to do it?â Gimli asks gruffly, standing up as well.
âAnyone would be better than a dwarf,â you sneer, glaring dagger at him.
âAnd if we fail? What then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?â Boromir asks, alarmed.
âI will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf! Never trust an elf!â Gimli cries, shaking his axe. You shoot up along with all the other elves present, backing Legolas. You stand next to him, and it is only then that you realize how tall he is compared to you. You head just reaches his shoulder. Shaking your head to rid yourself of this distraction, you turn your attention to the group of dwarves standing in front of you, following Gimliâs lead. They start screaming and complaning about elves. Legolas holds an arm our to keep the other elves from getting too involved. He turns to you.
âPay no heed to-â He is cut off by Gimli spitting out something about âstupid, shit-eating, pointy earsâ. You take a menacing step forward, towering over the dwarf as you start retorting. Before you can get any words out, a force wraps itself around your waist and gently but firmly pulls you backwards. You hastily turn around, about to berate whoever it is trying to refrain you from assaulting a dwarf, but find yourself flsuh against the Prince of Mirkwoodâs chest. Your cheeks warm as you look up at him, words dying in your throat.
âI will take it!â A small voice interrupts the general chaos. Everyone stops talking and turns to the young Hobbit. âI will take the Ring to Mordor. Though I do not know the way...â he trails off, looking at the faces around him. There is silence for a short moment before Gandalf speaks.
âI will help you with this burden as long as it is yours to bear.â
Strider stands from his seat: âIf by my life or death, I can protect you, I will.â He kneels before Frodo. âYou have my sword.â
You curse. Youâd vowed never to help a Hobbit again. Youâd been looking forward to going back to your routine with Strider. You decide you canât let him do this alone. He is like a brother to you. You would not let him get killed by doing something as foolish as saving Middle-Earth without you. You step away from Legolas and face Frodo with a sad smile.Â
âYou have my sword too, little one.â Frodo returns your smile as you move to stand next to Aragorn. You share a meaningful look.
âAnd you have my bow,â Legolas speaks, joining your side without meeting your eye.Â
âAnd my axe,â grunts Gimli. You muffle a sigh and share a disgruntled look with Legolas that has you biting back a smile.Â
âYou carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done.â Boromir joins your side as well.Â
A scream is heard from behind the bushes: "Mister Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" Sam crosses his arms over his chest, trying to look tough after jumping out of nowhere. You let out a small giggle.
"No, indeed, it is highly impossible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not," Elrond says firmly, though a small smile graces his lips.
"Oi! We're coming too!" Merry and Pippin appear out of behind the bushes and run to Frodo.Â
"You'll have to send us over tied up in a sack to stop us!" Merry continues. "Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of- mission... quest... thing!" Pippin adds. You snort.Â
"Well that rules you out, Pip," Merry teases.
Lord Elrond looks at all of you. "Ten companions... So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring." The words hang heavily in the air for those of you involved. Merry and Pippin exchange excited looks.Â
"Great! Where are we going?" Pippin asks.
As the rest of the coucnil begins to leave and wish good luck to the Fellowship, whose name you find slightly sexist, Boromir approaches Gandalf. He makes no effort to keep his voice down as he asks: âAre you certain we want her on our journey? She is a woman, after all, she might slow us down. She probably fights like a woman too. We donât need a liability.â
You canât believe the blatant misogyny spewing from his ignorant mouth. Marching up to him, you roughly grab him by the collar and pull him down to your level with force.
âMeet me outside in five minutes. Weâll see who slows us down then, you twat,â you snarl before pushing him backwards. You turn and walk off before you can see the shocked look on his face.
Strider walks up to him, an unimpressed look on his face. âI hope youâre ready. Sheâs unstoppable when sheâs angry.â
You hear light footsteps trailing behind you as you make your way to the training ground.
