Hope remains while the company is true

❁ 26 ❁ She/Her ❁ LoTR/TH Imagines ❁

[shirefantasies]

𓇢𓆸 My masterlists! Click to explore to your heart's content! 𓇢𓆸 (IA, THIS BLOG IS JUST AN ARCHIVE)

LoTR Works

The Hobbit Works

Miscellaneous Characters (Both LoTR & The Hobbit)

Fic Recs Masterlist (Both LoTR & The Hobbit)

LoTR + The Hobbit Matchups (CLOSED)

ABOUT ME/RULES/TAKEN ANONS BELOW THE CUT

ᙙᙖ About Me ᙙᙖ

Click here!

ᙙᙖ Rules ᙙᙖ

I am personally not comfortable or experienced in writing hardcore NSFW/smut, so unfortunately that’s not a writing type you’ll see from me.  I’m fine with suggestive situations/jokes or mentioning it, just nothing explicit, thank you so much ☺️ I write female or gender-neutral reader just because that aligns with my experiences, but I want to be as inclusive as possible!  I personally hate when fics try to describe ‘me’ lol because they tend to give reader long hair & no glasses…I’m like PLEASE stop assuming I can make a ponytail 😝 but most importantly I will never specify things like hair or skin color, body type, etc unless it is requested/part of the themes (like body positivity).  Reader will ALWAYS be an adult unless it’s something like a childhood friends AU with scenes where both characters are kids.

Themes avoided on this blog:

Graphic smut/kink, explicit descriptions of harassment/assault, suicide, emetophobia triggers, mpreg, excessive gore/violence (beyond canon typical violence/injuries).  I ask this/do not write these subjects for very personal reasons, so I hope you understand!

TAKEN ANONS

•🌱

•🥳

•🌌

•🐝

[shirefantasies]

This blog is no longer active. It will not be deleted but will not post or interact. Writing for this fandom no longer brings joy and has not for some time. I've been much happier leaving it behind. A lot of work is going into myself right now (first day of new meds! appointments in the waiting!!) and I am still on tumblr writing for what I do enjoy and just posting about what I like, hopefully to a much smaller follower base. This is a trigger I've wanted to pull for a long time and didn't out of guilt, but as I work on things personally I am finally letting myself be a priority. Having followers is a weird dynamic for me and it's been messing me up as I sometimes received a lot of messages over and over again including one recent one about how I "wouldn't message back". Even on this small blog! I can't imagine what it's like for the big blogs and I'm so sorry to anyone dealing with uncomfortable things. That and the stalking-esque situation showed me trying to make friends online is a slippery slope that I don't plan on sliding down again and I see now how uncomfortable messaging people even with that intent can be. I apologize if I ever made anyone else feel uncomfortable because I definitely know the feeling and never intended such. Just wanted to post this all for clarity even though I think you all knew what was going on. Thank you everyone for your enjoyment and encouragement over the years! Especially during this time of writer's block it's really amazing to remember what kindness I've heard, so encouraging and I will recall those words from those of you who shared them forever 🖤 Hope you understand. Off to try pursuing what I enjoy, goodbye everyone!

[filiswingman]

Honestly let me see anyone in the line of Durin with walkie talkies.

Thorin, Dís and Frerin with walkies?? Oh my gawd. RIP Erebor you didn't stand a chance.

Thrór, Frór, and Grór with walkie talkies??? RIP Ered Mithrin. They mightve been tiny but the amount of trouble would have been severe.

[shirefantasies]

I’m sorry, but FILI AND KILI? They’d still have them as adults and use them to fuck with Bilbo. Annoy the living daylights out of Dwalin but not get caught…at least not at first 👀

Dís using hers to tell the others they’re dumbshits while Frerin is ragebaiting Thorin and he’s taking it completely.

[shirefantasies]

Not deleting but I may go officially IA on tumblr. I have a situation with a person I met online here that is making me really uncomfortable and I’m starting to feel really anxious about putting myself out there online… may delete personal/side blogs.

[shirefantasies]

Ok, I am down more off my anxiety spiral and will likely just block this person on everything. But I will moving forward never imply where I live beyond country/coast at maximum, deleted my face reveal and will only share it with close enough people, and will probably never share my phone number again or not without a very long time of talking. I am willing to give context to explain some of the stuff that made me uncomfortable if anyone wants an idea/some wacko tea lmao. I was worried I could be tracked somehow if I put my writing out there but going on I’ll just be more faceless/guarded/no location ever. Looking back on the messages the flying out was a joke phrased as ‘I won’t because it’s creepy and too expensive’ so I don’t think they’re coming for me or anything.

