People shocked that the Targaryen’s were not liked by the small folk…brother they were colonial dictators with medieval nukes who Habsburged themselves into insanity
My favorite joke in Toy Story 2 is how technically all Buzz had to do was lift his foot to immediately prove he was the real one to his friends, but still went out of his way to make “Fake Buzz” believe he was dying for at least 7 seconds first 💀💀
Been watching Spider-Noir and I think the one very important but often forgotten thing they got right is that nobody in this show has iPhone Face. Casting department for the extras and supporting roles deserves a raise, because they really nailed the 40s Character Actors look. Lotta faces on this show that look like they were made from Play-Doh and I mean that as a compliment. There's some real mugs, thugs, bulldogs, wet rats, weirdos and GOONS in the people's faces in this crowd. "Whateva you say, boss" and "you wants it to hurt, boss?" henchmen so classically rectangular we're reclaiming the word GOON tonight. Even the little street kids look like winos.
ryland grace is aroace. however he is also stratt’s dead wife, rocky’s red string of fate starcrossed soulmate, & intensely violently homosexual for mark “simon iron lung” iplier. all things are true & all things can coexist. peace & love on planet erid
Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion X GN!Elf!Reader & Thorin’s Company & Prince Legolas Greenleaf (POC friendly)
Pronouns: You/Your
Summary: Internal turmoil causes you and Gandalf to separate from the company, only to come back to find them in quite the predicament.
Warnings: Nightmares.
Word Count: 2075
A/N: First hint at our dear husband :)
Previous part
You are dreaming. At least, you think you are, as you look around. The world around you is drenched in a warm light. With the way the light reflects off your surroundings, everything is slightly blurry. There’s only one thing truly vivid. A tall elf, standing before you.
His back is turned to you, his long blond hair falling gracefully to halfway down his back, catching the strange light like spun starlight. Though you cannot see his face, your chest aches at the sight of him.
Something deep within you cries out for you to go to him. Your fingers twitch at your sides. You ache to take his hands into yours and never let go. But before you can even take a step, an intense sense of dread fills you, and the elf disappears.
Flashes of fire take over your vision. Flames roar around you, and agony tears through your skin as you feel it burning you alive. You hear screaming, your own, perhaps, and the heavy scent of smoke chokes your lungs-
You wake with a sharp gasp. Your eyes fly open to be met with a dark sky, filled with stars blinking down at you. Rainwater drips steadily from the trees, the sound grounding you back into the present. Your pulse pounds wildly as you force yourself upright.
You sigh, rubbing at the stinging pain on your side, the skin around your new scar stil sensitive and irritated by sudden movements. You drag a hand over your face and stare into the dim remains of the campfire, trying to steady yourself.
The journey has been long already. And wet. The dwarves are not so bad, they mostly ignore you, aside from the occasional suspicious or spiteful glare. You’re not surprised, after what they’ve been through, you doubt you'd act differently. Still, you’ve made the conscious effort to learn all their names, in case they change their mind about the silent treatment.
You have mostly been keeping to Bilbo and Gandalf. The hobbit is pleasant company, and the wizard’s endless muttering fills the silence well enough during long rides through the wild.
You take one more deep breath, your mind calm once again. You lay back down; you’ll need to be well-rested for tomorrow’s journey. Eventually, you do manage to fall asleep again, and thankfully, no further dreams plague your subconscious this time.
By late afternoon the next day, the Company approaches the ruins of an old farmhouse. Broken stone walls sag beneath creeping vines, and what remains of the roof looks ready to collapse with the next strong wind.
Thorin scans the area carefully before turning to the others. “We’ll camp here for the night.” He orders. “Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them.” The Company mumbles in agreement as they begin to dismount.
You slip from your horse and follow Gandalf as he wanders toward the ruined farmhouse while the dwarves busy themselves with unpacking. Inside, the scent of dust and rotting wood clings thickly to the air.
