Per a DM request from @whoviancumberbunny / Percy falling for a fellow gunslinger
Silver was the color of his hair from the ordeal he had been through. The bullets marked for revenge. The same color of the barrel marked with the names of those who greatly wronged him.
Gold was the color of your heart, despite the life that was given to you. A witty thief whose sharp mind equally matched Percy’s, you crafted a weapon similar to his. Only yours repelled rather than take as his did.
He had seen you in action against a few guards when a contraband run had gone bad. Following you to the humble abode you hid in, his interest was piqued.
“I must say, you have quite a mind for innovation…”
You quickly turned around, weapon still half-cocked to face the surprised white-haired man
“Careful. I’d assume you’re smart enough not to approach a woman with a dangerous weapon.”
Any rational thought would have told Percy to just leave, but then again when did he always rely on those?
He stepped forward gently, showing he was no threat to you.
“That may be true, but after seeing your exceptional skill, color me intrigued to know more about you.”
@kazenomegaminowanpisu...here is your ficlet. I hope you'll like it; it really would benefit from a more extended and detailed background, but I didn't know what you had in mind.
Words: 1,4k
Characters: Thorin x female dragon S/O
Warnings: none
Thorin, the second of his name, dubbed “Oakenshield” by his followers and admirers and “stone-skull” by a certain elven king most likely, frowned in discontent.
Despite having perfectly valid heirs already – his sister-sons – the newly re-instated population of Erebor demanded that he take a queen; his sister Dís and his councillors had been tasked with scouring the whole world, as far as he could tell, for the most interesting and promising young dams.
For months now, he had entertained the most auspicious of them in hopes that he’d eventually find someone he could at least come to regard as an ally and friend even if he hardly believed that he’d be finding true love this way.
He could not really understand why any of these ladies – charming, accomplished, and beautiful – would want to marry an old, battle-worn king though, but here they were, arrayed like dolls for him to play with or to discard at his will.
He hated this and earnestly endeavoured to treat each of them with the respect and concern he owed them and their families.
Presently, he took a silent dam – come from very far – for a stroll across the stone ledges that could be seen as rudimentary balconies.
Over the last few weeks, she had become one of his favourites among the throng of nubile young noble-born devotees; kind and discreet, she had the making of a queen for she was intelligent and well-spoken and seemed to be highly interested in everything he told her about his kingdom.
Despite her soft smile at this very moment, he couldn’t help but feel a tad foolish for rambling on about the trade agreements with Esgaroth and the Mirkwood elves while she – as per usual – merely nodded politely and inclined her head every so often.
“Do those elves have magical powers?” she then asked suddenly with a sweet accent to her gentle voice.
“I’d hope not,” Thorin laughed, offering his arm as they descended a steep flight of stairs into a small courtyard that lay in a basin of stone.
“Do you?”
He paused, stunned by her very serious and earnest inquiry that was quite unlike her usual questions that betrayed nothing beyond respectful curiosity.
“Not that I know of. Why? Is that common where you come from?”
With a wince of embarrassment, Thorin realised that he had droned on and on about his own realm without giving her the chance to tell him much about her home; that was an omission that he’d have to amend as fast and as thoroughly as possible.
“I do not want to distress you,” she whispered, “as you’ve made such bad experiences with them in the past.”
“Distress me?” Thorin chuckled; he could not believe that such a demure, taciturn, and polite dam could alarm him by anything she’d do. “With whom?”
Nonetheless, he was wary as he stepped back and signalled his interest by waving his broad hand encouragingly; he was distrustful of magic – which was understandable after everything he had survived – but he was also curious as to the nature of her skills.
“Turn around,” she bade him and, when he did, he could hear the soft swishing sound of robes being discarded. This, he had to admit, did indeed very much trouble him.
It would not do to be caught by any of his councillors with a naked dam while he hid his face in the rock like a child fleeing into the skirts of its mother.
A soft tap on his shoulder let him know that she was ready for him to behold her.
