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@exactlywhenhemeansto
Had We But World Enough and Time
The Hobbit | Bard/Thranduil | 13,500 words | NC-17 Many years have passed since they last met, and yet Bard still cannot help but look towards the great forests above the lake, wonder whether the Wood King will one day call upon him again; but it is not until Legolas’ return that he realises Thranduil’s long silence may have a more sinister cause.
read here @ AO3!
When you get this, please publicly post something nice about at least 5 different people you follow, then copy and paste this in each of their ask boxes. There's nothing wrong if you don't, but it's always nice to spread a little love! c:
Ah god, okay, I've received about five of these and I've been too lazy/busy playing in the snow to get around to them, but I'mma go ahead and do it right now, so, under the cut is a lot of affectionate rambling about a lot of amazing people.
You cannot blame me for looking upon your visit with suspicion, Mithrandir, when you so rarely visit. Let alone with the intention of it being a social visit. But of course you are welcome here.
---- well. That is, indeed, the purpose of my visit. It is a long road I travel, and it may be a long age before I pass through this realm again. I could not leave it without so much as a farewell! And so, if you will allow me, I will trespass on your hospitality a little, and not give you a single trouble.
"And I have no doubt you will yet be meddling among us, even then.”
Tone edged as the Arrow they would retrieve when the fires finally banked, Bard turned away. Resting his hands on a jagged bit of railing that had somehow survived the collapse of the main hall, he found himself unwilling to share what sorrow welled in his heart as he once more looked over the ravaged landscape that had been his home, even to so staunch an ally as the wizard. Hardly a structure here still stood, in truth, and none at all undamaged.
Figures moved in the distance, picking amongst what remained, salvaging what they could before they would be forced to move on, and the sudden rush of anger bled from him as if from a wound, leaving him cold and so weary he wondered distantly how he still stood.
"I imagine we will rebuild in whatever Thranduil’s kin have yet to spare. Without his aid, we would have been lost, even as had the dragon taken us."
"Me? Meddle? Hmph."
There's a glint in his eye that belies the injured innocence of his tone and expression. Meddling, perhaps, is too strong a word -- but he has been tasked with watching over Middle Earth, and that is what he will do.
"I suspect that Thranduil will give what he is able. He has grown isolated, these past years, and I fear that these losses will drive him further back into his realm -- and yet, you have impressed him, I think."
He's quiet for a moment. There is aught in these lands to interest a King of Elves, now that Erebor's treasure is divided, and the ranks of dead are a keen reminder of the reasons for his withdrawal from the world of men in the first instance. He is not convinced that he will see Thranduil again outside of the Woodland Realm.
"The dwarves, too, may yet give aid. The dragon-sickness is done with, and they will always hold sympathy for those driven from their homes."
"Now that———sounds entirely too magnificent to be anything even remotely close to this here humble pirate. Though the sentiment is much appreciated.”
"Hrmph," says the wizard, and it's a thoroughly disbelieving sound at best. "I do not flatter at the best of times; I merely speak the truth. And you must, I feel, know what I speak of."
He only realizes how far they’ve gone in silence when the wizard breaks it. Blinking bemusedly at their surroundings, Bilbo finally looks up at Gandalf, something like a sheepish smile on his face.
They’re shaky things these days, his smiles. Bilbo always fears the screams that still claw at his heart will find their way out.
"Sorry—…Gandalf. I got lost in my own thoughts."
Farewell, Master Burglar.
"I don’t—" His voice fails him, and he clears his throat with an annoyed frown before finding his words once again, "I don’t know that I will make for a great traveling companion." Bilbo hides the shudder that crawls up his spine with an apologetic shrug, and a breath of laughter masks the sob that’s been hiding in his throat for several days now.
"We are all of us changed," Gandalf agrees, and for a moment there is a weariness to his voice that hints at the grief he carries, deep in his veins. Too many have died, and for what?
"Some for the better and some, I fear, for the worst. But hobbits always have been most resilient creatures, and I quite believe that travelling is the best balm for a troubled soul." He smiles down at his companion; there is something soothing about the road before one, about having a path to follow, and about following it to its very end. It is what he has spent most of his existence doing, and now is not so very different.
"And soon you will be at home, in your little hobbit-hole, and I don't doubt for a second that you shall be more than glad to see it. But adventure will linger with you, you know, for you are -- as I once told you -- at least partly a Took."
”Is it not the same?”
Beneath his skin, there is a flickering thing; small and pale and young.
”Is this not your way?”
Accusation reigns freely upon the bed of his tongue, but there is no fire to it. The Elvenking has had enough of war— but the rains that come after have only burned him further.
"It is my way to go where I am needed, that is true; but wandering is by no means the same as vanishing."
He watches Thranduil carefully, and with something rather sad settling itself under his skin, lending a chill to his bones that had not been there before. The elf-king bore something of the nature of the great trees which everywhere filled his realm -- tall, and strong, but with every passing year a little harder, roots a little more twisted with age and the burden of the years.