Gandalf moves slowly through the wreckage, his eyes thoughtful as they sweep across the ruined home. “A farmer and his family used to live here.” He murmurs. You quietly take in the scene around you. The overturned furniture, shattered dishes half-buried beneath dirt, the lingering sense of absence.
Outside, Thorin’s voice rings out as he barks orders to get a fire started. A moment later, the dwarf king entered the farmhouse. Gandalf looks up immediately. “I think it would be wiser to move on.” The wizard says. “We could make for the Hidden Valley.”
Thorin’s expression darkens. “I have told you already, I will not go near that place.” He says sharply, “Why not?” Gandalf questions. “The elves could help us! We could get food, rest, advice.” Thorin scoffs loudly. “I do not need their advice.” He glares at you pointedly. A pity. You’d hoped he forgot you are here.
“We have a map we cannot read.” Gandalf presses, his voice growing more irritated by the minute. “Lord Elrond will help us.” He exasperates. “Help?” Thorin scoffs. “A dragon attacks Erebor, what help came from the elves?”
You immediately tense up at the mention of those vile creatures, your hand unconsciously reaching toward the hilt at your side. “Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, and the elves looked on and did nothing.” Thorin continues bitterly. “You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather and betrayed my father?”
Gandalf’s eyes narrow. “You are neither of them.” He says firmly. “And besides, it was not Lord Elrond who abandoned you at Erebor. That blame lies with King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm.” Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat. That name.
Thranduil.
The name strikes something buried deep within you. It feels so awfully familiar, yet so very distant. Painfully so. Yet, before you can grasp why, the moment passes beneath the weight of Thorin and Gandalf’s continued argument.
You are pulled back to reality when Gandalf huffs in irritation and stomps from the farmhouse, robes billowing behind him. You blink yourself free from your daze and hurry after him. Outside, Bilbo looks up from tending the ponies. “Everything all right? Gandalf, where are you going?”
“To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense.” Gandalf ells over his shoulder. “And who’s that?” Bilbo frowns. “Myself, Mr. Baggins!” Gandalf snaps. “I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day.”
You pause beside Bilbo long enough to pat his shoulder sympathetically before following after the grumbling wizard. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you.” Gandalf only grumbles and keeps moving at a brisk pace.
For a while, the two of you walk in silence through the darkening woods. Eventually, you glance sideways at him. “So…” You ask lightly. “Are we to wander aimlessly in circles, or do you actually have a destination in mind?”
“I am doing what our dear company’s leader is too stubborn to do.” Gandalf says. “I am seeking the aid of the elves.” You hum softly. “Anything I can help with?” The wizard chuckles beneath his breath. “No. Your time to help will come soon enough.” His sharp eyes slide toward you knowingly. “Though perhaps there is something I may help you with?”
You tense at the thought of the wizard having read your mind. Still, you can hardly fault your friend for that, your unrest likely sits plain upon your face these days. “I’ve been having dreams again.” You admit quietly. “They’re becoming more vivid.”
Gandalf is silent for several steps before speaking. “Some paths reveal themselves long before we understand them.” He says at last. “The heart remembers what the mind would sooner bury.” You stare blankly ahead at the trees. “I do not remember enough for your riddles.”
“No.” Gandalf agrees gently. “But even sorrow can have purpose, if we endure it.” You huff softly at that. “Not much purpose in suffering in my opinion.” Still, heart slightly lighter, you keep moving in silence.
Not long later, you meet with two elves who emerge silently from the trees ahead, cloaked in grey and silver. You recognize them as part of Lord Elrond’s household. Gandalf greets them warmly while you exchange quieter words, informing them you will soon be arriving in Rivendell alongside Thorin’s Company
The elves warn of troll sightings in the area before disappearing once more into the forest. Night has long since fallen by the time you and Gandalf manage to hurry back to your company. And said Company has apparently managed to get themselves captured.
One of three trolls tosses several enormous logs onto the fire with a grunt. Nearby, Dwalin, Fili, Óin, and Glóin are all tied to a spit over the crackling flames, groaning and shouting protests while another troll slowly rotates them.