âMy lady, are you certain of this?â
âAbsolutely.âÂ
âThat man has been trained in battle for the last ten years of his life. Are you not aware of who he is?â
âFrankly, I could not care less of who he is. He thinks that because I am a woman, I am weaker than him. Not only is that sexist, it is wrong. I plan on showing him just how wrong he is.â You finally reach the training ground. âIâve trained my entire life. Do you not know who I am? They do not call Ira without reason,â you add hotly, unsheathing your sword. Realization dawns on Legolas as he stands to the side of the training ground, attentively watching you warm up.
The entire Fellowship and Elrond follow you. They stand in a circle, making bets.
Bets made are:
- Strider: Ira (âI trained with her. I know she can beat him easily.â)
- Legolas: Ira (âShe seems very confident. I trust Aragorn and I have heard the legends.â)
- Gimli: Boromir (âI have seen him fight. I have not seen the fiery little lady fight yet.â)
- Pippin: Ira (âShe looks very scary when sheâs angry. And you saw how she handled those Riders, didnât you?â)
- Merry: Ira (âShe did handle those Riders quite well...â)
- Frodo: Ira (âShe save my life.â)
- Sam: Boromir (âI donât know, he looks pretty confident.â)
- Gandalf: no bet (âI shall not waste my money on this. But Ira will win.â)
- Elrond: no bet (âI will take no part in these infantine games.â)
The Fellowship stands to one side of the arena, watching the two of you closely and hoping whoever they bet on wins.
âYou can still back out, my lady,â offers Boromir, with a superior air.
âAre you saying youâre scared to fight a woman, Boromir?â you taunt. Glowering at you, he shakes his head. He unsheathes his sword and aims a jab at your stomach. You easily dodge. He takes another swing but you dodge again. While his balance is off, you kick him in the stomach. The crowd groans in sympathy for your victim as he topples over. You give him the time to get back up, an amused smirk playing at your lips. He grunts and slashes at you again. You hit the inside of his elbow with the flat of your blade, causing him to drop his sword.
You grin and step backwards, as is letting him pick his blade up. He seems surprised by takes the chance anyway. You're not that kind. When the tip of his fingers touch the weapon, you kick it away. He looks up at you from the ground and you loosely point the tip of your sword at his neck.Â
Thinking you donât know that you are holding your blade wrong, he easily kicks it out of your hand and scrambles back to his feet. He lunges for his sword but you tackle him before he can reach it. Pinning him down with a knee on his throat and the other on his abdomen, you hold his wrists above his head with one hand. With the other, youâre pressing your dagger against the skin of his cheek.
âThis is me holding back,â you whisper in his ear. âDo you still think that because I am a woman I will slow you down?â He hastily shakes his head, a choked sound coming from his throat. You nod and get off him before standing up and dusting yourself off. He massages his throat, looking up at you with surprise and respect etched onto his features. You offer him your hand, which he gratefully takes before you pull him to his feet.
You travel incessantly until you are about a day from Rivendell. Exhaustion clouded your mind as you pressed on, painfully aware of how you must look. You didnât need a mirror to know that purple bags had made a home beneath your eyes, or that you were as pale as a ghost. Not to mention the new cuts and bruises youâd acquired from a very conveniently times wild-boar attack.
You decide to rest for a short moment and dismount the horse to kneel beside a small river. You splash some water onto your face, trying to wake yourself up. You drink some water before cupping some in your hands and bringing it over to Frodo. As he finishes drinking, you freeze. Someone is standing behind you.Â
Your sword it drawn in a flash; tip of the blade pointed at the personâs throat. You let out a breath of relief when you recognize your old friend, Arwen. Your shoulders untense as you sheath your sword.
âI thought that was you,â she smiles warmly.
âI apologize, I thought you were-â you cut yourself off, ânever mind.â She pulls you into a warm embrace you happily return. âMy friend, I-â You turn to look at Frodoâs rapidly fading body.
She cuts you off with a wave of the hand, stepping closer to the Hobbit. She chants a song and thought Frodo looks slightly less pale, it is not nearly enough.
