A/N: So I can’t remember where I saw the imagine that was the inspiration for this, but it was about teaching Thorin and Co. slang from our world. (It’s based on an ENTIRELY REAL conversation that happened between me and my dad.)
Coming from the modern, normal world to Middle Earth where there are Elves and evil jewelry was a big adjustment, needless to say. However, one large adjustment you hadn’t anticipated was having to, for the most part, give up all slang. Words you hadn’t even realized were slang turned out to be slang and you had to translate what you meant to the company. Eventually, you decided to teach the company a bunch of slang words ranging from ones you tended to use regularly to more fun ones. You should have known it wouldn’t end well.
The Battle of Five Armies had long since passed with all three Durins intact, thanks to you, and you were having a lovely chat with the King of Erebor. It was nice, given how little time he tended to have anymore. “I apologize abandoning you as I have lately,” Thorin said emphatically. “I’ve been terribly busy and have not been able to make time unless I sacrifice what little sleep I get as it is.”
“It’s fine,” you told him earnestly. “I understand.” You did understand, but you missed the hours you and Thorin used to spend together talking while on the journey.
“It’s getting late,” Thorin noted sadly. “I need to leave.”
You made a disgruntled sound before nodding in acknowledgement of the fact he was a busy Dwarf. “Paperwork?” you guessed, wanting to know what it was he had to do that was tearing him away from you.
“No, I’m going to hook up with Dwalin,” he said casually. You froze, unsure if you’d just heard what you thought you’d heard, eyes wide, until bursting into laughter and falling from your chair onto the floor in a fit of giggles. “What in the name of Mahal is so funny?” he asked, genuinely confused.
It took you a solid five minutes to calm down enough to explain. “That doesn’t mean what you think it means,” you informed him.
“What?” he scoffed. “Of course it does!”
“Unless you and Dwalin have a very different kind of relationship than I’m aware of, you do not know what that means.”
“I remember you specifically saying while we journeyed to Erebor that hooking up with someone means spending time with them.”
You remembered quite well. “Yes, and if you’ll recall, I said that very suggestively,” you reminded him, trying to get him to understand what he’d just said. His face was entirely blank. “I said, and I quote: ‘hooking up with someone is spending time with them, if you know what I mean.’ I said it very suggestively and even included a wink. What do suppose I could have meant by that, Thorin?” you asked sarcastically. However, you saw Thorin was still entirely clueless as to what you meant. You groaned, giving up. “It means sex, Thorin. You just said you intended to go have a fuck with Dwalin.” Thorin’s eyes became wide as saucers and he began sputtering incoherently. You nodded at him, allowing it to sink in.
“That is not what I meant,” Thorin mumbled quickly as his face turned ever redder and he scrambled out of the room.
Little did you know, the tables would be turned only a matter of weeks later. However, in your defense, you had not been informed of the various intricacies of Dwarf culture while Thorin had been informed of the meaning of the term hooking up.
You were in the library reading when you heard an uncomfortable cough. You peered up from your book to so Thorin standing awkwardly a few feet away. “Ah, the king returns,” you teased with a grin. “How was your romantic evening with Dwalin?”
He glared, but cleared his throat again. “I am here to ask a very important question.” You gave him a funny look but nodded for him to continue. “I fear I may have given the wrong impression of my intentions when last we spoke, so I would like to show you what it truly is I would like.” He inhaled and gave a shaky exhale before asking, “May I braid your hair and put my bead in it?”
“Uh, sure?” you replied. Why was he all worked up about braiding your hair? Yeah, it was a bit of an odd request, but you and Thorin had shared weirder experiences together on the journey like nearly being barbecued by Trolls and riding barrels down a river to escape Elves and Orcs. Weird wasn’t anything new for you two.
“Really?” he asked, seeming to scarcely believe it.
You shrugged and nodded, which got him very excited as he took great care in intricately braiding your looks and delicately looping a bead into them. “Oh, Amralime,” he sighed. “You’ve made me so happy.”