[shirefantasies]

Not deleting but I may go officially IA on tumblr. I have a situation with a person I met online here that is making me really uncomfortable and I’m starting to feel really anxious about putting myself out there online… may delete personal/side blogs.

[shirefantasies]

Hello! If you are still doing requests (if you aren’t then totally just ignore this) would you do another Azog x reader? He doesn’t get enough content anywhere lol 😭😭

They were open at the time! Sorry this was so long ago 😅😭 I was completely stuck on ideas for this forEVER and then listening to one (1) whole song completely dislodged my brain so HELL YEAH AZOG CONTENT BABEY

Beneath the Curtain of Night- Azog the Defiler x Human Sorcerer!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical fighting/violence, blood, injury, a bit suggestive

Looming before you only a hair's breadth in the eyes of the woods were the jagged teeth of Dol Guldur. Ruins festering in the shadows of a wood once green and blessed, now sick with fog and crawling with fell beasts of elven and orcish bane alike. Dark magic twisted and curled into the air like an invisible, oppressive smoke.

It was that very darkness you were soon to melt into. While the magic in your veins was long diluted, this house of sorcery was to be your final test.

Fortress, more like. The stone that towered over your head and beyond your line of vision bore you no welcome, clear as the path in was. Shaking your head, your eyes turned just as hard. Something massive slammed into an interior wall as you stepped onto the cobbled bridge, something with ribs that cracked and surely lungs beneath that lost their wind. One of the multitudes within getting unlucky in a fight, or worse, simply being in the wrong location in the wrong moment. A sign? Perhaps, but you were not one to let things go untested. It was never in your nature, not even when it meant casting yourself onto hard ground or cutting again and again to retrieve relics, even after you'd slipped twice and stabbed your palm and sliced your wrist, blood oozing along the straight reddening line.

Your boots had left a trail down half the bridge when a shout rang out, deep and primal and far more thrilling than you cared to admit. A towering figure emerged from one of countless shadowed doorways, striding slowly and carefully at first. When your speed increased, though, steps gaining a new determination, so did theirs, and soon four boots thudded against stone, ripped toward each other like magnets. The same deep voice called out to you in the black speech, a tongue you still worked to gain mastery of. Some words escaped you, but one thing was clear: your presence was being challenged. You were being challenged.

"I hear of dark magic in this place," you attempted to reply, voice hoarse and halting as you called out the unfamiliar words, "Let me learn it!"

Three harsh, grating barks of laughter as your counterpart broke into a wide grin. You caught pale, glistening skin rippling with muscle and slashed by deep, wicked scars. Rows of teeth like knives, pointed ears, and a hastily impaled set of rusty hooked claws piercing through the stump of an arm. This was an orc, the Pale Orc if tales you'd heard in your journeys over the hills served anything.

Before another thought could contend with that, Azog the Defiler launched himself at you, sailing through the air as he drew a long jagged scimitar and swung. You barely had time to free your sword from your hip and fling it blindly upward, narrowly catching one of the notches with your blade; gritting your teeth, you dug your left boot harder into the stone, pushing with all your might to force his single hand back. The orc stumbled, strips of leather about his face swaying and flashing faces of suffering in the moonlight before you, but regained his footing with a deep crease of his brow. His second onslaught was merciless, one swing after another with the speed and ferocity of lightning strikes. At your back, wargs bayed and black speech rang out as another back struck stone. At times he toyed with you, pinning your body against his with a grin and drawing his blade slowly closer, heat pooling beneath you…

Inhaling sharply, you focused all your energy down your arm, feeling power ripple through its overlapping bones and bursting forth as a shock wave of shadow that had Azog staggering this time. His cold blue eyes burned with a mix of rage and respect, his brow alternately rising and falling back to a stare of deadly fortitude complete with a wicked smile.

"You play with power. Cute, but you will never truly understand it," the orc taunted, his voice like velvet upon rock.

“Not unless I break you first,” you taunted back, fingers winding around the relic tied to your sword. The power you drew was cold, pulsating haltingly like a heart caught before its beat and drifting down your hands.

