#bardxoc

[helmaninquiel]

REUNIONS AND DISSOLUTIONS | In the Night Part 5

Pairing: Bard/OFC!Tallie Words: 2,264 Based on this imagine from imaginexhobbit.

A/N: We’re finally on our way to Laketown! Only 5 more parts after this one:) 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Masterlist

As she hauled herself through the toilet hole, she desperately tried to keep her mind off of the fact that she had been swimming in such filth since they had unloaded the barrels. That she needed to take a bath, immediately, but was more concerned about the freezing wet clothing she was wearing. A head popped around the corner and it was that of a young woman.

Sigrid. Just in the months Tallie had been gone, she had grown into a young woman. It saddened Tallie that she had missed it. “Tallie!” Sigrid cried, instantly recognizing the sopping wet woman. She raced down the stairs, embracing her. “We were all beginning to think you’d run off with a dashing young man.” Tallie knew they hadn’t, but appreciated it all the same.

“Sigrid,” Tallie greeted warmly. Rapid footsteps followed her at her sister’s exclamation and Tallie could see Tilda rounding the corner. “Me?” Tallie said in astonishment, holding the young at arm’s length away to get a good look at her, before Tallie grinned and let go to hug Tilda. "Never. Laketown is my home. I can't leave for too long. Something always calls me back.

Why, Tilda! Look at you! Why, you've grown a foot since I last saw you!""

Heavy footfalls signalled that Bard had arrived, and the toilet seat clapped once more as the dwarves began to haul themselves out as well.

"Sigrid, put some tea on for our guests, please,” Bard said as he eyed them.

"Yes, Da," she replied almost instantly and vanished a second later, a fond smile going to Talie. "There are some dry clothes for her in the trunk, if she would like."

"Bain, start the fire.” Bard said after Tallie had finished hugging the growing boy.

“Da, why are there dwarves coming out our toilet?”

“You would not believe the story, even if I told you,” Tallie grinned at the young girl. Tilda giggled, obviously eager to hear the story now. “I barely believe it, and I’ve been living it for the past few months.”

“Da said that you died,” Tilda spoke up, in a childlike manner. “Says that you drowned-”

“I said that it was what everyone was saying,” Bard defended as Tallie shot him a look. “Unless I saw a body, I didn’t believe you dead… at least not in these parts.” No, bodies always surfaced shortly after a person drowned in the water. There was nothing in these waters to eat flesh, and it was too shallow for anything to sink and be unrecovered. “If you went on a nonsense adventure around land, that was a different matter-”

“Nonsense adventure?” Tallie’s tone was teasing as she glanced to Tilda. “I’ll have you know that your father went on more nonsense adventures in his day than I ever did.” Tilda knew. Tallie told stories often enough of how delinquent their father was. But she could not help but feel like all of her concerns and worries evaporated when around the three children. Around the whole family. She didn’t care for who wanted her dead. She didn’t care for anything of the sort other than the people in this house, and the one soul in her own.

“I’ve a gown for you, Tallie, if you’d like to change,” Sigrid spoke as she came back, the kettle likely on the fire that Bain was building up in the house. Tallie recognized it instantly.

“Your father … gave Sigrid your clothing when no one heard of you,” Bard explained.

“I’ll have them all washed and returned, of course,” Sigrid said quickly. “I’m sorry, just-”

“No, no need to be sorry,” Tallie insisted, giving the young girl a smile. “I’m just glad you’ve made use of them.” She took a step back to allow a sopping wet, and grumpy, dwarf to pass her, not realizing that there was yet another behind her, looking out at the water. She was falling into the water before she even knew what was happening, taking in a lungful of air before she was under the frigid surface.

Tallie surfaced only a few seconds later, chilled to the bone as she gained her bearings in the water, and swam up to the dockside.

“I hope no one’s seen you,” Sigrid said, as if trying to hide a smile.

“I think everyone’s heard you,” Tilda countered, teetering in a laugh.

Bard moved the dwarves aside that had gathered at the dock edge, and gave a sigh as Tallie gripped onto the wood tightly. “You’ll catch your death in there.”

