Hello! Can I request "warm beverages" with Bagginshield for fotfictember?? Pretty please?
Of course, you can! In typical Fantasy fashion, I did accidentally make a 1600-word one-shot instead of a drabble but oh well. I hope you enjoy!
To Warm A Heart-{T} Bagginshield- 1600 words
“Thorin, why are you staring at this apple tree?” Bilbo asked cautiously.
“Because you’ve been shivering for two days,” Thorin replied curtly.
“I’m now more confused than when I initially asked the question.” Bilbo snorted. “Are you planning on picking them? It’s a good season for it. In another month, all the fruit will have fallen down.” Bilbo reached for an apple on one of the lowest branches but couldnt quite grab it, even with his adorable little jumps. Thorin grabbed the branch and bent it low so Bilbo could take what he liked.
“I take it you like apples?”
“I love apples! This time of the year makes me miss the fall celebrations around the party tree. Bell Gamgee’s apple tarts are the year's highlight for anyone lucky enough to grab one before they’re gone.” Bilbo sighed and cleaned the dirt off the apple before taking a big bite. Thorin had to look anywhere else but his face as the juice dripped down his chin, begging to be cleared away. “They’re delicious! Thorin, you’ve got to try!” When he turned around, Bilbo handed him the apple, encouraging him to take a bite. He stifled a groan and took the apple, trying not to think too carefully about the fact that Bilbo’s lips had been wrapped around it seconds ago. It was sweet and perfectly ripe, as he had been told. When he confirmed this, Bilbo beamed and grabbed as many apples as he could carry to bring to their companions.
Thorin went back to staring at the tree. The winds had become harsher as their elevation gradually increased. For the past two nights, he had witnessed Bilbo shivering even after he had offered his warmer coat. He needed something to warm him up from the inside. There was a recipe that the dwarves had adopted after their exile when food was scarce, and warmth was hard to come by. All provisions had to be used in their entirety, and if there was a secondary use, then that was even better. They had learned that if they boiled apple cores, it released the last of the juice, and if mixed with alcohol, it was hydrating and warming.
Immediately upon spotting the apple tree, he halted their march and made camp. He could make Bilbo something to keep him warm, and he wouldn't have to use apple scraps to do it. He beckoned Fili and Kili over with the instruction to get every ripe apple they could down before moving on to speak with Bombur. He found the dwarf taking stock of his supplies, which now included a new apple.
“Bombur a moment of your time, please,” Thorin called. The large dwarf looked up cheerfully.
“Of course, what can I do for you, Thorin.”
“I need a pot and to know what spices you have.” He gruffed.
Bomber's eyebrows shot into his forehead. “Are you planning on cooking tonight?
“Cooking no. But I am making something. Your spices?” Thorin waited for Bombur to overcome the initial shock before reading into his bag to pull out a large tin filled with small compartments. I have the basics: salt and pepper. Some dried garlic and parsley. I have a few orange and lemon peels left, and Oh, I have a few cinnamon sticks, clove, and at least one nutmeg in here, it looks like.” Bombur looked at him questioningly, waiting for him to ask to use one or many.
“I need the nutmeg, clove, and cinnamon. The orange peel, too, if you can spare it.” Bombur handed them over without question, knowing full well what the king was up to. The boys returned with their tunics pulled up to make makeshift baskets, bantering about who could carry more. They had brought more than he needed, which was good. They could dry what they didn’t use that night and use it later. Thorin surveyed the area and smiled when he saw Bilbo leaning against a tree wrapped in Thorin’s coat, speaking to Ori. There was a turning point on this journey when the concerns of that hobbit had become his. He had rebelled against it at first because all those who had traveled with him were his family now, but not like Bilbo. Bilbo was his beating heart living on the outside of his body. Handsome and clever, and stubborn and painfully vulnerable. More than all the others in this camp spare his nephews, Bilbo was his priority.
The night drew in, and as expected, the air grew cold. Bilbo had fallen asleep against the tree, and Thorin could hear his teeth chattering from where he sat. He gave his pot a sip and then turned to his friend.
“Dwalin, what’s in your flask?” Thorin barked.
“Something I’m not sharing,” Dwalin replied. He pulled out the flask to take a sip, and Thorin snatched it from his hands. He gave it a sniff.
“Whiskey. That will work.” He dumped the flask's contents into the pot and stirred it.
“You mind telling me why you just dumped the last of my fucking whiskey into that experiment you’ve been working on,” Dwalin growled.