“What does ‘Amralime’ mean?” you asked. Khuzdul was so heavily guarded by the Dwarves you scarcely ever heart it uttered in your presence.
The two of you were suddenly interrupted by Balin. “Your Majesty,” he greeted Thorin. “Your presence is required in the throne room.”
Thorin grumbled, but promised to meet you again later as he shuffled in the direction of the throne room.
Balin chose to stay and speak with, beginning to greet you until his eyes fell on your face. “Who braided your hair?” he asked, flabbergasted.
“Thorin,” you replied with a shrug. “It was a bit of a weird request, but I didn’t see any harm in it. Does it signify friendship or something along those lines?” you inquired.
“Oh dear,” Balin sighed. “That doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
You sat in a chair in the empty Bag End, wrapped in a blanket as the light quickly faded from the house – unable to will yourself to stand and light a fire or lamp nor cook dinner for Bilbo, who would be returning home soon. You knew he didn’t mind cooking, but you had told yourself the home would be welcoming when he arrived. That plan had gone out the window, though, with a visit from the midwife, who had confirmed the fears that had been making their way into your mind: you were with child. Your fears did not lie in Bilbo’s reaction nor in whether or not he would make a good father, but in what would happen after the child was born. Would it be like you? You certainly hoped not because you could not stand the child suffering as you had.
You heard the door open and heard your husband trip as he walked into the darkening hobbit hole. “Y/N?” he called out in confusion, wondering if you had left the house and why. Bilbo wandered through Band End, lighting lamps as he did so, eventually finding the sitting room. As he lit the lamp and the room was inundated with light, he saw you and started. “Y/N?” he asked quietly. “Dearest, why are you sitting in the dark?” The tears you had been holding back all day as you sat in numbness suddenly came as you let out a sob, which caused Bilbo to go into an absolute panic. “What’s wrong?” he asked, fear laced in his voice as he fought the urge to run screaming for help through all of Hobbiton. You shook your head, unable to answer in your state of distress. Bilbo took deep breaths and announced. “Nothing a good cup of tea can’t help.” He figured, at the very least, a cup of tea couldn’t hurt anything and it may at least calm you down enough so he could find out what was the matter.
He scurried to the kitchen and soon enough you both heard the kettle singing and he brought two steaming teacups full of chamomile into the sitting room. “I made your favorite,” he offered weakly as a beautiful teacup intricately styled with little, hand-painted flowers – an old family heirloom – was held out to you.
You eventually took it and began sipping the tea once it was cool enough to bring to your lips. Unsurprisingly, Bilbo had known precisely what to do to calm you. His kind gesture was enough to put an end to the tears and steady your breathing. After a short while, he set his cup down and you did the same, knowing full well he wanted to have a conversation now that you weren’t as obviously distraught. As he wrapped his hands around yours and brought a tender kiss to them, he gave you a devastated look. “My dearest, whatever is the matter so as to put you in such a state?” Bilbo knew you were not the type to become hysterical – and most certainly not over nothing.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“For what to happen? Y/N, you’re giving me quite a fright.”
“We are to have a child, Bilbo, and I simply can’t bear it.”
The array of emotions that crossed Bilbo’s face in quick succession were as follows: delight, confusion, then rejection and devastation. He, of course, did not understand your reasons for not wanting a child and could only assume you did not want a child because of him. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he squeaked, trying to hold back his own tears now as he felt every form of hurt imaginable.
“I’d been so careful so this wouldn’t happen,” you whimpered, “And I’m so sorry. You must hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” He could never hate you. “Though I do wish you felt differently.”
“How could I feel any differently with the way things are?”
Bilbo mistakenly believed you were referring to your marriage. “I didn’t realize we had any problems.” Now he was more confused than ever. Were things really that bad?
It was your turn to be confused. “We don’t have problems, Bilbo, I have problems. You know how I am sometimes.”