"You are not the only person whom I must aid, nor is this the only place I am tasked to watch. You knew that, once."
exactlywhenhemeansto
Mithrandir. What brings you to my halls?
Well now. There is no call for sounding quite so suspicious, Thranduil-King. I bring no ill tidings, and no uninvited guests. I merely bring myself in my wanderings. Or are the halls of the Woodland Realm no longer open to wizards?
immortalspxrrow
"Well now. You are an oddity. The face of a man, hm. Yes. And yet, there is something of magic about you -- something of Ulmo, and the Great Oceans. Hrm. Curious indeed."
Incredulity held no sway here, not when the skies still burned above them, the scarlet sun and embers alike slowly dying on Laketown’s hazy horizon, and Bard’s gaze was free of rancor when he leveled it at the wizard a few moments later, his eyes dark with the promise of grief. As bad as it had been, it could easily have been so very much worse.
"I never sought that trust. I never wanted it. But I know my duty, Master Gandalf. Better than any. You need not bolster my resolve, or fear I will vanish with the fading smoke.”
" ---- no. No, I don't suppose you will."
A few puffs of his pipe adds a little smoke to the air, though far more sweetly fragranced, and he's silent for a few moments before he turns his gaze on the man.
"And I have no doubt that these unhappy fields shall grow prosperous once again, in time. Your children, and your children's children, will know a green and pleasant land, no doubt." Something like faint amusement tugs at his lips.
"Though it would be wise, perhaps, to build in stone, rather than wood."
dragonslayerofdale
"It is a day for cities to burn, it seems."
And indeed, the sky is scarred with the dark, acrid smoke of charred wood and flaming flesh.The blackened corpse of Laketown still smoulders, and Dale with it. Everywhere is rack, and ruin, and the desolate shells of bodies which once held life.
"They will continue to look to you, you know. To rebuild, to start again. You cannot escape the trust they have placed in you."
He aches bitterly in hearing those words— for they are those of parting; of removal, of an echo of a different war of a different era. And yet, the grey pilgrim— Stormcrow —would ever remain a constant in the dawning of each.
”So it must be. And you— you will vanish, I imagine, and take your winds elsewhere.
"I will not deny that I would vanish if I could. To be absent from so much death, to cease to feel the loss of friends and allies -- it is an easy wish to make."
And to feel the burden of it, an easy weight to suffer under.
"But there is not enough magic in these lands to make it so. I will wander, indeed, but no -- I shall not vanish."
Typical Gandalf. Always using lots of flowery words when a few good and short ones would do. But then—— Kili supposed he had a point, this time. As the end of paths go, this was not the most pleasant one, and one he thought — or hoped — that no-one would have liked to reach, either. The air smelled of acrid smoke and metal, underpinning the sickly sweet stench of decay. Likelihood was that they’d be smelling that for quite some time, but he’d be happy if he never smelled it again. However, Kili said none of this aloud. He never had been one for looking too deeply into things, and he wasn’t about to start now. The bloody wizard would be far too smug, if he did. “Endings are endings.” He said aloud. “And sometimes beginnings, if my mam’s got anything to say about it. One door closes, a window opens—- or something along those lines.” He shrugged a shoulder, the other arm still bundled up in bandages and a linen sling. “It’s not getting to that final ending that I’m interested in.”
"A woman you would do well to attend to more closely, I feel," he says, with a fond chuckle, and a shake of his head. "It sounds as though she has the sense that you yourself lack."
Kili is not the only one bandaged up, and there will be a great many bandages in demand for weeks yet; Erebor has been won, but not without its price. It is only a wonder that the Company itself did not lose as many as the armies they fought with, and against.
"And you will be needing sense, soon enough. Men will take up their homes in the city again, I do not doubt, and there will be a King Under the Mountain once more. As a son of Durin, you shall have more to do than simply waving a bow around."
"It has been a long while, my friend!" //keeperofmirkwood
" -- oh, it has not been such a long time as all that! Well, my old friend, I must say that this is a pleasure quite unexpected. I had not supposed to be passing by this way, but my feet, it seems, have a mind of their own."
hanging around and making icons and writing bits and pieces, too. feel free to come and bother me in the assbox if you like.
foryourhxme replied to your post:foryourhxme “Come now, master burglar —...
of coURSE YOU PICKED THAT OF COURSE YOU DID
you would have been disappointed by anything else, come on.
archerofdurinsfolk
" -- and so, we have reached the end of the path."
He surveys the field of broken bones and dented armour, of blood-slicked earth and blackened swords which will never again be wielded against the threat of enemies.
"I fear it was not quite the path that we had intended, and the cost has been a very great one. I fear -- well, that is not for you to worry about. You have a home once more!" There's the trace of an ironic smile as he surveys the wreckage that is the gates of Erebor. "Though I imagine it will be rather drafty, for a while yet."