“It’s cider like they used to make at the camps after Erebor fell. It’s too cold, and we have few supplies to keep warm after the goblins.” Thorin stood up. With the alcohol added, the drink was done.
“You know there are easier ways to warm someone up.” Dwalin cast his eyes at Bilbo. “You’re coats big enough for both of ya if you’re close enough.”
“I would not be welcome,” he had barely finished the sentence before Dwalin snorted.
“I forgot you’re stupid. Look. The nights are only going to get colder as we reach Erebor. Too cold for anyone to sleep alone. So is it going to be you sleeping next to that little thing, or is he going to have to curl up with Bofur instead?” He was being bated, and he knew it, but Thorin’s eyes still found the miner to check his proximity. He growled at himself as much as Dwalin for taking the bait.
“If he wanted to share a bedroll with me, he would ask. I will not impose myself on him and call it convenience.” Thorin looked around for two mugs and ladled the cider into them until they were full. He carried them over to the Hobbit and sat them down on a flat rock. He regretted having to wake him. Despite the chattering teeth, he looked peaceful. His hair had fallen in front of his face, and his nose twitched even in his sleep. He was slumped in an odd position he would definitely be unhappy with come morning. With a hand on the side of Bilbo’s head, he guided him into a sitting position. “Master Baggins.” He said his name more firmly than he meant to, and his eyes flew open, slightly startled.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Did you want your coat back before you turned in?” Bilbo stretched, and Thorin turned away so as not to ogle him. If he had it his way, he would never see that coat again unless it was wrapped around the hobbit's shoulders.
“I came to bring you something for the cold.” Thorin placed the cup in Bilbo’s hands and watched with satisfaction as he curled his hands around its warmth.
“Oh, I’m fine. It’s not too cold out.” Bilbo argued,
“Bilbo, the entire camp can hear your teeth chattering.” Blush spread across Bilbo’s cheeks as he sipped the cider. The moment it touched his lips, his eyes went wide over the rim of the cup. He drained half his mug before coming up for air.
“This is amazing! Did you make this?” Bilbo took another big gulp and looked contented.
“I did. I thought you could use something to help you sleep better.” He took a sip from his own cup and was pleased with the result on such short notice. When he looked up, Bilbo was staring at him, blushing all the way to the top of his pointed ears and blinking rapidly. “Did I add too much alcohol? I wanted there to be enough to keep warm. It was Dwalin’s, and knowing what he drinks, I might have overdone it.” Thorin took another sip to gauge its strength. If anything, it was a bit weak. Bilbo didn't seem to want to elaborate, so they sat in silence for a little while, just enjoying the sounds of the woods around them, now free of chattering. When Thorin saw Bilbo’s mug get empty, he leaned into reach for it, intending to get him a refill. To his great surprise, Bilbo took that moment to lean forward as well, intentionally surging up to meet his lips. Thorin’s senses went white with bliss, and all his mind knew for the next moment was the taste of Bilbo's breath. Warm, soft lips and that slightly upturned nose pressing into his cheek. He was dumped back into reality as Bilbo drew away in panic, covering his face.
“I-I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what came over me. That was wrong. I thought maybe…. No.. no excuse, please forgive me.” he made to get up, and Thorin quickly leaned forward, trapping the hobbit against the tree.
“Wait, please don't leave.” He hated that he saw a hint of fear in Bilbo’s eyes, but he couldn't let him up. Not until he knew what that was.
“I’m really sorry, Thorin. I misunderstood.” Bilbo babbled.
“Did you kiss me intentionally?” Thorin asked. Bilbo nodded sheepishly. That was all he needed. He gathered Bilbo into his arms and returned his kiss with all the passion he could muster. The richness of the cider had never tasted better or warmed him so deeply than on Bilbo’s tongue.
And if he heard Dwalin shout, “It’s about fucking time.” He ignored it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have decided that at the end of the year, all the drabbles I've done for events will be going into a 2023 collection on AO3. Also, I don't love the title of this fic and might change it later.
“Get a move on,” Bilbo barked, waving his hands in the air in a desperate display of flustered impatience.
His hands locked around the scrawny neck of the scarecrow he was presently trying to prop up against a haystack, Thorin glowered at his committee colleague. “I’m going as fast as I can—if you hadn’t wasted most of the day baking, we could already be done.”
Ducking his head, Bilbo grumbled and went back to tucking sunflowers and acorns into the walls of the small corn maze they’d hastily thrown up in a bid to delay and entertain the youngsters who’d soon travel through the dense forest in small, chattering groups to attend the massive bonfire at the heart of the woods.