He knew you suffered from depression and did everything in his power to help alleviate symptoms when you were having an episode and having difficulty keeping it under control yourself. In truth, you didn’t know if you would still be around if it weren’t for Bilbo. He had stuck with you during your darkest, most severe episode and gave nothing but loving support when you needed it. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
“My mother had it, too,” you informed him. “It’s just like it was with her, but worse. What if we have a child and they have it even worse than I do? I would not wish this on my worst enemy, least of all my own child.”
It all suddenly clicked for Bilbo. You were scared. “I thought for a moment you didn’t want a baby because of me,” he informed you shakily, desperately hoping that was not the case.
“Oh, Bilbo. Since even before we were married I have wanted to fill Bag End with your children. I love you so much and that’s why I’m so angry with myself. If something is wrong with our child, it will be all my fault that they hurt the way I have.” You once again began to sob at the thought of your child suffering all of that pain when you felt Bilbo wrap his arms around you in a comforting hug.
“If they are like you in that way, then I shall do with them the same as I have done with you: give nothing but unconditional love. I love you Y/N and I love our child so much already. We cannot change whether or not they have the same melancholic periods, but he or she will always know how loved they are and they are not alone. Besides, we don’t even know that they will be like that, so there is no reason to fret until we know. For now, can we not cherish that we will be parents?”
“Bilbo Baggins, you always know what to say. I’m still worried, though.”
“As am I, but we cannot let it consume our thoughts. Please, dearest, let’s celebrate for now.”
“Alright,” you allowed. “Let’s celebrate that, in a matter of months, we’ll have a little baby to dote on.”
Bilbo paced outside the door of your bedroom, trying to hear what was happening as best he could, and all he had heard so far were encouraging words from the midwife and your groans of pain. How he wished he was allowed in there with you. Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable cry of a baby that made his heart flutter. What was probably only moments – but what felt like an eternity – later, the smiling midwife stepped out of the room. “Mother and child are both wonderful,” the older hobbit woman announced. “Go on in, lad.”
Bilbo swiftly entered the room to see you cradling your child. “Oh, Bilbo, she’s perfect,” you informed him, amidst tears.
Bilbo’s own eyes flooded as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Of course she’s perfect. She’s our daughter.”
Okay, lovelies, what I write next is up to you...I came across this great prompt list and I've never done a Drabble Games yet, so let's see if there's enough of a Tolkien fandom left to do this! :)
Send me a number (or numbers) and a character and I’ll write you a little ficlet.
01: “I’m sorry.”
02: “I think I’m in love with you and that scares the hell out of me.”
03: “I almost lost you.”
04: “Do you trust me?”
05: “Please don’t do this.”
06: “Marry me.”
07: “You’re amazing.”
08: “Don’t lie to me.”
09: “You want to do what?”
10: “You should’ve told me.”
11: “I can help you.”
12: “You like me?”
13: “It’s not OK.”
14: “How can I hate someone that I’m in love with?”
15: “I don’t want to get up — you’re too comfy.”
16: “May I have this dance?”
17: “I’d really like it if you stayed.”
18: “Do you even care?”
19: “Yeah, you’re right. You don’t need me.”
20: “Is there something in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
21: “God, I missed you.”
22: “They’re going to hate me.”
23: “Let’s make a pillow fort. It’ll be great.”
24: “I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
25: “I dreamt about you last night.”
26: “I’m sorry for your loss.”
27: “When were you going to tell me that you’re pregnant?”
28: “You smell so good.”
29: “I want to look after you.”
30: “I’ll walk you home — or in our case, back to your common room.”
31: “Watch your step.”
32: “Just kiss me, you idiot.”
33: “Don’t worry about me.”
34: “I’d like to apologise in advance for my crazy family.”
35: “I don’t like it when you cry.”
36: “I really need a hug.”
37: “I care too much about you to just leave you alone like this.”
38: “The stars are kind of amazing, don’t you think?”
39: “This is very cliché.”
40: “Cooking is definitely not your forte.”
41: “Is this seat taken?”
42: “I’m not getting into trouble for you.”
43: “Would you just ask me already?”