The remaining dwarves have been stuffed into sacks nearby. A third troll lumbers closer, arguing loudly about how best to cook dwarf. You draw your sword, getting ready to jump into action, only for your movements to be halted by Gandalf’s hand catching your arm.
He gives you a pointed look and gestures behind the trolls. Bilbo stands there, pale and terrified, but determined. “Wait!” The hobbit cries. “You are making a terrible mistake!” Ah. You suppose allowing Bilbo the opportunity to save everyone would help things along, you suppose.
So you remain hidden beside Gandalf while Bilbo stumbles his way through increasingly ridiculous attempts at distracting the trolls. Thankfully, dawn eventually begins creeping over the horizon.
Gandalf suddenly slips away into the trees. A moment later, he appears atop a large rock overlooking the clearing. A powerful rage seems to posses the wizard. “The dawn will take you all!” He thunders.
The trolls turn, spluttering in confusion just as Gandalf slams his staff against the stone beneath him. It splits in half with a loud crack, sunlight pouring into the clearing. As the light touches the trolls’ skin, their flesh instantly hardens into stone as they scream and howl. Within seconds, the trolls are nothing more than statues.
The dwarves erupt into loud cheers as you release a long breath of relief. The Company begins freeing one another from the sacks, grunting and heaving as they push and pull. You quickly move to help cut them free, passing Thorin as he approaches Gandalf.
After everyone is cut loose, Gandalf leads the Company down a dark cave. The smell hits immediately as you enter. The dwarves begin to cough and retch at the smell. “What’s that stench?” Kili complains. “It’s a troll hoard.” You answer, slightly startling the young dwarf. “Yes.” Gandalf adds dryly. “Be careful what you touch.”
Piles of gold coins and other treasures in caskets lay scattered everywhere across the cave floor. Fili crouches beside one heap thoughtfully. “Seems a shame to leave it lying around…” He remarks. “Anyone could take it.”
“Agreed.” Glóin says. “Óin, get a shovel.” You step aside as the dwarves eagerly buisy themselves gathering treasure. Your attention instead drifts toward the weapons scattered across the floor. Elven make, without question.
Thorin joins you, his eye falling on two swords covered in cobwebs. He hands one to Gandalf before unsheathing the other carefully. He looks in wonder at the steel. “These were not made by any troll.” Thorin murmurs. “Nor were they made by any smith among men.” Gandalf adds, looking closer at the markings on the blade.
You study the markings etched into the blade. “These were forged in Gondolin, I believe.” You say quietly. “By the High Elves of the First Age.” Thorin’s expression sours, and he begins to put the sword away in disgust. Gandalf glares over at him. “You could not wish for a finer blade.”
Reluctantly, Thorin unsheathes the sword once more, holding it high above him. He shoots you another disgruntled look before reluctantly accepting the sword, tying it securely to his belt.
“Come!” Thorin calls as he exits the cave. “Let’s get out of this foul place.” The dwarves file behind him, leaving the cave. You and Gandalf make to follow them, until the wizard’s foot hits against something metallic.
Curious, Gandalf brushes aside some leaves with the end of his staff. A small sword, wrapped neatly in its sheath, lies in the dirt below. You shoot a grin at Gandalf “Perfectly hobbit-sized.” Gandalf returns the grin as he picks it up.
Outside the cave, the dwarves tend the ponies while Bilbo hovers uncertainly nearby. You and Gandalf approach him. “Bilbo, here. This is about your size.” Gandalf hands it to Bilbo. He stares at the weapon hesitantly. “I can’t take this.”
“Of course you can.” You say, lightly patting his shoulder in encouragement. “The blade is of Elvish make.” Gandalf explains. “Which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby.” Bilbo swallows hard at the thought of having to face those creatures. “I have never used a sword in my life.”
“And I sincerely hope you never have to.” You reply softly. “But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.” Gandalf says.
A sudden loud rustling comes from deep within the forest. Every head snaps toward the trees. In one smooth motion, you draw your newly acquired blade. It seems the weapon will see battle sooner than expected.