He’d been afraid that Thorin would find the idea silly, but—when he’d grown tired of waiting for the other and had set out on his own—he’d found the taciturn, enigmatic beauty lugging around hay bales dutifully, to his utter surprise.
“Oh, the boys will love that,” Thorin had hooted when asked why he’d been on board with the corn maze right away.
“I hope they have a better sense of orientation than you,” Bilbo had teased, seduced into carelessness by his companion’s rare fit of cheeriness.
“Sometimes,” Thorin had purred, leaning over Bilbo under the pretence of fiddling with the garland of golden autumn leaves he’d hung above the entrance of their humble labyrinth, “one wants to get lost. Why don’t you help me spread these cobwebs about?”
At once, Bilbo could feel his cheeks heat up with a treacherous flush—he knew that, in these parts, the autumn festival with its corn maze and bonfire was a well-established tradition. However, despite having settled in Lonely Mountain years ago, he was still not entirely sure that he’d understood and internalised all the intricacies.
A quick scan of their hard work told him that they were ready for the first people, tired of greasy food and the pitiful rollercoaster in the main square, to arrive. There truly was no reason to deny Thorin, and so he took the hand that was offered to him readily.
The heat of Thorin’s broad, calloused palm was so distracting that Bilbo lost his own sense of orientation only a few steps in—it was mortifying to accept, but he had no idea where they were even though he’d been involved in every step of the planning and erecting of the damned course.
Unfortunately, for all his well-meant ribbing, Bilbo had apparently not been wrong in his assessment of Thorin’s lack of sense of direction for they soon found themselves at a literal impasse.
“Wonderful,” Thorin mumbled and started pulling apart his fake cobwebs to drape them over the dry hay. “We shall have to remove them meticulously after—they’re a danger to wildlife,” he commented while patting down the wisps conscientiously.
“Indeed,” Bilbo croaked, fiercely aware of the proximity of one he’d called a rival as often as a friend; he and Thorin regularly went toe-to-toe in fiery debates about what was best for their town, but—underneath all the bluster—Bilbo was exceedingly fond of the old grump.
In his youth, he was sure, Thorin must have been a gloriously gorgeous man. Even now, with silver streaks adorning his thick, dark hair and discreet wrinkles bracketing his thin-lipped, stern mouth, he was quite a sight to behold.
Neither one of them had ever been married or fathered children, and Bilbo had often wondered whether they had the same, never-addressed reason for foregoing so precious an experience.
Of course, they had nephews and friends they doted on, but that glaring omission nevertheless set tongue a-wagging in the county.
“What about that? Is that to your satisfaction?” Thorin asked, interrupting Bilbo’s frantic musings unceremoniously. “Do you like it?”
“Is it meant to be spooky?” Bilbo countered with a question of his own; he only now fully processed the abundance of skeletons, scarecrows, and cobwebs Thorin had scattered throughout the maze and forest.
“Not necessarily,” Thorin replied with a shrug. “It should be festive and jolly.”
Plucking a wilting sunflower from a crevice, he turned around and tucked it behind Bilbo’s ear. “I’m sure your contributions balance out my own, and even the most fretful of youngsters will not be overly distressed when they have to make their way through our little trap to get to the bonfire.”
“I wouldn’t want to mess with your traditions, you know,” Bilbo said, his voice dropping dangerously when Thorin’s hand was not retracted but hovered close enough to his sensitive ear that he could feel its warmth.
“Do you want to know about another of these ‘traditions’ then?” Thorin teased, letting his thumb ghost along the curve of Bilbo’s burning cheek.
The other nodded jerkily, thus accidentally pressing his face into that elusive palm.
“When you take the wrong turn and find yourself at a dead end with someone nice, you might be tempted to linger a little,” Thorin informed him haltingly.
“Is that why we made this so convoluted despite the small size of the maze? So people could make out in the nooks and crannies?” Bilbo cried, utterly scandalised by such devious intent.
“Partially, yes,” Thorin laughed, and pressed his hands against the hay bale behind Bilbo, effectively bracketing his head and caging him between his muscular arms. “Is that so distasteful an idea to you?”
“Thorin!” Bilbo squeaked, his heart thumping loudly and his palms growing moist with anticipation. “The kids will arrive any moment.”
“Na,” Thorin contradicted. “They’ll first thoroughly enjoy the rollercoaster. Unfortunately, it’s also tradition that it takes Balin and Dwalin much too long to get the fire going, so if the youths arrive too early, they’ll sit around cold and hungry. We have time.”