44: “You’re hilarious.”
45: “Have you seen this?”
46: “Why do bad things always happen to me?”
47: “I know you’re awake.”
48: “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
49: “I love you but you love him. It’s OK. I get it.”
50: “I could never get sick of you.”
51: “A bull in a China shop has more grace than you.”
52: “I don’t think he loves me anymore.”
53: “Darling, stop.”
54: “I can practically hear your mind whirring from all the way over here.”
55: “For once in your life, stop over thinking everything.”
56: “Teach me how to play?”
57: “I see the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”
58: “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
59: “Are you drunk?”
60: “I never meant to come between you and her.”
61: “Why didn’t he come and talk to me himself?”
62: “Are you kidding me? We are not fine!”
63: “I think there’s someone in the house.”
64: “He doesn’t understand you like I do.”
65: “Do you ever think that, maybe, we should stop doing this?”
66: “It’s not like I go looking for trouble. It just sort of finds me.”
67: “My clothes look really good on you.”
68: “The paint belongs on the wall, not on me.”
69: “You’re ticklish.”
70: “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.”
71: “There’s a thunderstorm outside and you want to do what?”
72: “I have something for you.”
73: “I have a bad feeling about this.”
74: “Knowing us, this is bound to go wrong.”
75: “Wanna hear a joke?”
76: “Come here.”
77: “I hate hospitals.”
78: “You tricked me.”
79: “You make me feel like I’m not good enough.”
80: “Are you happy?”
81: “You’re too good for this world.”
82: “Surprise!”
83: “Happy birthday!”
84: “This isn’t just about you. It’s about what’s best for all of us.”
85: “You’ve only heard his point of view. You never asked mine.”
86: “Perhaps you’ll take me out one day — or do I have to make an appointment?”
87: “For some reason, I’m attracted to you.”
88: “I want us to start all over again.”
89: “Can you just be serious for like one second?”
90: “I’m not stopping. I just had to see you.”
91: “Quick! Let’s hide!”
92: “You’re one insult away from starting a war.”
93: “I like it when you smile.”
94: “Why are you screaming?”
95: “There’s definitely a storm coming.”
96: “You can’t just sit there all day.”
97: “So you’re giving me the silent treatment now?”
98: “I want to thank you for putting up with me. I know that I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”
Based on: “Imagine giving Boromir and amulet you made to keep him safe” from @gondorimagines.
As the Fellowship walked toward the Pass of Caradhras, Boromir noticed Aragorn staring at him, making him feel uncomfortable. “Who gave you that amulet?” the ranger asked.
Boromir looked down and realized the amulet given to him by Idla had come out from under his shirt. “’Tis nothing,” he mumbled, quickly slipping it back where it had previously been.
“Clearly not!” Merry and Pippin chimed in.
“Come, Boromir,” Merry begged.
“Tell us what it is!” Pippin finished.
Boromir simply shook his head and continued on his way while staring at the ground.
The events leading up to his receiving the necklace were unexpected and, at first, very unwelcome. Though Minas Tirith was considered a very respectable city, there was an underground element to it that the nobility of the city, including Boromir until recently, wished would go away: the witches. They were most certainly a small group consisting of no more than fifty or so odd people but where witches were concerned, you could never have too few. At least, that was the attitude Boromir had taken until five months ago.
It had been a beautiful June morning but the beauty of the day belied the incident that had occurred the previous night. Orcs had taken Osgiliath. Minas Tirith was filled with the sick and injured refugees – those few who had survived the attack – and the healing houses and the city were at a loss as to where to house the refugees. However, this was when the witches chose to surface and make themselves even more useful than usual. What the nobility of Minas Tirith hadn’t known was that witches had been providing the healing houses with spells and potions for almost as long as the city had been around. Now, witches were going up to each and every refugee and providing them with whatever was needed: healing, food, and even shelter for those who could not find it. Although this had not been the first Boromir had heard of the witches, it was the first time he had even met one; this was when he met Idla.