Azog positively grinned at that, charging back over with another swing; this time, you dove out of the way, bodies almost tangling. Palms striking cold, damp ground, you pushed up hard and rose back to your feet in time for a fist to crack against your jaw. Blood bloomed beneath the harsh, cutting slam of your teeth to your lip. Spitting the salty tang, you felt a bit of the thick warmth dribble down your chin. Glowering, you unleashed another pulse, this one so strong it ripped a scream from your heaving chest and blew the Pale Orc the remaining distance your fight had not yet crossed. This time, the bruising slam and crack of stone and bone was on your side of the wall.

Striding over to his crumpling form, you took your turn to extend your blade along his throat, pulse pounding beneath muscle as you grabbed his one flesh wrist. His skin was surprisingly cool to the touch, far more so than the blaze in his eyes.

“Again,” you commanded in your halting black speech, voice lowering, “I have reason to believe I bear the blood of this necromancer you conceal. Bring me to him or whatever he has promised you is forfeit.” For emphasis, you pushed a little harder, just enough to return Azog’s favor and draw a long bead of onyx blood down his neck and shoulder blade.

~

Oh, the powers that be had quite the sense of humor. Within the walls of Dol Guldur you were to fight in the stead of he whom you had descended from; a necromancer like many in your host, he had precious little time to devote to you and thus you were to train for his ranks. Who, then, to train you but the master’s right hand?

That first bloody dance you’d shared on the bridge was by no means your final step. Day after day you were dragged out, rain or snow, to an open ring of cracked, vine-crept stone, and beneath dangling cages of victims long past you clashed, filling the frigid air with more iron echoes. That proud smirk of victory, those sharp teeth glinting down upon your crumpled form, poured resolve into you like molten steel, melting and hardening you all at once. Nothing got you back on your feet faster.

One such afternoon—or so it appeared beneath the veil of perpetual cloud and shadow your eyes had grown accustomed to, no longer needing to squint in torchlight— you had been challenged to toss your relic aside, leave your powers behind and fight with the strength born in you. In that, your sword had become an extension of your very body, an extension reserved for Azog and he alone. His hand had fallen upon you how many times those days, and yet when another struck you down and smiled over your body they met a quick end.

“You think the master’s best are toys? Worm.” The words should not have coursed through your veins the way they did, but as you’d watched his hand tighten about the throat of the other orc a heat quite opposite to your power flowed.

As it was, not a soul stood in your way. You twisted wildly about each other’s forms, returning any contact you received harder. Azog had chosen not to dual-wield, leaving his usual claw in place, but that hardly stopped him from parrying with it, catching your blade between its rusty grip and trying with all his might to wrench it from your hand. A smirk spread across your lips as you remembered your first fight—far was it from him to have a completely clean spar. Darting your legs out succeeded in throwing his center off and you used it, kicking again and again until you managed to grab your sword back and strike him with the hilt.

He’d won the past few days and you couldn’t let him get too comfortable, now could you? Twitches at your peripheries warned you that Azog was making to rise to his feet. Couldn’t have that either. Lowering your sword from his throat, you faced your opponent and dropped upon him in a tight straddle. The Pale Orc growled beneath your thighs but said nothing, only tilted his head slightly. Questioning? Daring?

You leaned down closer. “Does it bother you to lose your touch? Know that I could make good on my word of breaking you?” Hearing next to nothing but the black speech had increased your comfort in the forbidden tongue and the flicker of recognition in Azog’s eyes confirmed it was noticeable. Good. You wanted him to understand beyond a shadow of a doubt.

From beneath you, he shook his head, flesh hand falling idly to your thigh with a jolt of warmth and pressure. Five points digging faintly in as he grinned wider. “I prefer it. With every day comes the new joy of wondering who will draw first blood, who will end up on top. Delicious anticipation… You have proven yourself: worthy of the master, of this army. Of being mine.”

“Or is it I who has made you mine?” You teased, tightening your legs around his shoulders.

Not another word, only another growl as harsh, grating lips struck yours, moving with ferocity you hastened to mirror. As in battle, so was it there in this new ring, shins upon stone and hand now around your jaw, every push you received returned harder. No one would win this battle: not for the master’s right hand, not for assured dominance there beneath moonlight and hollow, dangling spectators, but you could be equals in destruction and protection alike. Stone sharpening its fellow beneath the cover of night, beautiful in its deadly overwhelm. The marks you left on each other proud scars of a new ceaseless victory.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @filiswingman @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 @misabelle717 @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @evattude @kpopgirlbtssvt @rivendell-poet @rainyobservationblizzard @numenoria | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🖤

[slavery]

Fuck I’m at a fencing tournament and literally a minute after I reblogged this my dad told me that he talked to the point people and I’m probably going to win a medal.