“In that case,” Bilbo purred, arching his back and bringing his face closer to the bearded jaw before him as if to test the waters, “we might as well make sure that our maze will not collapse if some ill-advised snogging was to take place. It’s our duty, so to say.”
“I agree,” Thorin grinned and lowered himself gradually until he could finally press a soft kiss of long abiding and instant recognition onto Bilbo’s parted lips.
No doubt, the others were wondering what kept them so long, but they could always claim to have lost their way.
A small, pudgy hand curled around the back of his neck—all smart plans and subterfuges melted out of Thorin’s mind at once.
This, he decided, was indeed a good, honourable tradition.
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@fellowshipofthefics here's the second chapter of my fic for September!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 11/?
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Gríma Wormtongue
Additional Tags: There will be additions to the relationships, Eowyn will get to have some fun, Multiple Pov, Manipulation, Psychological Torture, perhaps some physical torture, Saruman is being Saruman, Mind-fuckery, Canon-Typical Violence, Hate Sex, Enemies to Lovers, enemies to ??? to ??lovers??, Seidr, magic~~~, be wary of wizards for they are subtle and quick to anger, Saruman is everyone's favourite local Tower Top, (Eomer disagrees. He says Saruman is the worst and needs to leave Wyrm alone.), no horses are harmed in the making of this fic, you are allowed to become emotionally attached to Isthunn
Series: Part 2 of The One Where Grima Lady Macbeths Eomer Into Kingship
Summary:
Eomer and Grima are commencing on their risky deal where Grima agrees to play double-agent and spy on Saruman in return for some promise of future safety should Sauron lose. If Sauron and Saruman triumph, and his deception is not discovered, well, Grima is sitting pretty in a position of helping certain people if he feels they've earned it. He and Eomer also continue to mutually live in each other's brains rent free and they're very normal about one another.
Meanwhile, Eowyn decides that it is time to make her mark on world events and strikes out on her own, giving her brother a hundred heart-attacks in the meanwhile. (Don't worry about it, she tells Eomer, I'll be fine.)
Isengard means to attack, Gondor's defenses are weakening, and no one is ready for the war that lies ahead.
----
Obligatory Excerpt:
Must the world go mad all at once? Must things compile upon him such that he is never afforded a moment’s rest? Must life be so riddled with turbulence and trouble as to make him wish to retire to the White Mountains to live in a goat shack? Must life be – be – must life be like this?
Gríma seethes as he stalks through the halls – up too early, hungry for breakfast but no mood to take bread, and riddled with a sudden onslaught of nerves. Beside him, attempting to keep up with his aggressive and furious stride, is master of the King’s chambers. Ansgar wrings his hands and though he has a deep voice and sense of command, Gríma believes the man to have suddenly developed the personality and presence of a gadfly.
‘Well?’ Ansgar asks. Twisttwisttwitsing away at his knuckles. ‘What say you?’
‘What is there to say?’ Gríma hisses.
‘No one has seen her since last night.’
‘Clearly the men must be blind!’ Gríma snaps. ‘Have they all had their eyes plucked from their skulls? Is idiocy and incompetence what the King pays for? If so, by the gods is he getting his money’s worth. Lady Éowyn is hardly difficult to miss. My gods are you going to get her back—’
‘But we know not where she went.’
Gríma halts. Turns. Slams a palm flat on Ansgar’s chest. The man’s pale eyes widen to a comical size. He swallows. Gríma can practically hear the thoughts racing through his head—something about hexing and spellwork and galdr and seiðr and on and on and on.
‘Are you paid for simple things?’ Gríma demands, thumping a finger into Ansgar. ‘Are you paid to live an easy life? Or are you paid to undertake what is required for the King?’
Things are going well in Rohan!! No one has made a Life Choice that is either going to be Disastrous or Fucking Brilliant - no in-betweens!! Why would you think someone has?? Why would you think it would be Eowyn??
Grima out here exhausted and overworked and hating everyone.
🍂 Prompt: Warm Beverages | Arien x Eönwë
🍂 Synopsis: Arien has returned to Vána's meadows for the night to rest. Eönwë joins her.
🍂 Warnings: /
🍂 Double drabble
For @maironite. Thanks for the request and I hope you like this little something ^^
"You look stressed," is the first thing Arien says when Eönwë joins her on Vána's meadows.
Only few know that she likes to return to her old home at night to rest, but he is always welcome.
"I do?" Feathers rustle as he sits down next to her, his wings drooping slightly. Eönwë forces a smile. "I suppose I was never good at hiding things from you."