It took a moment for him to rouse both his famed bravery and his redoubtable pride. He turned hesitantly and gasped.
Instantly, his hand flew to his hip, but his sword had been left in his chambers which proved to have been a woefully careless decision.
“What have you done to my guest, you foul creature!” he screamed at the sleek, pale golden dragon sitting where the young dam had stood only a moment prior.
“See? You are distressed,” a voice inside his head that was not his own giggled, amusement and indulgence colouring every word. “It is I, your esteemed guest.”
A red claw was swirled cautiously; the movement was executed close to the dragon’s shimmering chest so as not to seem threatening or aggressive.
Again, Thorin turned but, this time, he was much more reluctant for it was folly to turn his back on a dragon, no matter what the lying, devious monster said.
A moment later, the dam stepped into his field of vision again.
“What curse was laid upon you?” he barked.
“This is the gift of my people,” she replied, pride and anger making her voice cool considerably, “and I will not hear it disparaged by one devoid of magic!”
She drew herself up to her full height and stared him down impassively, self-assured and firm in her convictions and surrounded by a halo of moonlight and residues of the incredible spell she had woven in this abandoned, secluded terrace.
“Forgive me!” Thorin ground out after a moment of stunned silence; he had insulted his guest – a lady of good standing and impeccable manners – and that kind of behaviour was patently inappropriate for a king, no matter how shocked he had been by the revelation of her altered form.
What was it about that soft-spoken dam that made him speak out of turn again and again?
“Dragons are the bane of this land,” he explained gravely. “Our own kingdom has been ravaged and stolen by one, and it was only through long deprivation and brave feats that cost many good lives that Smaug has been cast down.”
“I am aware,” she acknowledged his words with a dignity that stung his heart and made him feel clumsy and churlish all over. “Not all dragons are evil though. Some of us are protectors, not thieves.”
“Are you like Beorn then?”
She cocked her head, visibly interested but unfamiliar with the skin-changers of these parts of the world.
“He can turn into a giant bear,” Thorin explained, “and I might well owe him my life!”
The dam pondered this for a moment and then inclined her head in acquiescence. “Yes, I can choose my form and I have never – this I solemnly vow – harmed anyone who did not seek to destroy those under my protection first. I am the keeper of my people – dwarrows as much as other living beings – and a creature of light instead of darkness.”
As Thorin looked upon her luminous eyes and her dark hair, shimmering like silk in the rising moonlight, he could suddenly believe her quite easily.
“Your mountain is vulnerable still,” she went on, “and my father sends you one of his most precious daughters as a token of goodwill. It is to protect your kingdom, your people, your allies, and you that I have come here. If the worst was to befall you again, the great serpents would meet one of their own in battle.”
She lifted a tender hand to his bearded cheek and murmured: “I’ve been paying attention to the things you shared with me as much as to the things left unspoken, my king; I know that you are worried about other dragons being attracted by your still very sizeable treasure. Let me soothe that gnawing fear by swearing my fealty and – if that should be your desire – my love to you.”
“I’d never allow that,” Thorin said hastily. “If you were to become my wife, I’d never let you risk your life. Who do you take me for?”
It was common knowledge that his potential nuptials were motivated by politics and tradition, but he would be damned if he went down in history as a neglectful and unkind husband.
“As your king and betrothed,” he insisted, “I’d keep you safe and content. Do you doubt that I am honourable? If a dwarf, a king of dwarves, cannot ensure the comfort and happiness of his spouse, how could he be entrusted with the lives of so many?”
“Nonsense,” she laughed freely, “you are a fighter, but so am I. If I was granted the immense honour to be chosen by you, I’d reign, fight, and die by your side as is good and proper.”
“You’ve given me much to think about, Milady,” Thorin muttered – biding his time – and extended his hand once more to her, “but I think we should return inside for the nights are cold out here.”
Indeed, he would have to ponder what she had told and shown him before coming to any kind of conclusion, but – this much was sure – he was much intrigued by this mysterious, magical dam and the inherent contradiction between her serene nature and her terrible power.