âThis is beyond me. He needs my father,â she declares, turning to face you. âI shall take him.â
âI will come with you.â
âI am the faster rider.â
âI am aware of that.â You think back to the countless races youâd shared in your youth. âHowever, I am also aware that you cannot simultaneously ride with Frodo and battle Wraiths.â
Arwen thinks for a short moment before nodding. She lifts him up to place him on her horse. While she does this, you look around your feet for a particular herb. As a child, you were fascinated with herbology. Today, you knew of many plants useful to a Ranger. And Athelas was one of them, a healing plant found in Middle Earth youâd used countless times before on Strider and yourself. You had been applying some on Frodoâs wound every day since youâd separated from Strider, a desperate attempt at keeping the poison from reaching his heart. After locating the plant, you rip off a few leaves and shove them in your mouth, chewing quickly. You wince at the taste and spit out the paste on your fingers. You lather it on Frodoâs wound before nodding at Arwen and mounting your horse.
For most of the journey, you do not see the Wraiths. The optimist in you figures that maybe they wouldnât reach you before you reach Rivendell. The optimist in you was soon proved wrong.
The first screeches make your skin crawl and your mind race. You start doubting your decision to leave Strider and the promise youâd made to Arwen to keep the Wraiths off her and Frodo as they rode. Fighting the Riders off while on a horse at full speed sounded less and less doable the closer they got. It may not have been your best idea, Strider would agree. He would say it is insane and reckless and would be entirely correct. But it would have to work. The Ring Bearerâs life depended on it.
No pressure.
Your sword violently meets a Riderâs blade when he comes out of the woods from behind you, drawing sparks. You keep hold of the reins with one hand and slash at the Wraith once more. Another rams his horse into yours, nearly making you fall off. You bite back a curse and narrowly dodge a blade aiming for your neck. You swing your sword around, slashing and stabbing, trying to keep them off you and your friends. Further along, you spot the river marking the entrance to Rivendell. A surge of hope flies through you. Youâd make it.
Arwen stops in the river, turning around to look at you. You barely dodge a slash aimed at your horseâs legs and join her side as the Wraiths snarl, in an icy voice: âGive up the halfling, she-elves!â
âIf you want him, come and claim him!â Always the diplomat, Arwen raises her sword in challenge. Knowing what your friend is about to do; you transfer Frodo onto your horse and head for the castle without waiting a second. You barely have time to hear Arwen begin to chant and the rush of water before youâre out of sight.
Ignoring the indignant cries of the guards, you gallop into the main Hall.Â
Lord Elrond gets to his feet as you ungracefully clamber off your horse. You raise your hands slightly, showing surrender, as the guards aim their bows at you.
âMy lord,â you address Lord Elrond, panting, âThe Ring Bearer, he has been stabbed by a NazgĂ»l blade. He needs your healing!â
Elrondâs eyes leave yours to find his daughterâs as she steps inside the Hall. He nods once, beckoning you to bring him the Hobbit. You gently pull Frodo into your arms and hand him over to a guard. Him and Lord Elrond hastily walk off. Arwen follows them after squeezing your shoulder and sending you a smile you returned.
Another guard approaches you, asking if he can take your horse to the stables. You agree before asking if Gandalf had arrived yet. He informs you the wizard had arrived a few days ago and gives you directions to find him. You thank him with a smile.Â
You suck in a deep breath as you find Gandalf sitting on a balcony next to an old Hobbit, leisurely smoking his pipe. You think of everything you have gone through in the last few days, your blood boiling. He better have a good excuse as to why he had not shown up for the Hobbits and you having to carry that burden.Â
âGreetings, gentlemen.â You donât bother with a polite smile. âGandalf, may I ask where you have been?âÂ
The two old men take in your appearance. You raise an eyebrow, almost daring them to comment. You knew you looked like you had been swallowed and then spat back out by Sauron himself, with your ripped, blood-stained clothes, matted hair and countless bruises.