She was handing various enchanted herbs, salves, and potions to those who needed it when Boromir approached her, noticing what she gave the refugees appeared strange. “What is that?” he asked the dark-haired woman.
“Lavender,” she replied curtly while applying it to a patient’s open wound. Then, before his very eyes, the wound slowly began to close.
“What sort of witchcraft is this?”
“The healing kind.” With her short answer, she helped the refugee stand, which he would have been unable to do with the giant gash that was on his leg.
As she began to scurry off to the next person, Boromir followed her. “You’re a witch,” he accused.
“My, aren’t you an observant one.”
He put himself between her and her next patient, trying to appear taller and more intimidating. “We don’t suffer your kind here.”
“If you do not suffer my kind, then your people will suffer,” she reminded him.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a fact. Besides, you claim your city does not suffer my kind, and yet you’ve been perfectly happy to allow us access to your healing houses for more than 10 generations so I ask you this: what has changed?” Her grey eyes shone with ardor, refusing to budge. She then shoved past him to her patient.
Boromir did not sleep that night while the rest of the Fellowship did. He stared at the stars, wondering if Idla thought of him as much as he did of her – hoping this was the case and she had not changed how she felt about him, in spite of his absence. Eventually, he decided to relieve whoever currently took watch so that at least someone may gather some sleep that night. Unfortunately for him, the person taking watch was none other than Aragorn: the man who could oh so easily usurp his father. “I can take your watch,” he grumbled to the man who would one day be the king of Gondor.
“A woman gave you that amulet, correct?” Aragorn accurately guessed. Boromir was taken aback and began mumbling excuses. Aragorn pulled out the evenstar. “I, too, have been given something of value by a woman. I’m sure she’s lovely,” Aragorn added, referring to Idla, who had given Boromir the amulet.
“That she is,” he replied as he took the amulet out and began to trace the blue stone and the intricate metal work.
“Would I also be correct in assuming she is the reason you lay awake this night?” Boromir nodded. “How did you meet?”
“She was healing those displaced by the orc takeover of Osgiliath.”
“So she’s a healer.”
“No, she’s a witch. Although, as far as the witches of Minas Tirith are concerned, the two are one and the same.” Aragorn raised his eyebrows. “No person could be more surprised than I was that I felt some sort of attraction to this woman. After first meeting her, I could not get her out of my mind and to put matters lightly, we did not get on well when first we met. I will openly admit I felt prejudice towards her people but the more I thought about her, the more I believed I was wrong to be so harsh. So, I found her.”
Idla was surprised to see the son of the steward approaching her family’s stall in the market. “Have you come to berate me more, Boromir son of Denethor?”
“So you know who I am?”
“Of course. How could I not know the face of the steward’s eldest son?”
“I came to apologize for my behavior. You and your people were trying to help citizens of Gondor and I should not have harassed you for such an act.”
“And what could have prompted this act of reason?”
“Is it not enough that I regret my behavior – that I apologize for it?”
She eyed him warily, unsure of how to react accordingly to such civil behavior. “No one like you has ever apologized for prejudice in the past; how can I know this is genuine?”
“Let me make it up to you.”
Little did either of them know they would become so close in only a matter of months but that was when Idla heard the terrible news that Boromir was going to lead an attack on the orcs in Osgiliath. He survived, thankfully, but when he returned to Minas Tirith that evening, he came with even worse news.
“So you will be leaving tomorrow?”
“Yes, there is a council I have been invited to.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“That I cannot say but I will send word when I arrive and, hopefully, periodically while I’m there. I promise to return to you.”
“Then make good on that promise. Come to my house tomorrow morning right before you go. I will have something for you then.”
Idla worked all through the night fashioning the amulet just so. Not a single detail was amiss; it was perfect. When Boromir approached her home in the gray, early morning light, she ran over and threw her arms around him. “You will be missed,” she reminded Boromir as she put the amulet around his neck. “This will keep you safe from harm. I cannot say how long the spell will last, so do not tempt fate, but should the worst happen and something or someone should try to kill you, no harm shall come to you with that amulet around your neck.”
