You didn't arrive like a moment
you arrived like weather
like something the world had been building
toward
without telling me
And suddenly my days had edges I hadn't
noticed before
corners carved out where you used to
stand
places my thoughts kept returning to
as if memory were muscle memory
I stopped recognizing myself in the mirror
of routine
everything I thought was solid
started rearranging itself around you
quietly, insistently, like gravity changing
direction
Even the ordinary things betrayed me
the way laughter lingered longer than it
should
the way silence felt crowded when you
were gone
the way the future I pictured
kept forgetting to exist without your outline
in it
You were never just part of the story
you were the way the story learned to
move
the reason my smallest decisions
started to feel like they had weight
And when you left
it wasn't emptiness that stayed behind
it was proof
that I had been somewhere bigger than
myself
without realizing it
here after math of grandfather defeated and galaxy fallen Ben is blaming Monty for their lose of their friend as Ben try to warn Monty it was dangerous. And here are their words if you can read this.
Ben: Are you happy Monty?! She gone because of your rebellion I told you it was dangerous!
Monty: I’m sorry Ben I never wanted this to happen.
Here the aftermath and I will draw next art of where galaxy went or what kind of dimension She went too.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Captain America (Movies)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Tony Stark, Nick Fury
Additional Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, Hurt Tony Stark, Parent Nick Fury, Fury Cares, Civil War Fix-It
Series: Part 1 of Aftermath of a Civil War
Summary:
“When was the last time you slept?”
Tony shrieked and turned, throwing his wrench, the tool missing the intruder by about a mile.
Imagine being the daughter to Thorin Oakenshield. You save the Elven King’s life and nearly die in his place. In return, Thranduil makes you immortal.
((I SWEAR….it’s good…or at least…a little well written haha. Honest criticism appreciated, but please don’t get overly rude. Thanks!))
Word Count: 2,714
Warning: None but poorly written characters, possibly.
“Remain inside! Do not fight if you don’t need to.” Your father, Thorin Oakenshield, ordered in a rush and a panic. He grabbed your shoulders as he spoke and then cupped your face. He placed a kiss to your forehead and on instinct you leaned into him and the comfort he was trying to give. “You are a daughter of Durin; you are a Princess of Erebor.”
You pulled back as he did the same and your eyes flickered downward, glued to your father’s hands as he pulled off the large blue jeweled ring he had worn since before you were born. It was a symbol of his birthright; it was to be worn by the leader of the Durin Folk.
“Keep this safe for me,” your father murmured as he placed the ring in your hand. “Should we die but out people prevail, you will rule them honestly, dutifully, and honorably.”
Your throat hurt too much to speak. Giving everyone one last (well, what could have been their last) hug, you moved to the top of the stone wall so you could look down upon the battle. You slipped your father’s ring on the chain around your neck; it rested safely right over your heart.
You felt pride when your father led the charge, and that pride only grew when the dwarves of the Iron Hills rallied to him.
“Mahal protect them. They are sons of Durin; our race needs them..” I need them. You closed your eyes and your ears rang with the sound of weapons clashing together.
You couldn’t bring yourself to reopen your eyes; you couldn’t watch a single dwarf die. It wasn’t right! Erebor was your home! Well, your father’s home and birthright! Who were the orcs to appear and try to wrestle this victory of reclaiming the mountain away from them!
You worried about Kili who was still healing from the poisoned arrow in his leg, and you worried especially for your father who had only just overcome the dragon sickness that had claimed him the moment he entered the mountain. You worried for the entire Company of Thorin Oakenshield; they weren’t warriors, not truly.
You could be their Queen at the end of the day. A voice rang softly in the back of your head. Open your eyes, Y/n, open your eyes and watch these brave dwarves fight for your father’s…for your throne.
When your eyes opened, you found a calmness inside of you for just a moment. Your fingers laid on stone, your face was a mask of indifference, and all the while, your heart was threatening to rip from your chest.
You had always been “too soft for the real world” even though you could fight as well as your cousins. In that moment, as you watched dwarves fight and die just outside the halls of your ancestors, something shifted inside of you. Something you couldn’t quite identify. Perhaps it was courage or strength, and maybe it was simply a desire to protect those of your race.
“I am a daughter to Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. We are descendants of Durin. We are smiths, merchantes, thieves, but more so we are fighters.” Your hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword at your hip, “I am the daughter of a King. This is my home. I will help defend it.”
Your father’s command to remain hidden inside Erebor meant nothing if he was already dead. You were a dwarrowdam – even if it was only half – and you would not hide while the “men folk” fought the battle for you.
Your sword caught an orc unaware the moment you made it to the battle field. Your sword sank deep in the orcs back and when it slid out, as the orc fell to the ground dead, the blade was covered in crimson.