“Oh, it’s hard to catch something you’ve already run from.” Tallie held up a hand, hoping he would haul her up as she had no arm strength after the events of the day to even get her halfway up onto the dock.

But looking up at him, Tallie could see his face clearer. He was amused. “Well, you always did land on your feet.”

Tallie’s hopeful expression turned into a glare. “That was once, and you were lucky you didn’t get tanned by my father. Are you going to help me up or am I going to freeze to the bone?”

He took her hands, and lifted her up with ease. He lifted barrels that weighed more than Tallie on a daily basis, she doubted that she were an issue for the bargeman. Water pooled at her feet, and she suspected she looked even worse than she had the first time. “I think I’ll change now,” Tallie said after a moment of wringing out her hair.

“Are you alright?” Tilda asked.

“I’ll feel my fingers eventually. Maybe next spring, if I’m lucky, but I’m alright.” Kili was helped out of the toilet by his brother, and it reminded Tallie of the danger that he was in if his leg wasn’t bound properly. “He’s hurt,” Tallie said quietly to Bard. “His leg needs binding.”

Bard cleared his throat, glancing away from Tallie and towards the dwarf. “Aye, we’ll get him upstairs. Are you capable of tending to it?”

“I’ll need another set of hands.” Tallie glanced towards Tilda. “Tilda, will you help me bind Kili’s leg once I change?” What Bard had said about her wanting to train to be a midwife was not forgotten by Tallie. Her eyes grew wide and she nodded eagerly. Tallie glanced to Sigrid, taking the offered gown. “Thank you,” Tallie said quietly to her.

“You can take Tilda and I’s room,” Sigrid said. “You know where it is.”

Tallie took one last glance to the injured dwarf, before hurrying up the steps to change out of her nearly frozen clothing.

Not even ten minutes later, Tilda was listening carefully to Tallie’s instructions on how to treat the wound. And while Tallie did the actual stitching, Tilda was very good with cutting where she needed to and getting more water. But the wound was growing worse the longer Tallie worked on it. He was growing weaker in that leg.

It did not help that it was so high up on his thigh, but there was nothing more she could do.

“Will he walk?” Fili asked urgently. Tallie was silent for a minute, considering the question.

“It will hurt, and it likely is only deteriorating. I don’t know what kind of magic this is, but it’s beyond me,” Tallie admitted quietly, so that Thorin wouldn’t overhear a few yards away, palms outstretched for the fire.

“It’s fine,” Kili insisted. “I can walk well enough-”

“She says it’s getting worse. Orc magic, likely-”

“But it’s fine, now,” Kili insisted. “I can’t not go to the mountain. This whole journey has been to reclaim Erebor-”

“You likely won’t make it up the mountain. And swimming in the lake probably didn’t help matters,” Tallie admitted. “I’m sorry.” And she was, because she knew how much this mountain had meant to Kili. She knew how desperate he was for it. He had the most enthusiasm, the most determination, of all of them that she had seen with her short time with them. His spirit had never broken. “I think if you aren’t on it for a few days, you have a better chance of it healing properly-”

“A few days?” Kili cut in. Tilda shifted besides Tallie, unsure of what she should do. “I can’t wait. Uncle will want to leave tomorrow-”

“That’s just my opinion,” Tallie sighed. “You can choose to ignore it and possibly make it worse, but that’s up to you. This is what I think you should do.”

In the end, he ended up ignoring her, the dwarves leaving in the dark of night, while Tallie submitted to the overwhelming questions of the three little ones on where she had been, exactly. So tea was put on and they all gathered around the sitting area, Tilda in Tallie’s lap.

Sigrid poured Tallie's cup last, and once finished, they all settled, sipping from the warm drink to help them warm up as the winter breeze shuttered through the thin walls of the home. Bard gave Tallie a look that clearly informed her how many questions he could possibly have on his mind.