[seananmcguire]

BURN BAGEL BURN

[gothiccharmschool]

OH WHY NOT?

[harukami]

I need to follow up to say I reblogged this last night, and this morning I got some of the best news of my life, like, a life dream come true news thing.

Bagel what are your powers

[acabosetotal]

FUCK, I though it was just another lucky meme but LISTEN. Since a week ago I was waiting a phone call to confirm me if I got a job or not in my university. I reblogged this yesterday’s night “just for fun and because I don’t want any bagel to be mad with me”, and today’s afternoon, while I was losing my time as always, the professor I was supposed to work with called me and asked me for my personal information to start working with her.

THE BAGEL POWERS ARE WAY TOO MUCH FOR THIS WORLD

[token-white-friend]

I GOT A JOB THE DAY AFTER MY QUEUE POSTED THIS THE FIRST TIME AND I JUST REALIZED IT WHEN I SAW IT AGAIN HOLY GOD

[noodle-dragon]

The bagel hasn’t let me down yet!

[vintageinstepford-deactivated20]

This is the land we’ve become.  In Bagel We Trust. lol

[vintageinstepford-deactivated20]

I’m ashamed.  Got amazing news less than 30 seconds after I hit “reblog.”

[ibabycam]

Hmmm…

[filiswingman]

This link was sent to a friend recently. It has been passed around by bots on Tumblr, sometimes with different wording. Sometimes from anonymous accounts and sometimes from blogs.

please do not click the link if you do not know if it is secure as links are easily disguised. In this instance, the bot used the link to attempt to change the friend’s password and sent so many support tickets they were locked out of sending one themselves. The situation was thankfully resolved when the friend managed to change their password, but not before being sent several emails detailing the fact that the bot was attempting to do it first.

AO3 does not have account recovery measures so it is highly advisable that you do not click on suspicious links such as these. The link is masquerading as an AO3 URL and may lead to the archive, but that may not be all it does.

[scruffydogcreative]

@scam-alerts @ai-art-thieves

Ive gotten these on my fan fic accounts.

There is an increase in bots spamming hateful comments on fan fic writers accounts. This is putting fan fic writers at risk for bot attacks and phishing.

I was hoping you two could boost?

Thank you♡

[a-breath-of-pipeweed]

sleepy morning sex with Sam <3 that’s it that’s the post

-🌹

not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need not a want but a need

[shirefantasies]

GUYS

I became author moots with a numerous-times-published fantasy author! 😲 not sure what comes of this (maybe I'll join his classes/get more advice) but I was NOT expecting a follow back request. Steps forward in my field????

[shirefantasies]

✨Additional Poll✨ because I’m on a poll roll ig but… what race of character would you most like to see a plus size!reader fic with? 👀

Plus Size Reader Fic?

Hobbit 💚

Elf 🤍

Dwarf 💙

Human ❤️

Skin-Changer 🤎

Voting ended onNov 6, 2025

[where-is-the-angst]

bombur deserved better bc why is his only character trait being fat 💔💔

[skulkinspirit]

Don’t leave this in the tags, because this is absolutely correct!

Not to mention, he steps one foot into the shire and is turning allllll the heads, he’s definitely high up on the Hobbit Attractiveness Scale too.

[shirefantasies]

The actors’-joke-become-fanon about him being a husband and father to a huge family gives me LIFE. I’m so glad this fandom has focused on him as a brother, father, and working dwarf back home more because THIS. My absolute pet peeve is fat characters being caricatures/only used for weight jokes and comedy. His scene in the barrel proves he is also A BADASS 🔥 Bombur positivity ONLY on this blog

[shirefantasies]

Votes are in! Get ready for a fic about ✨Thranduil✨

I have another fic I'd like to finish first, but elves are quite underrepresented on this blog. But my lovelies, you got to select who comes next 😊 I've really enjoyed writing Thranduil and can't wait to come up with a one-shot for our boi in the coming weeks 🤭

[shirefantasies]

I am officially ✨not pregnant✨ 😂 and more importantly I would like you guys to choose an elf! For no reason 👀 no reason at all 👀

Select your elf y’all 👀😌

Thranduil

Galadriel

Legolas

Elrond

Arwen

Haldir

Voting ended onNov 4, 2025

[shirefantasies]