"Indeed." Arien lifts the cup of tea she's been holding to her lips, then suddenly pauses as if she has an idea. Her palms glow for a brief moment until steam rises from the cup, and she carefully hands it to Eönwë.
"Here. You look like you need it."
He hesitates. "Please, you don't have to–"
"I want to."
"W-well, if you insist–"
"I do."
Defeated, Eönwë accepts her offer and takes a few careful sips. Arien looks pleased when she sees a healthy flush of pink appearing on his cheeks.
"Spicy," he comments.
"Of course," she grins. "I wouldn't have it any other way, as you know."
Gingerly, she tucks a stray lock of hair behind his feathered ear.
"Now, why don't you stay for a while and tell me everything, hmm?"
If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡
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Second request, this time by @lordoftherazzles, my dearly beloved...
Characters: Thorin x Bilbo
Words: 172
Warnings: Illness & its remedy
Thorin stared at the two cups with intransigent sternness.
“You better be right, Ori, or else…” he muttered under his breath as he tried to thread his thick, broad fingers through the delicate handles of the custom-made mugs.
Bilbo had lately been under the weather but, between Óin and Ori, Thorin’s old company mates had come up with a beverage that was supposed to make him feel better.
“Cinnamon,” Bilbo croaked immediately and brought the thin-walled drinking vessel to his stuffy nose eagerly. “Where did you get this from?”
“I have connections,” Thorin declared darkly—he was not about to let his beloved know that he had begged Bard to convince Thranduil to procure him a spice ineptly described as “sweet but spicy…and delicious”.
“You’re the very best,” Bilbo sighed after a long sip. Smiling blissfully and pinking up almost instantly, he sank back into the thick blankets. At that sight, Thorin decided that this smile was worth every indignity he had suffered to give his Hobbit a tiny piece of home.
@fellowshipofthefics here we go with the next one!
Pairing: Ori x OC, Bilbo x Thorin, Fíli x OC, Kíli x Tauriel
Words: 1555
Warnings:Some indecent kissing, some general anxiety, Thorin is an ass
Ori had half-expected that it had all just been a bad joke.
Yet, when he reached the small group standing, as promised, by the food carts to grab a tiny bite to eat, his own hotdog almost got stuck in his throat as Fíli waved a bunch of shiny, colourful tokens in his face.
“I’ve taken the liberty of buying the first round,” he declared and handed Ori one of the plastic coins.
The rollercoaster itself was a miserable, rickety affair that might not have stood a chance in hell to be ridden in a more elaborate setting.
As it was this small fair’s only attraction, though, the queue seemed to be endless.
Catching a glimpse of a beautiful, dark-haired girl he’d been begging to go out with him a few rows ahead of them, Fíli excused himself hastily and started pushing through the throng of people ruthlessly.
“Ah! Well…” Kyra mumbled.
“He really did mean it when he said that he wanted to show you a good time,” Kíli assured her. “He might just not do it himself.”
Sucking her teeth, Tauriel reached over to take the young woman’s hand and squeeze it comfortingly. “I’ve got you, girl. You can ride with me—I want to see how they jam their fat asses onto the tiny bench.”
“Ey…I thought we were going to make out throughout the whole ride?” Kíli protested, spearing Ori with that steely look he’d inherited from his mother.
“Yes, erm, yes,” Ori waffled, aghast to realise that he’d forgotten all his words when he needed them most. “If that would be agreeable, I’d be honoured to ride with you, of course.”
When she turned to him, black eyes sparkling with mirth, he swallowed heavily. Kyra had always been so disarmingly beautiful, and he’d never found the courage to tell her.
Year after year, summer after summer, he’d sworn to his friends and himself that, next time, he’d ask her to go to the local ice cream parlour or walk the maze with him, but he never had.
And then, she’d stopped coming.
It had taken him months to work up the courage to ask Bilbo about it, and the answer had been less than heartening, so he’d let it be.
As he now shuffled onto the uncomfortably hard bench of the creaking wagon beside her, he could hardly believe that she’d returned at long last.
“I don’t think you remember me,” he started quietly, interrupted by the screeching of the brakes being loosened and the lurching start of the ride.
“Nonsense,” Kyra chuckled. “It took me a mere second to place the name. You’ve grown up well, I must say.”
“How do you mean?” Ori asked, horrified to hear that his voice was not unlike the squeaking of the worn rails beneath them.
“Forget it,” she grinned and turned her pale, radiant face into the fading light as they started the jerky ascent to the laughably low apex of the woefully short track.