Boromir looked down at her, his eyes flitting between her and the amulet. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I promise to return, and when I do, I shall make good on the other promise I have made to you.”
“Do not make promises you cannot keep,” she sighed.
“I will marry you and you will wonder why you ever doubted me.”
The uruk-hai sent an arrow flying towards Boromir and though he felt the arrow pierce his skin, he felt no pain, nor was there any blood, even when he pulled the arrow from his chest. The “wound” immediately healed itself and there was nothing left of it when Boromir brought his hand to where it once had been. He smiled, realizing the spell on the amulet worked and he continued bringing down the uruks. However many arrows pierced his chest, Boromir would quickly pull them out and continue fighting but the one with the bow caught onto the fact that his arrows did nothing. So, he decided it was time to fight the man of Gondor with his own hands. He shoved Boromir against a tree and brought a knife up to Boromir’s throat as the other uruks swarmed and took the hobbits. Boromir fought the grip of the uruk-hai, but he was too strong for Boromir as he stabbed Boromir in all manner of places in an attempt to kill the Man as the rest of the uruks left with the hobbits. But as before, the uruk found no blade could kill Boromir and the uruk’s life was soon ended with an arrow through the head.
“They took the little ones!” Boromir cried out in anguish to Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas.
“How are you still alive?” Gimli demanded. “We saw the blade pierce you!”
“I believe Frodo was not the only one keeping a precious gift hidden,” Aragorn ascertained, referring to Frodo’s mithril.
Boromir took the amulet out from under his shirt. “This amulet was made to protect me.”
“A precious gift indeed!” Legolas exclaimed. “How came you by it?”
“It was given to me by a woman who wanted me to come back to her. But this is irrelevant now. We must find Merry and Pippin!”
“Agreed,” Aragorn said with a nod. “We shall not leave them to torment and death. Let’s hunt some orc!”
All four companions smiled at each other, none of them – least of all Boromir – realizing what dark secret the amulet kept. In Gondor, Idla lay in bed as other witches fussed over her wounds, trying to keep the young witch alive – a difficult task.
“The wounds came out of nowhere,” and older witch explained to the others as they desperately tried to stop the bleeding.
Idla had enchanted the amulet so that no harm would come to Boromir, but the wounds did not simply go away; they were transferred to her.
A/N: So, I’m thinking about making this a series. Let me know if that would be something you’re interested in.
Ashley. Katchadourian. You were supposed to be watching the door. YOU. WERE SUPPOSED TO BE WATCHING THE DOOR. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE WATCHING THE DOOR. ASHLEY KATCHADOURIAN. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THESE ARE, ASHLEY KATCHADOURIAN? THESE ARE A LITTLE GIRL’S ARMS. A LITTLE GIRL WITH DREAMS, WITH LEGS, WITH A HEAD. SHE’S A PENCIL. SHE’S A SWIZZLE STICK! YOU CAN USE HER AS A POOL NOODLE! AND NOW I’M HOLDING UP HER ARMS! I’M HOLDING THEM BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T WATCH THE DOOR. A GIRL LOST HER ARMS, ASHLEY KATCHADOURIAN. A GIRL LOST HER FUCKING ARMS. DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT HAS TRANSPIRED WHILE YOU WERE IN PEARL HARBOR? SEEING A FUCKING JAPANESE MUSEUM? WE HAD OUR OWN PEARL HARBOR HERE TODAY. OH MY GOD. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US? YOU LITERALLY BOMBED US! LIKE THE JAPANESE YOU ARE. AND ME. I’M BEN AFFLECK. I’M BEN AFFLECK, AND I’M HOLDING TWO FUCKING GIRL’S ARMS. AND YOU’RE CUBA GOODING JUNIOR, DISAPPOINTING EVERYBODY. LIVE WITH THAT!
Trisha Cappelletti from The Most Popular Girls in School (via lame-nugget)
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