Chat do your voodoos and your manifests and your prays to make my period come, I was supposed to start thursday n I don’t wanna add ✨mother✨ to my bio anytime quite yet 💀😂

[shirefantasies]

Hiiii, I’m soo excited you’re doing requests I love your works. I wanted to request a Dwalin x fem reader where the reader is perceived as super soft and sweet and like the complete opposite of them and it’s the classic grumpy x sunshine but with a twist that reader can actually be super scary and she used to be this hard war hero. Like I said I loveee your works keep doing what you’re doing🫶🫶🫶

Apple Strudel and Axes- Dwalin x Wife!Dwarrow!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence/blood mentions, injury

The air nearly warmed enough to bead sweat upon your brow; humming to yourself, you kept on, though, shuffling about the kitchen and wiping your hands on the cloth you’d stuck in the bow tied in front of your apron. Tiny clouds of flour billowed into the air about it as you made your way to the washbasin. Taking up a rag, you set to new work scrubbing away all your old work, water clouding and yellowing with flour, egg residue, and a hint of sugar.

Your hands were deep in the mess of gobs and water when the footsteps echoed behind you; a smile crept onto your face in anticipation of the sight of your husband, though twisting revealed to you a very different vision indeed.

Standing before you were Borur and Iona, Bombur’s eldest son and second eldest daughter. Their youthful eyes peered up at you, wide little saucers of blue and hazel.

“And what brings a couple of pups into my kitchen?” You asked, a teasing little smile playing upon your lips as you shook and dried your hands, crossing the kitchen to the stove. “It wouldn’t happen to be the cookies I put in the oven or the apple strudel I'm assembling, now would it?"

The little dwarflings giggled, but shook their heads.

“Adad says you have the best stories!” Iona exclaimed.

“Tales from the kitchen, maybe?” Borur inquired; had you not known how sweet he was firsthand, you might’ve thought it was out of sarcasm. He was his father’s son through and through from his flame red hair to his love of nourishing others and all the fine details therein.

“Or what about when you first met Mister Dwalin?” Iona asked, flame-red curls bouncing in her excitement and little pink lips grinning. She had her father's hair, but in her likeness took after Erna— no wonder Bombur was wrapped around her little finger!

Perhaps you were, too, as you found yourself scooping her up into your arms, smiling as her giggling grin was held right up to yours. “Oh, you pretty thing, just like your mother! She’s a romantic, too. And that is a wonderful, wonderful story. It might get a little scary for you, though.”

“I’m brave!” Iona protested, her rosy oval-shaped face contorting in the most endearing attempt at a battle-hardened frown you have ever the pleasure of witnessing.

“We can handle it,” Borur promised, his big blue eyes glistening with determination, “Adad already told us about the dragon. About how he got the bellows working so King Thorin could drown him and the way Cousin Bifur got the axe ripped out of his—”

“Alright, alright,” you set his sister down, chuckling, “Just let me finish my crumb and I shall share it all. But you must promise me if you get scared that you will tell me straightaway!”

"Fine! Fine!"

"Good. Now settle on the davenport and allow me to sprinkle my magic!"

The children tore off across the stone floor, little feet slapping hard mountain hollow before setting off and tumbling them across velvet. The davenport had been a gift from your mother-in-law, a gorgeous turquoise thing lovingly embroidered with golden thread. You trusted Borur and Iona on it, though. Not the baby, though. Too messy. Then again, if there was any soul to be worried about, it was Fili's baby— for a future queen, she sure had no concern for what went where! No furniture for her quite yet save the changing table.

Your buttery magic was quickly spread and nestled beneath oven fire to those rather contradictory thoughts, sending you rinsing off once more and back out the door along the same path as your visitors.

"So, you want to hear the story of how we met, then?"

~

Sweat beaded upon your brow beneath your helm, a great heavy encumbrance you almost hope got tossed off in the thick of things. You had more than your wits around you, after all— you'd be fine. Your hammer had been inset with a ring of mythril in the center; not cheap, but not easy to break, either. You and your brother's hard work in the mines had wrought those riches from the earth and what better way to display them than pounding in an orc's skull with their fortitude? Your brother had gone the more traditional mail piece route. Understandable.

Dain was leader enough, a dwarf you could stand behind in battle...well, from enough distance away from his swing. Thorin, son of Thrain, however? Now that was a prince with an honorable bearing. Whose words came a bit softer and with more thought, who did not shout for glory on the battlefield, but for the strength of your people.