Ahead of them, Kíli and Tauriel were cheering and laughing as they sped downhill, exchanging messy kisses in between exaggerated hoots.
“Hold on tight; this might be a bumpy ride,” Ori warned.
When she gave him a slightly panicked look, he slung his arm around her body and pulled her closer against his own. “Hold on,” he repeated.
Nothing could have prepared him for the fact that, instead of grabbing the ramshackle handlebar, she’d throw her arms around his torso and bury her face in the crook of his neck.
As much as he’d not wanted to go on the ride in the first place, Ori now desperately wished that their shabby wagon would never stop grinding along the rails.
Kyra was soft and warm against him, and the smell of her perfume made him feel as if he’d grow wings himself to fly into the darkening evening sky never to come down again.
Twilight was upon them, and lights flared up across the landscape like mysterious mushrooms—it would soon be time to set out for the bonfire.
Despite his better knowledge, Ori wondered whether Kyra would let him hold her again even after they’d left this hellish contraption.
“You exaggerate,” Ori heard Fíli say. Only then did he notice that they’d stopped.
The grumpy teen operating the ride looked at them with bored impatience and evident incredulity.
“Come on out, Uncle will kill us if we’re not there to canoodle in his maze,” Fíli added, holding the hand of the fair maiden he’d so indefatigably wooed proudly.
“Bombur is cooking,” Tauriel interjected. “Save your money and your gut health! Don’t waste either on more of the trash they’re selling here!”
“Oh, I know,” Kyra laughed breathily. “Bilbo has been baking for days—I’m looking forward to sampling his creations.”
Thus, they set out towards the forest, only to come up short at the entrance of a corn maze.
“We’ve lost the organisers in action,” Bofur informed them with a wink. “Take a lantern and go on your merry way! Two by two, please. Otherwise, it’s no fun.”
This time, there was no question about how they’d split up.
As soon as they were off, though, Ori couldn’t help but notice that Kyra was rubbing her arms while walking rather fast.
“The weather’s turned, huh?” he said sheepishly.
“Sweater weather,” she agreed, her full lips somewhat pale.
As pretty as her sundress was, it did little to keep the biting chill in the air at bay. Thankfully, Ori’s brothers insisted on him being wrapped up like an egg about to hatch at all times, so he shrugged out of his jacket to take off his thick, woollen pullover.
“Take this—we don’t want you to catch your death out here. It will be warmer by the fire,” he said hastily, afraid that he was crossing a line.
He should not have worried for Kyra took the garment gratefully and slipped into it at once—she looked painfully adorable as she was nearly swallowed by the oversized item hanging from her curvaceous frame.
“You’re a true gentleman,” she praised with a small, soft smile, and took his hand to pull him on.
The lanterns they’d been given were detestably dim and weak to avoid and prevent any potential fire hazard, so it was slow going.
More than once, they found themselves turned around and cornered, but—chatting amiably about old times—they didn’t mind retracing their steps and losing their time at all.
Suddenly, a strange noise made Ori still, trying to push Kyra behind him as he lifted their sorry excuse of a light source higher.
“Your eyes are liquid amber,” she gasped, evidently unfazed by the odd smacking sound coming from a corner plunged in deep shadows. “You’re so handsome!”
“My…what? Who goes there?” he called, feeling fiercely protective of the cheery woman for whom he held himself responsible until he could return her to her uncle’s care. He’d heard enough horror stories about the terrible things that could befall sweet creatures such as her in dark, secluded corners.
He’d not let anything happen to her, he vowed, desperately trying to push aside her last comment lest it distract him fatally from the situation at hand.
A moment later, the very uncle he’d been thinking of appeared, dishevelled and flushed.
“Uncle Bilbo?” Kyra gasped. “What has happened to you? Are you quite all right? You look a little…put out.”
“All is well,” Bilbo assured them. “Are you enjoying the maze?”
To make matters even more confusing, he was joined by Thorin—looking just as red-faced and unkempt—a second later.
“We were just checking…if everything was safe.”
“And is it?” Kyra asked in a strained voice before she burst into laughter. “I truly believed that the canoodling part Fíli mentioned was but a figure of speech, but…who am I to doubt the validity of your beliefs?”
Without further ado, she whirled around and planted a resounding kiss onto Ori’s half-open mouth.
“Whatever Gods or spirits you pray to tonight, I hope that they’ll hear my earnest wishes as well. Did I do this right?” she crowed in boundless hilarity.