“I am a Princess…” you repeated as you let out a shaky breath and turned to another orc.
You are not weak. You simply value life. You could hear your mother’s voice in your head, saying the words to reassure you. Your mother had always been wise; she had been a human, a fling of your father’s you had been told by your Aunt Dis, but your father loved her and when she passed ten years after you were born, Thorin Oakenshield buried your mother with all the honors of a dwarf…perhaps even a Queen.
“They are not worthy of life, Mama.” Your jaw clenched and you pushed forward, deeper into the battle raging all around you.
You liked to believe that you hide your fear well; you liked to imagine making your father proud. You had to fight. The orcs wanted to kill your family and your people. You were Durin’s Folk, and Durin’s Folk never flee from a battle. So, what other choice did you have than to hide your fear under layers of courage and battle cries?
Even so, you couldn’t deny that the orcs were terrifying, ugly creatures, and there were so many more of them.
You weren’t as vicious in your fighting as the orcs were, but you were quicker. You also had some amount of strength to nearly equal that of an orcs; thank Mahal for making you half dwarf.
Somehow you ended up in the ruins that were once the thriving city of Dale. There, you came upon the elves and humans fighting orcs that just seemed to continuously stream into the city.
A flash of white and you turned slightly; your eyes landed on the Elven King of Mirkwood; the very same one who had locked you, your father, and the rest of your company into cells.
The King was so graceful and deadly as he wielded double swords and moved fast enough that you could hardly keep up with him. It was an art…it was beautiful to watch.
Pulling your gaze away, you spun around to meet the ac of an orc. Gasping at the orcs strength, you quickly dropped your sword away from the orc and spun to the left. Crouching, you grabbed the dagger from your boot and slammed it into the orcs calf.
The roar of pain from the orc filled the air as you pulled the dagger out and, with as much strength as you could muster, shoved it up through the root of the orcs mouth as you jumped to your feet.
The sounds of steal breaking skin and the orc gurgling on blood made your stomach churn and you felt tears filling your eyes despite you knowing how absolutely ridiculous it was!
It was stupid to be upset over the death of a monster, and orc no less, but you were upset; this is why your father had told you to remain in Erebor. He knew you weren’t a killer, and he didn’t want you to become one under any circumstance.
I’m sorry Papa, but I have to fight. I…your thoughts trialed off as you caught sight of the elven king once more.
He was a great warrior, but there were a lot of orcs and his people were dwindling.
Whether the elves were fighting for the dwarves or not, it didn’t matter; they were still fighting and dying against a common enemy of the dwarves.
You moved forward toward the elf-king; fighting against the orcs as you did so. You could taste blood on your lips although you couldn’t remember when it had gotten there.
Unlike your father, you held no grudge against elven kind. If you had, it would have disappeared just from seeing how many elves had given their lives that day.
If you held a grudge against the elves, the next series of events probably wouldn’t have happened.
To be honest, things happened so quickly you weren’t aware of moving toward the tall, white haired King. Whatever made you do it would forever be a mystery to you. Perhaps you were just trying to save one of the good guys.
One moment, you were fighting off two orcs when your saw – out the corner of your eye – that the Elven King was surrounded. He was holding his own, but for how much longer could he do that?
You didn’t even hesitate to kill the two orcs you had been fighting.
And then you were running over to help the elf.
He didn’t seem to notice you; not until, that is, your hands pushed against his back, pushing him forward. He caught himself and spun around, a glare on his face.
Then his eyes widened in surprise and what could have been horror.
You had just ducked under the Warhammer before it could cave your skull in when you saw an orc sneaking up on the Elf King. Perhaps it was because, for now, he was an ally, or maybe it was you not wanting him to die for the sake of his son and their people. Either way, you ducked under the Warhammer and ran toward the King of Mirkwood who stood, still, near three feet away.
Your hands caught his back just as your other hand raised your sword in a poor attempt to block the orcs attack.
The Elven King stumbled forward from your push and pain ripped through your chest; you couldn’t find it in yourself to scream out of pain.
A gasp of surprise slipped off your lips as you felt to your knees.
You didn’t hear the war cry of the Elven King nor see him “take care of” the rest of the orcs currently in the small court yard where the two of you stood.
Pressing a shaky hand to your tunic, you sobbed at the amount of blood that instantly covered your hand. A second sob, louder this time, sounded as you fell onto your side.
Through tears filled eyes, you found the Elven King standing over the last of the orcs, now dead, and watching you in alarm.
Coughing, you whimpered, “Please,” your eyes snapped shut at the amount of pain washing over you. “Your Highness….it hurts so much…please….make it go away.” You were pleading for death.
The Elf King sheathed his swords and moved over to you. “You are the daughter to Thorin Oakenshield?” he questioned, kneeling beside you.