"I went home one night and as I was making myself supper, these men are in my sitting room," Tallie started quietly. "I don't remember much of what happened, just that I woke up on a boat going up the river to the Mirkwood forest. And from there, we walked on foot for a grueling eternity. They had been hired to kidnap me. To ensure my father wouldn't challenge the Master."

"The Master hired them?" Sigrid cried, shocked.

"I doubt the Master has enough sense to even think of such an idea. I have my bets on Alfrid,” Bard muttered to his children.

"And how far did you get?" Tilda questioned.

"Oh... I'm not quite sure," Tallie admitted. "I know that an entirely different set of mountains graced the horizon than the Lonely Mountain. The Misty Mountains, the dwarves called them. We were supposed to head in there, where they'd get rid of me. Far away from being seen by anyone from Lake Town, that is."

"They were hired to kill you?" Bain asked.

Tallie swallowed. "I believe that was their intention. Of course, these friends couldn't be smarter than a fish stuck between rocks." Tilda giggled. "So, when they were sleeping, I managed to untie myself and take off. But they had heard me start to leave, and were following. Which is how I ran into a group of dwarves."

Bard glanced towards the fire in obvious displeasure. "And have stayed with them?"

Talie glanced it as well, before she leaned closer to Bard. "They are on a quest to reclaim Erebor." He stared at her. "Thorin is the heir to Durin's throne."

"They will wake that dragon and bring destruction to Laketown and Erebor both."

"They will not listen to any reason such as that. I have tried. But some warning is better than none. If the dragon wakes, it will go to the first place it sees, and Laketown is a star amongst the water-"

"They will bring our end-"

“Da?” Sigrid asked, confused.

Tallie glanced to the children, having almost forgotten they were there. “Oh, it’s nothing… Just a little superstition,” she smiled brightly. “Besides, those dwarves don’t even know how to get into the mountain. They can’t exactly walk in through the front door.” Bard clearly looked troubled.

“Are you going to go home now?” Tilda asked, disappointment obvious in her voice. “Because it’s dark and you would always make sure to be home when it turned dark.”

“We’re not sure who it is after her,” Bard said before Tallie could even start to speak. Tallie glanced to him in surprise. “Until we know for certain, it’s probably best she not go wandering the city, or make herself known.” She couldn’t just hide herself as well as Bard seemed to think.

“So…. I should go to the shores and wait?” Tallie asked, confused. “Even then, there’d be no way to know who hired those men-”

“Stay here,” Bard suggested. “Stay hidden, I will still visit your father, and I’ll tell him that you’re back - still alive and hiding, so that he doesn’t worry for you so much.”

“Live here? But… I have no money to make if I can’t leave, and no income means-”

“It’s alright,” Bard insisting, his cheeks pink, but Tallie felt it was more from the fire than the topic at hand. It had to have been. Tilda shifted in excitement on Tallie’s lap. “I’d rather you be safe, and your father be safe, than they try more drastic measures to stop his underground support. Which I believe would be their next attempt.”

“You’re right,” Tallie admitted quietly. “Thank you. I’ll help anyway I can with anything you need.”

“I know you will,” Bard nodded. His eyes darted to Tilda and then to Sigrid and Bain, quiet. “We don’t make any mention of Tallie being here. No one is to know. Or they think we were involved, and come here next. Got it?”

“Yes, Da,” they murmured quietly.

Tallie had gone from being a prisoner of some strange men in a strange land, to being a prisoner in her own friend’s home. She wasn’t sure what felt safer. But the bells were suddenly meaning, signalling a meeting in the city square. The dwarves. Bard glanced to her, before rising.

“Stay here,” he warned. “I’ll go see what this is.”

“I’ll go with you,” Bain said.

Perhaps not quite as safe as thought yet.

[averil-of-fairlea-in-third]

True Love

for @queenofwands, who asked for a fic about Bard and his wife’s [Aida]  early lives together, based on my headcanon here ||More Bard fics || Fanfiction masterlist

Bard holds the small, thick brown leather bound book in his hands as he sits on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his head down. Outside the closed bedroom door, he hears the hushed conversations of everyone waiting for him, including his oldest two children, who are huddled on the fireside bench with their grandmother.