Rubbing his forehead in embarrassed exasperation, Bilbo gave a long sigh. “You wild, headstrong child!” he chided. “What did you think these cul-de-sacs were for?”
“We have no time to lose,” Kyra replied with a shrug. “Our friends are waiting, and I’m starting to feel quite peckish.”
Ori, meanwhile, merely stood there—thunderstruck and silent—like an oaf. She’d simply kissed him, square on the lips, as if there was nothing to it, and he couldn’t wait to see if she’d do it again.
Bonfires were romantic, right? They could huddle for warmth on a nice log, and he could put his arm around her.
Emboldened and set aflame by her enthusiasm and generosity, he graciously agreed not to tell anyone about what they’d witnessed, and they went on their merry way once more.
“Shame,” Ori heard Bilbo say. “I’ve heard there was quite a lump sum in their betting pool.”
“I know,” Thorin chortled. “I say we take the pot and go on a nice holiday together.”
“What day did you choose?” Bilbo asked tersely.
“Tonight. And you?”
“Tomorrow!”
They both laughed heartily, the sound following the two youngsters until Ori finally glimpsed the exit ahead.
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@fellowshipofthefics here's the third chapter of my fic for September!
As soon as he was gone, Tauriel stopped at the edge of the bonfire.
The dancing flames filled her rich, red hair with reflections of dying embers, and Kyra was mesmerised enough by the sight not to question the sudden interruption of their plans.
“So, what did we miss?” the elfin beauty then asked, turning back to face Kyra, her bright eyes piercing and her soft mouth curled into a knowing smile. “Did you kiss Ori in the maze?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Kyra admitted. “I was made to understand that it was some kind of tradition. Maybe, I’ll have good luck from now on.”
“If you want that, yeah,” Tauriel sighed, playing with a strand of her hair absent-mindedly. “Listen, we don’t know each other as well as you might know my boyfriend and his brother, but I’d like to think that we’ve become friends since you arrived here this year, no?”
“Sure,” Kyra agreed. She couldn’t fathom what the other woman was getting at, and it started to make her nervous. “What’s up?”
“Ori…If I’ve understood the whole matter correctly, he’s had a major crush on you for years, so we decided to give him a little helpful nudge. Nevertheless, we don’t want to pressure you into something you wouldn’t be comfortable with.”
She now looked exceedingly uncomfortable and guilty.
“Do you deem him dangerous? If I were to reject him?” Kyra asked candidly for she trusted Tauriel’s assessment. Since her return to these parts, she’d come to respect and cherish Kíli’s girlfriend as a level-headed, fierce young woman.
Moreover, Kyra was not in a position to callously refuse the offer of an earnest friendship when it came her way.
“Ori? Never,” the other guffawed. “But, spending the night perched up in a tiny tent is another matter entirely than kissing in a maze, and I wanted you to be advised.”
“He’s a darling, isn’t he?” Kyra sighed and dashed forward when she saw that the corner where the cakes and buns were kept was deserted for the moment.
“Oh yes, he absolutely is,” Tauriel agreed as they shovelled as many treats as they could onto chipped plates and melted into the deep, dark shadows of the nearby treeline. “He’s the best, and we all adore him. He’d never hurt you…”
With a wicked smile, she picked a glazed cookie out of the heap and took a nibble. “I also tell you this for another reason. If, and it’s a big ‘if’, you were even the slightest bit interested in dear Ori, you’ll have to go for it. He’s too honourable by far to risk discomfiting you when you’re stuck in the middle of the forest with him.”
“Makes sense,” Kyra mused. Inspired by her friend’s brazen theft, she chose a soft, plump cupcake and took a hearty bite from it. There was more than enough to share, she thought, and the others wouldn’t miss what they’d never seen.
Admiring Tauriel’s fluid, unerring movements, Kyra let herself be led far beyond the warming light of the bonfire into the heart of the woods.
Ahead, a dimmer, more unsteady gleam beckoned to them, and soon they’d reached the makeshift camp of three tents nestled between the massive roots of the surrounding trees.
“Ah, there you are, my love,” Kíli exclaimed and promptly pinched a juicy slice of berry-cake from the plate Tauriel was carrying. “We were about to send out a search and rescue team!”
Rolling her eyes, the tall redhead sank onto the nest of blankets they’d scattered on the floor and sighed contentedly.
For a while, they simply sat in silence, eating cake and enjoying the charming song of the nocturnal forest, but then, the weather turned again, and a slight drizzle started to fall.
“Could turn into a proper rainstorm,” Fíli declared resolutely and went to check every single tent twice. “We better retire for the night. Sleep well!”