“Proudly,” you answered, wincing. Each breath was becoming harder to take.
Silver eyes turned curious as a warm hand landed on yours where you were still grabbing at your wound. “Why, then, did you sacrifice yourself for me?”
You whimpered once more, unable to answer his question. “Kill me. Please make it stop.” Your tears felt as if they froze on your face the moment they slipped from your eyes. You were so cold and so lightheaded.
You wanted your father. You wanted to say goodbye to him. You wanted to feel safe in his hug and see him smile one last time.
The Elf King began to speak in Sindarin.
You had no idea what he was saying, but you prayed he was doing as you asked. You were in so much pain and you just wanted to rest. You were ready to die.
The last thing you heard before slipping into unconsciousness was a voice telling you to “Sleep peacefully.”
*
“What would you…do…? Death comes…us all... Be proud…she…fighting.”
“You want me to…proud…daughter…sacrificing…? I would be…it had…been…likes…you…”
Nothing that was being said made sense to you. It was obvious people were arguing, but in your state of slipping in and out of conscious, you were only able to hear bits and pieces of the conversation. Your mind was too foggy; you couldn’t even put names to the voices that you were certain were familiar to you.
Thorin…that’s my father…is he here?
Your eyes felt too heavy to open.
The other voices…they are familiar but…I am so tired…What’s going on?
You must have slipped back into unconsciousness for quite a while because the next time you woke, you no longer felt much pain and the world around you was much quieter.
With some difficult, you opened your eyes with a soft shudder of breath.
I am not dead…Somehow you just knew you were still alive.
You were in the entrance hall of Erebor. Amongst the rubble left in Smaug’s inhabitance and departure from the mountain kingdom, bodies were scattered all around; elves, dwarves, and humans alike. Most were asleep, the few who were awake were whispering softly to those nearest them.
Placing your hands on the floor, you pushed yourself into a seated position with a small grunt as the bandage wrapped around your waist tightened and dug into your skin.
Once more, your gaze flickered over and room…and stopped on the person lying beside you. A gasp of fear passed your lips as you pushed the blankets from your body and scurried over the small distance.
“Papa,” you murmured brushing a hand over his face. You could tell that he was still breathing, but that didn’t make you any less afraid for him.
“He won’t die,” a feminine voice assured you.
Looking up, you realized it was Kili’s she-elf. Tauriel? She was seated beside Kili who was smiling softly in your direction.
“What happened?” you demanded, tears in your eyes. “What happened to all of you? What of the orcs? Tell me, Kili.” Your tone was now pleading as you watched Fili stir from the other side of Kili.
“The orcs were defeated and they scattered away.” Tauriel responded to you, calmly an softly. You watched her grab Kili’s hand and pull it onto your lap as your cousin said, “Azog the Defiler stabbed Thorin and Fili; his…off spring, Bolg nearly killed me.”
Fili coughed and then said, “We all came too close.” While reaching a hand out to touch his brother’s shoulder.
“But we survived.” You snuggled, trying not to cry. “That is all that matters.” Your gaze returned to your father who continued to sleep without a sound; not even a soft snore.
You were too thankful for your father and cousin being alive that you didn’t are ask how many and who had been killed. You couldn’t, however, stop yourself from asking how it was that you were alive. “I swear, I felt myself die.” You informed your cousins and the she-elf who simply stared back at you.
You knew that look on Fili and Kili’s faces. They knew something, but they didn’t know how to tell you.
“What? What is it?” you demanded, beginning to panic. Had someone managed to heal you just long enough for you to live for a short time longer? Were you actually dead and all of this was just a…a afterlife….affair?!
“It…” Fili began to say before clearing his throat, “It was Thranduil. On Thorin’s…request…the Elf King saved you.”
You most certainly hadn’t expected that to be the reason. “He…what?” you hissed, your eyes wider than you think they had ever been.
“By making you immortal.” The response was soft and your head snapped around to find the source of it. You found yourself staring at the Elven King, himself, as he stood there a few feet away holding your gaze.
Your breath caught and you tried to figure out if he was being serious or just messing with you.
At the calm look on his face that told you he was waiting you to…to thank him or…or something to that effect, you sputtered, “You…you made me…what?!” you got to your feet, ignoring how shaky you were and the voices telling you to lay back down. “Why? Why would you do that? I asked you to kill me.” You hissed as you came to stop in front of him, “You can’t just play god with someone without their knowledge!”
How could he do this? Why would anyone…he…your own father…think you would want that? It…how could they make this decision without your say?! As if you were but a child who couldn’t make her own decisions!
The Elf King appeared amused by your anger, and he simply stood there smirking slightly.
“I don’t want this! I will not live while everyone I love dies! I will not be one of you!” and you shoved past him heading deeper into Erebor.