Bard has already looked through the many pages three times, without finding what he is looking for: a sign. Something to tell him what to do with this book of memories, written in Aida’s hand. His first inclination is, it should stay with her.

But after glancing at his sleeping newborn dressed in the fancy gown her mother made before her birth, Bard tells himself that he will read just a few more entries again before making a decision:

11 March

Journal,

I am not certain what I should be writing, so this first entry will be brief, and in all truth, I doubt there will be another.

Mother suggested I keep a journal of my life with Bard. This book is actually her wedding gift. I haven’t opened it since first laying eyes on it on that special day last fall. When I asked why I needed a journal (as I have never consistently kept one before) she said “to remember love. There will be times you will need reminders.”

This hardly seems necessary. I am reminded of love every day and ni

Bard chuckles, as always, at seeing the last incomplete word, then turns the page:

13 March

Journal,

Sorry, the first entry was interrupted by another kind of entry (yes, my lovely husband has taught me to see things with a naughty mind.) This journaling may not be such a bad idea after all, as I cannot repeat anything I write here to anyone else, except Bard, of course.

Speaking of that handsome devil, he brought home a trout today that he cleaned and I lightly seasoned with salt and pepper, then baked it in the wood oven.

Well, it burned, as we got distracted and ended up using our table for another purpose. We dined, just not on the trout.

After airing out our little home of smoke and trout smell, we ate walnuts for supper instead, and were very satisfied indeed.

Bard promises me that every day will be like this.

~ Aida

2 June

Journal,

Bard has been so quiet the last week or so. He is still as passionate and attentive as he’s ever been, but ever since we strolled past the tailor’s shop and I pointed out all the lovely garments in the window, he seems to be sulking like a child.

Does he think he is not providing for me? Does he want me to find extra work? Most days I work two shifts at the chop house and that is plenty, especially the way I’ve been feeling lately. He stays on the lake so much that he has hardly noticed how sick I’ve been.

I must assure him that there is nothing I want more than our lives together.  But he must listen to me and not the doubt in his head.

As soon as this illness passes, I will speak to him at length.

Until then,

~ A.

14 June

Journal,

It is no mere illness.

The town nurse told us that Bard and I are expecting a little one, due next winter.

I am not certain how I feel about this. I am beyond happy one minute, unprepared and frightened the next. Bard and I are only two years out of childhood limits ourselves. In so many ways I still feel like like a baby.

Bard is on the moon over the news.

I am somewhere a little farther down.

Until tomorrow, or whenever I find my place,

~ A.

1 Aug

J,

My apologies for abandoning you, J. The baby has been fluttering about and there is nothing I can write that will describe how much Bard and I love this.

I no longer feel as young as a carefree child, but surely as happy as one.

~ Aida, walking on air

Bard wiped a falling tear from his cheek and flipped through the crinkled papers, stopping in October:

3 October

J -

Now I am "up” about the baby, and Bard is down. Not sad, exactly, but he is quiet again. The rounder my belly gets, the happier I become, and the more inward he goes, especially when I start talking about all the things we will need.

We still have four more months to go. I need him to open up to me the way he used to, to hold me in that special way. To tell me naughty jokes!

I am ashamed to say I try to stir him by starting some petty argument. I just want to hear his voice! He does not usually participate but every now and again he will say some quick, dull thing, or write me a note with slightly saucier language. But he never gets angry.

He treats me as if I am made of glass. Sometimes I wonder if our marriage is, too.

Until,

… I’m not certain, really

~A.

10 December

J-

Forgive my large gaps in writing. As we near the birth of our first child, things continue to change.

I am glad to say, for the better.

Bard is talking and laughing again. I had feared that the closer my delivery date, the less I would hear from him. But somewhere between then and now, he became his old self, with added passion. Yes, it is possible.

He leaves me breathless, in so many ways. Not just from his touch.

He works long shifts so that I do not have to. He comes home tired and stinking of the lake, but he bathes, changes, takes over preparing and serving supper, cleans up, and rubs my aching feet.