Kyra had not even finished her apple cider when she was ushered into the tent along with the almost empty plate and…Ori.
“Do you need anything? Now is the time,” he informed her, squinting at the dark sky suspiciously.
“No, I’m fine. My hands are a bit sticky,” she replied sheepishly and twitched when he took them in his own as if to check.
“Your hands are cold! Let me get you a wet wipe,” he exclaimed and turned around slowly in the cramped space to rummage through his bag until he pulled out his hygiene kit with a sound of triumph. “We didn’t account for such weather, I’m afraid, so there’s no space heater,” he said apologetically.
The whole floor of the tent was littered with soft, fluffy blankets, and Kyra burrowed herself into them eagerly as the staccato of furious rain started to batter the paper-thin walls in earnest.
Meanwhile, Ori’s gaze flitted nervously through their tiny sanctuary as if searching for a corner into which he could simply disappear.
“Come here,” Kyra invited, desperate to feel his warmth again. “I know a trick for dispelling the cold.”
As soon as he’d joined her, laying down on his side to face her, she pulled one of the blankets over them, tucking it in around their bodies to create a bubble of shared body heat.
Tauriel’s words came back to her, and she lifted her gaze to his comely face in hopes of seeing any indication of that secret affection that had been insinuated.
“Do you…Are you warm enough?” Ori asked, worry tingeing his voice.
“In a moment,” she replied, willing her teeth not to chatter too loudly as she inched closer to him little by little.
“I could…” he mumbled, snaking his arm around her and rubbing her back in slow, firm circles. “How’s that?”
“Wonderful,” Kyra admitted truthfully and scooted closer still until she was pressed against his chest, breathing in his clean, wholesome smell greedily.
Nestled in his warmth, she smiled as she felt his lips brush against the crown of her head silently—this was all the encouragement she needed.
Thus, she tilted up her face to catch that furtive, tender kiss and deepen it.
“You taste like cinnamon,” she slurred against his mouth. “I somehow knew you would.”
“’s because I’m a ginger, huh?” he replied in the same muffled voice, unwilling to pull back and end the kiss.
“Brown sugar and cinnamon,” she purred. “Sweet and a bit spicy, yeah, that’s how I imagined you.”
Outside, the world was seemingly ending, but Kyra cared nought.
Her cold legs were intertwined with Ori’s strong thighs and sturdy calves, and she had buried her cold fingers in the fleece of another sweatshirt—he apparently had an endless supply of soft, warm fabrics at his disposal—and she started to wonder what it would feel like to peel these protective layers off him one by one.
She decided to find out anon.
Across the forest, Bilbo was dripping wet and laughing breathlessly as he raced towards his car, Thorin hard on his heels.
“A rainstorm!” Bilbo cried. “And I thought it was all going so well until now!”
“It was a success, don’t fret,” the other reassured him. “And I’m sure that Kyra is doing just fine wherever she is. Probably snuggled up in a warm tent, giggling into Ori’s foolish face!”
“Ah, you’d know about silly visages, wouldn’t you?” Bilbo grinned as he sped down the muddy forest path towards his quaint little cottage. “I’m too cold and wet to stay a moment longer than I must in this car,” he declared and turned up the heat to the maximum.
“So you’ll send me home on foot in this deluge?” Thorin exclaimed, feigning vexation.
“I didn’t say that, you oaf!” Bilbo laughed. “As the kids are all busy doing Yavanna knows what, I invite you to join me for a hot, restorative shower.”
This idea did much to brighten Thorin’s mood, and he even hummed a little tune as they pulled into Bilbo’s driveway.
“Just the shower?” he then asked when they kicked off their sopping wet shoes and shrugged out of their drenched clothes that clung disgustingly to their clammy skin. “Or…”
“I might have squirrelled away a few extra cakes and sweet treats in the pantry,” Bilbo informed him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “For the day after feast, but…”
“They’ve had quite enough sugar, I dare say!” Thorin declared haughtily, catching the other by the hips and pulling him into a passionate kiss that should have made any remaining moisture turn into steam within a single moment.
“Right you are,” Bilbo moaned. “We can eat them in bed, later. Now, we really need a hot shower. I can’t wait any longer to see you undressed. Come! After all, it’s a night for falling stars and magic.”
“Your wish is my command, dear colleague,” Thorin grinned. “As you know, I’d do anything for the success of the autumn fair.”
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@fellowshipofthefics here's the last chapter of my fic for September! Thank you for celebrating autumn with me!