âI was delayed,â Gandalf answers simply, the picture of stoicism. You can feel a nerve twitching in your eye.
âYou were delayed?â you ask calmly, forcing yourself to keep your temper in check, even for just a second.
âYes, I was delayed.â He offers no further explanation, a small, nearly daring smile on his lips. It was a good thing he knew you quite well, for the number of people who would dare get on Iraâs nerves in this manner were very few.
âThat was a rhetorical question,â you snap. âDo you have any idea what we went through while you were delayed?â When you see him part his lips, you hold up your hand. âDonât answer that, wizard,â you spit. âFirst off, I was thrown off a hill by a Rider. I donât know if either of you have ever been thrown off a hill, but I shall have you know it is hardly an enjoyable situation. Frodo was stabbed by a NazgĂ»l blade. I had a fight with Aragorn, and I have not slept a wink in six days, Gandalf. Six days is a very long time. Just minutes ago, I was fighting off Wraiths, again, while galloping on a horse in a forest. Do you know what might have helped in all those situations? A wizard. Yet, after nearly dying about ten times in the span of a week, I find you here, smoking your pipe without a care in the world!âÂ
You take a deep breath after your rant, pushing some hair back behind your ears. Gandalf nods along to your words, silent.Â
âWell, are you going to offer me any explanation at all as to why you were delayed?â you demand. The wizard blows out a few smoke rings before answering.
âI did not ask you to bring the Hobbits to Rivendell, Ira. I asked Strider.â You donât miss the way Bilboâs eyes widen at the mention of your name or the way he recoils from you, sitting closer to Gandalf. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.
âDo not play that game with me, Gandalf, you knew damn well he would ask me to come. It was a terribly good thing I went too, for he and the Hobbits might have died if I hadnât.â
âWhat a good thing it was that you decided to follow your friend, then,â he smiled. A frustrated sound tears itself from your throat as you walk away, not wanting to hear another infuriating word out of his mouth.
Gandalf leans back in the bench, inhaling deeply on his pipe. Bilbo chuckles.Â
âThat was certainly something,â he notes. Gandalf nods, humming.
âShe is something special.
âYou said her name was Ira? Like the,â Bilbo lowers his voice, âIra from the legend?âÂ
âThe one and only. Her name is Alice.â
âOh, thatâs a rather sweet name,â Bilbo compliments, âIâm not sure it resonates with her personality, though.â
âDo not be too quick to judge, Bilbo Baggins. And do not believe everything you hear. She saved your nephew. She knows how to be sweet when she wants to be.â
âOf course, youâre right. She is an elf, yes?â
âHalf-elf, half-woman,â corrects Gandalf.
âOh, that explains the temper, then.âÂ
âWhat do you mean?â
âShe seems more... expressive than most other elves.â Bilbo chooses his words carefully, aware of how the wizard seemed fond and protective of this woman, even after her rant.
âYes, she has quite the temper. I do not know if being half human changes much indeed, she had not earned the name âIraâ for nothing, after all.â
âWhere are you taking us?â Frodo asks, trailing behind you and Strider, amidst his friends.
âInto the wild.â Your companion does not bother turning back. Back in the day, his lack of explanations and emotion used to irritate you infinitely. Today, you know why he does it. The less the Hobbits know, the better. Not long after, the halflings start whispering among themselves. You can hear what they are saying with your elf abilities, but seeing as they arenât keeping very quiet, youâre certain Strider can too.
âHow can we know these Rangers are friends of Gandalf?â Merry asks, rightfully suspicious.Â
âWe have no choice but to trust them.â Frodo seems less anxious than he did the previous evening.Â
âBut where are they leading us?â
âTo Rivendell, Master Gamgee,â you answer over your shoulder, âto the House of Elrond.â
âYou hear that?â Sam all but squeals, âRivendell! Weâre going to see the elves!â You bite back a scoff and share an amused glance with Strider. The Hobbits had been travelling with an elf for the better part of a day: you. You are reminded of your hood with a small gust of wind. They had only seen part of your face, which was why they didnât know you were an elf yet.