Khazad-dûm had been overrun. Swarms you laughed in the howling faces of poured up onto the hills surrounding your stronghold; planting your feet, you tightened your grip on your hammer and hoisted it a bit higher.

“Come on, then!” A voice some yards away bellowed. “Do your worst!”

Tearing your gaze away from the coming onslaught was folly and yet you found your head sparing the motion, facing you with a dwarf around your age. An axe in each hand, he stood very similar to you, feet planted confidently on your sacred ground. He was a bit taller than you, tattooed across the fingers and with thick silver beads at the base of his beard. His brown hair was shaven to a stiff peak at the center of his head, tall and proud as he himself was. A strong nose and goading expression that faded to deadly stone eyes. It was a mere second, but his gaze swiveled slightly and met yours with a grin and nod of respect. He must have been of the Erebor dwarrow, here alongside Thorin, for who would delight so upon seeing a dwarrowdam in armor beside one who’d fought with princess Dís?

Well, you’d be happy to prove such thought correct. Surging forward, you bashed an orc’s head in so hard he recoiled, tumbling back and knocking his neighbor over hard enough for you to take him out too. Your next target was taken out by the arrow of a fiery-haired dwarrowdam you recognized as your friend Bel. Her smile at you quickly fell, and turning at the last minute you managed to see and narrowly deflect an arrow with a heavy swing. The butt of a mace smacked you in the shoulder, dull pain faltering you long enough for a scimitar to swing your way. Dropping to the ground, you winced at the reverberating echo through your armor before rolling, sending your hammer crashing between the legs of another orc. Laughter echoed at your side.

“That’s the spirit, lass!”

It was that dwarf you’d seen again, this time congratulating you on your strategically-placed swing. Before you could reply, another scimitar slash cut between you two; you attempted a feint, but before your reaction swing could even be made your assailant’s head tumbled off his shoulders. As the body fell, a squirt of pitch-black blood catching the toe of your boot, your mystery ally grinned down at you.

“Steal my kill again and you’ll see how my last kill felt!”

Another bellow of laughter rose above screams and crashing bodies and clanging metal and then he ran off, slashing two more orcs at the shoulder. Cries rang out as across the battlefield Azog, the Pale Orc, took a massive swing at Erebor’s reinforcements. The tang of blood, the echoing screams, the sweat pouring from the sunlit steel of your helmet, all had your heart hammering and lungs heaving, but beyond them all fires of pure anger burned. White-hot and true it spurred you back on into the fray, taking mere seconds to catch your breath before introducing mythril to the skulls of more of those wretches.

Plowing through the crowd, you roared, only stopping your hammering rampage long enough to help Bel back to her feet and tut and shake your head when she insisted she was fine. Your muscles burned as you knelt to take her hand and stand, but relief cooled them as quickly when she clapped a hand to your shoulder and gave you a nod, blue eyes firm and reassuring.

“Don’t make me have to drag you to the medic’s tents.”

“I could say the same to you, missy,” Bel shot back.

“Stay safe out there,” you whispered one last time before running off into the fray.

Three more orcs deep and you saw your other new friend nodding to another dwarf, this one so richly armored you’d have thought him a royal if you hadn’t seen the prince already. That very same dwarf gave a look of apprehension before he was swiftly lifted into Dwalin’s arms and unceremoniously tossed down an overlook of stone into a swarm of orcs in the time it took for him to draw his sword. Next he jumped, springing off the edge in a whirlwind of axes.

The flurry didn’t last long, though, before you caught sight of another axe—one of orcish make—rising above the rest and crashing down hard. A sickening crunch resounded alongside the blade sticking into something much softer than armor.

“No!” You heard the scream rather than felt yourself produce it, ears ringing as you barreled forward. Dodging past one of your fellows slicing his quarry’s sword arm off, you all but leapt over to the edge of the stacked stone.

Peering down availed you the sight of blood. Crimson blood. You’d known it was coming, but still the sight of those red rivulets striking against tawny greyish stone had you staggering back. Which one of the pair had been hit? Was he alive?

Pain lanced through your shoulder before you found your answer, a dull thunk slipping into your searing skin. A glance down showed you what you already knew: you’d been hit by an arrow. Well, there went jumping.