Writing letters to each other, something that started as a way to make amends after bickering, has become more of a game between us. Usually it’s just a filthy joke I overheard at work; sometimes it’s a love letter. Sometimes it’s both. I am so glad we have kept this up!

And he talks to the baby, in a funny little voice. He swears it is a boy. I promise him, it is a girl. We have put money on it.

Until tomorrow,

~ Aida, the gambler

4 February

J -

I won.

Sigrid Margaret is the most beautiful creature to ever live. It is not only her perfect features I am talking about, but her sweet manner. Is it odd to say she takes care of me? My labour was only long, not difficult. Not that I remember! Bard said I became that fabled dragon in the Lonely Mountain when the waves of pain began. I can scarcely remember anything but calling for Bard to help me, and holding her.

I spent hours just watching her sleep, suckle and sleep again.

Sometimes I cannot believe my fortune. I found true love with Bard; I have found pure love with Sigrid.

She tends to wake just once in the night, right before dawn. After she feeds I put on my robe, swaddle her in the blanket I made for her during one of those energy bursts (which are gone, by the by) walk out to our landing, and watch the sunrise and the steam on the lake.

Usually I sing softly to her. But today her sleepy Da joined us, and held us close to him.

He stared at our child, and asked when we could do this again. I understood what he meant, but you know me.

“What, watch the sunrise? Every morning.” Leave it to cheeky me to turn a lovely moment into a laugh.

He asked again. I think I convinced him that we needed to get accustomed to life with our  new baby first before we make another. And until we make up our minds, he has to do what’s necessary to keep his “stream” from trickling into my “canal.”

This made him laugh, and in her sleep, Sigrid did, too. Poor lass. I am already corrupting her mind.

~ A.

Just then, Bard's mother-in-law knocks on the door and gently calls to him that it’s time to head out for the memorial service.

“One more minute!” he says.

He flips the pages forward, passing your entries about returning to work; Sigrid’s first steps and first words; a silly argument; lots of making up; the news of the next child; your raise in pay; birthday and anniversary celebrations; and the telltale signs of being with child again. He goes all the way to the very last entry:

8 January

Journal,

After years of beginning with simply “J,” writing out “Journal” seems rather formal now, doesn’t it?

Formality often accompanies farewell, I know. This is not a farewell, but in all likelihood the beginning of a long absence, with spotty attention when I am able, as my life has become more and more hectic keeping up with two children, work, a husband, and soon, our third child.

Our angel is due in a few weeks, and I know that those quiet moments in which to write will become even more rare after giving birth.

So, I am dedicating this entry to myself.

Things turned out fine, didn’t they, old gal? Your marriage is not made of glass, and neither are you. Now you understand that Bard grows quiet when he feels down, or lacking in some area, but he is not out of touch. He has never stopped believing in you; don’t you dare stop believing in him. Your children are your light, but not the only light. You’ve lit a few candles of your own. You’ve balanced all these responsibilities with love, a sense of humour, and the occasional scream. All in all, you have done well.

And there’s more fun to come! Be sure to thank Mother for encouraging you to remember love, and thank Bard (with a kiss!) for making that love come true.

One day, Bard, Sigrid, Bain and Tilda may thumb through these pages, and whether they be enlightened, inspired, horrified or amused, may these memories of my life live on.

Until we meet again,

Aida

May these memories of my life live on.

Bard doesn’t know why he never saw the words in this way before. It is the sign he has been looking for. 

The journal will not be placed inside Aida’s casket today, but left right where she last wrote in it: on her bedside table.

Suddenly, the baby begins to stretch and cry. Bard turns around and lifts her close to him, and her hard cries turn into tiny whimpers. Carefully standing, he gently rubs her back as he walks to the door.

“Come now, my darling Tilda,” he whispers, holding her securely in one arm as he pulls on the knob with the other. “Don’t cry. Your mother adored you. We mustn’t think of this as farewell, but as, ‘until we meet again.’ ”