You and Strider have to adjust your pace to the Hobbitsâ little legs and general unfitness. When you stop for the umpteenth time, you suppress a frustrated groan. Strider sighs as he turns around, expecting to find the Hobbits hunched over, catching their breaths or complaining about the pain in their legs.Â
âGentlemen,â he calls, âwe do not stop âtill nightfall.â Confused at his words, you turn around as well and let an amused smile grace your features. You find the Hobbits sitting on the ground, ruffling through their bags, clearly hoping to have a meal.
âWhat about breakfast?â Pippin asks, a confused frown on his face.
âYouâve just had it.â You cross your arms over your chest, brows furrowed.
âWeâve had one, yes,â Pippinâs voice is conciliating. âWhat about second breakfast?â He raises an eyebrow. Strider sends the Hobbits a strange look before trudging off, continuing your journey. You shake your head with a small chuckle before following your companion.Â
âI donât think they know about second breakfast, Pip,â Merry sighs as he slings his bag over his shoulders.
âWhat about elevensies?â Pippin splutters, âLuncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? They know about those, donât they?â
âI wouldnât count on it.â You feel sorry for the little creatures and throw each of them an apple youâd grabbed off a tree earlier.
When the cover of darkness starts instilling itself, you stop at the bottom of a hill. Remains of a tower still reside on its peak.Â
âThis was the great watchtower of Amon SĂ»l,â Aragorn speaks.Â
âWe shall rest here tonight,â you state, walking up the hill. Weary from the trying day, the Hobbits lay down their bags and huddle together. You and Strider decide to take turns either keeping watch or scouting the base of the hill for possible threats. You start the first round and, after laying down your bag, being your stroll about the hill.
When a light catches your eye, you realize that the Hobbits had started a fire. Heart hammering inside your chest, you curse their ignorance and rush towards them. The flame goes out but when you perceive the shrieks of the Nine Riders, you know itâs too late. You see the Wraiths all but fly up the hill and push your legs to go faster, breaths coming out in quick, white clouds in the cold night. When you finally reach the top of the hill, you assess the situation before placing yourself between the helpless Hobbits and the Riders.
Knowing there was no time to fetch Strider, you pray he joins you soon as you pull out your sword. You jab at the monster the closest to you and slash at another. You narrowly dodge a blade, hearing your blood pump in your ears. You manage to keep them off for a little while before the Riders turn their attention to you rather than Frodo, who you were standing in front of. With all their blows aimed at you, you barely have time to dodge each hit. You realize with horror that it would only a matter of seconds before you were overpowered. Nine wraiths against one half-elleth, you stood no chance.
It's no surprise when you block a jab aimed at your neck and are suddenly pushed to the side. You fall to the ground with a grunt. A heavily armoured foot nearly crashes into your face, you just manage to roll out of the way in time. You push yourself to your knees, pulling out your dagger with a snarl before youâre picked up and thrown into the air.Â
What the-
The ground barely has time to look far away before itâs hurtling towards you. The scream you hadnât been conscious of it cut off when you plummet into the ground with a harsh âthumpâ. You gasp, your breath having been knocked out of you. What feels like forever later, youâre greedily gulping in air, lying flat on your back. You groan in pain as you push yourself up, coming back to your senses. Suddenly, you feel everything. The pain in your skimmed knees, the large bruise on your hit, the cut in your cheek and your bruised and bleeding nose.Â
You painstakingly make your way up the hill again, clutching your most-probably bruised ribs. You push yourself to get there as fast as you can, but you are too late. When you reach the top of the hill, Sam is kneeling on the ground next to Frodoâs motionless body and Strider is trying to fight the Wraiths off. Youâre at his side in a second, fighting with your dagger, your sword long forgotten.Â
You manage to fight four of the Riders off and set fire to the other five. Their screams would forever be etched in your mind. When the threat is no more, you hunch over, leaning on your knees, catching your breath. Strider puts a hand on your shoulder, panting.