Blood pounded in your ears as you dropped to your knees, rough stone scraping the outer scales of your armor skirt. Stings wracked you with every motion; willing your left arm still, you slid down. No tossing you. No dramatic effect. Most of the orcs were dead, the uninjured dwarf picking off the stragglers, black spattering his beautifully crafted armor.

“You! What is your name?”

Blue eyes wide, he looked over at you, shaking from the rush of it all. “Dori, ma’am.”

“Who is he?”

A glance downward, sweeping the slaughtered as if you’d asked for an orc and not the sole other of your kind lain there. “Dwalin.”

“Well, give Dwalin to me. We both need a trip east, if you know what I mean.”

Another glance, this time at your shoulder, and more goggling. “Well, yes ma’am, but Dwalin. He’s proud and—”

“Will he be proud of laying down and dying without a shot of a bandage?”

“…No, I suppose not.” Arrows sailed above and iron still clashed, but for a brief moment your trio had silence. Stillness broken only by the sounds of Dori aiding your drag of Dwalin to his feet. Each of you slung a sturdy arm over your shoulders, you far more gingerly, and with a wince you dashed for it.

Every jostle of his steel-encrusted arm upon you elicited a gasp of pain. For what felt like an hour you hurried, Dain’s units surrounding you as you went, your blood and Dwalin’s oozing together down your shoulder pad and breastplate. It was probably only minutes, but as your vision reddened and blurred and Dwalin’s head dropped over his chest, you prayed to Mahal for every second.

~

Your eyes shot open and another gasp escaped your lips. From darkness you made to sat up, only for lightning to course down your left arm. A whimper escaped your lips, but as you palmed the floor with your right arm you cared not. Sitting up and looking down availed you the sight of bandages wrapping across your chest and shoulder, your torso otherwise bare. Bare, bloodied, alive.

“Feelin’ the wind there?”

Blinking and starting at the sharp brush of sleep in the corner of your eyes, you turned to meet the vaguely familiar voice. Beard with great silver beads. Brown hair shaven down. Tattooed fingers.

“Dwalin?”

“That’s right.”

“And for your information, I’ve earned a little time out of my clothes, thank you very much.”

“That- that’s the spirit, lass,” he chuckled low and weak, but mischief and a great light of spirit still glistened in his eyes, “And thank you. I know what you did back there. Dori told me.”

Heat crept up your cheeks as his expression changed, hardened features softening considerably and looking to you with great focus. “Would you not have done the same?”

“Sure I would have. I liked the part about me not being proud of just layin’ down and dyin’.”

“Well,” you shrugged— well, shrugged just your right shoulder up, “I wouldn’t be either.”

For once, this got a small smile out of Dwalin. Not a wicked grin or that natural frown, just a soft thing that made you smile back just the same. “I… er, Dori ‘n’ me never got your name.”

~

Four big ol’ saucer eyes were back staring at you again.

“You were in a battle?” Iona broke the silence, her pale lips flushed with excitement and parted widely in shock.

“Is that so surprising?” You teased, resting a hand on your hip and fixing them with mock-scrutiny. “You think I couldn’t handle myself?”

Borur shook his head. “But you are just so sweet and you make such wonderful things.”

“I’ve settled down,” you shrugged, clasping your hands before you, “I am very lucky to be safe and have a home. We didn’t always have that. Many of us did not even have a place to being up our little ones like you.”

“Ooh,” they hummed in their little unison.

“The little ones of my own we may soon have…”

“Ooh.”

“And trust me, little pups,” you continued, shaking out your reverie and leaning in closer, “When you’re older you will understand. When you have a home you love or maybe even someone special you will do anything to keep them safe. Now, who wants apple strudel?”

“I want some!” Borur shot up straight, grinning. He was so like his father, the dear. You couldn’t help smiling back down at him, barely resisting the swelling urge to reach down and pinch his cheeks.

“I want to hammer some orcs!” Iona cheered, her tiny hands in the air.

Barely suppressing a snort, you reached down and ruffled her curls. “Maybe someday. Will demolishing some strudel suffice for now?”

Breaking into a wide smile, little hazel eyes turning up in pleasure. “You have a hammer, Mister Dwalin has his axes, and I have my fork!”

If you had your way, you’d be dragging Dwalin to the smithy soon. Surely they could make a tiny hammer. It may not be made with mythril, but by Mahal, it would be made with love. Even if your husband had to scare it into them.

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[shirefantasies]

✨SNEAK PEEK✨

Next one-shot is for someone I’ve never written one for before 👀 any guesses? 😁