âAre you alright?â he asks, concern lacing his tone as he takes in your injuries. He wipes at the blood on your chin, brows furrowed. You donât have time to answer him as the Frodoâs cries of pain reach you both.Â
âStrider! Ira!â Sam panics, âHelp him!â
Clutching your aching ribs, you kneel beside the Hobbit. You hiss as the pain in your knees as you examine the wound in Frodoâs chest. Strider picks up the blade the Hobbit had been stabbed with, but the blade turns to ash the second itâs picked up. He lets the hilt fall to the ground with a clatter. You share a knowing, worried look.Â
âHeâs been stabbed by a Morgul blade.â Strider offers a rare elaboration for the Hobbits.Â
âThis is beyond my skill to heal,â you turn to your companion, âHe needs Elvish medicine.â
Strider nods and picks up Frodo, still groaning in pain. You resume your trek towards Rivendell more hastily than before. The Hobbits almost have to jog to keep up with your long, worried steps. You illuminated the path with a torch while Strider made sure Frodo didnât fall off the horse you had brought along with you.
âWeâre six days from Rivendell! Heâll never make it!â Sam voices your thoughts. Though you know heâs right, you donât answer. Neither does Strider. Sam uselessly cries Gandalfâs name into the wind, and you set your jaw. That wizard would have some explaining to do when youâd next see him.
After a few hours, you stop walking at Striderâs command. As bags are being unpacked, you turn to Strider.Â
âStrider, if we want Frodo to have any chances of survival, we must continue to Rivendell.âÂ
âThat is far too dangerous. Weâve already walked enough during the night. Fire brings us unwanted attention,â argues Strider.
âIt is the only way. This poison travels extremely fast,â you insist, taking a step closer to him. âWe wouldnât stop, and the Riders wouldnât be able to catch up with us. Itâs the better option.â
âLook at them!â Strider snaps quietly. âThey are not made for this! They have about ten meals a day! You cannot expect them to walk continuously for six days! They are stay-at-home creatures; they are no Rangers! And even less are they Elves!â As the volume of his voice increases, the Hobbits start listening in on your conversation. They seem to really see you for the first time, without your hood and in the firelight. If they notice your elf traits, they do not comment. You feel your temper rising quickly.
âI am not relying on their strength, I am relying on their determination and love for their friend,â you spit before turning to the Hobbits: âWe would barely stop. Weâre running out of food and are being chased by Wraiths. Make your choice.â Merry and Pippin exchange panicked looks, unsure of what to say.
âLook, all I know is that weâre wasting time, here! Weâll ride!â Sam exclaims. You nod and send him a small smile. You admire his heart. You start picking up your things.
âThis is your problem, Ira,â Strider hisses as you trudge past him, âYou never think about the consequences!â
âI do think of consequences! Right now, the consequence to us continuing at this pace would be Frodoâs death! I am trying to avoid that!â
âAnd you would prefer three Hobbits to die instead?âÂ
âThey can take it. However, Iâm all ears if you have another solution,â you snap. He remains silent.
You stop three days later to rest for the night, despite your protests. You have enough knowledge of healing and medicine to know that Frodo will not survive much longer. You have come up with a solution, but you refrain from sharing it with Strider. You know he would not approve, and some things are easier without asking for approval. After making camp and waiting for the Hobbits to fall asleep, you tell Strider you would take the first guard. He nods. Things have been tense since your argument but neither of you are willing to back down.
Once you are sure he is asleep, you pack your bag with a small amount of food, making sure the other had enough left. You write a little note explaining your departure to Strider before mounting the horse and setting off. Just before youâre out of sight, you throw a twig at Merry. The young Hobbit shoots up and shakes Strider awake. Strider finds your note and shakes his head, pursing his lips.Â
You disappear into the night, unaware of the troubles ahead of you.Â
