Shatter Me - LuminatheCell, Nyxofthenight12 (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It was freezing, wet and this was most definitely not my house. Instead of being in my beautiful, warm and cozy bed, I was lying in a massive garden full of plants while cold rain poured down on me. Gone were my mushroom figurines, my flower petal bedsheets, my fluffy stuffed animals, and my collection of trinkets. Instead, they were replaced by corn, tomatoes, carrots, and whatever other plant was here.

My god, where was I?

I winced as my limbs popped, pushing myself into a sitting position while trying not to slip in the mud. My hand slipped, but I managed to catch myself before I hit the ground again. I wiped the water from my eyes, but it did little to clear up my vision. A shudder went through my body, and I gasped as a gust of air hit me, freezing the water onto my skin.

I coughed as I accidentally inhaled some of the rainwater, making my throat burn and my chest tighten. I hit the floor again, still coughing and curling up. By the time I stopped, my body had started shaking.

“What the hell?”

For some reason, my voice sounded a bit deeper than normal. I didn’t think too much about it, however, reasoning that it was just an effect from my coughing fit and the weather constricting my lungs.

I pushed myself back up, crying out in annoyance and growing anger when more wind assaulted my senses. More rain blinded me, bringing hot tears that burn mixing in with the cold water in my eyes.

“This is a hate crime!” I cried out. “This is a crime and I hate it!”

Where the absolute f*ck was I?

“Hello?!” I called out while looking around. “Who brought me here?! What the f*ck do you want?!”

No answer, only more sharp gusts of winds followed by a roar of thunder that made me jump. My body froze at the sound and the strike of lightning, causing my heart to almost stop. I shrieked at a particularly loud clap, the sound so loud it caused my ears to ring. My hands flew to the sides of my head, and I curled to the ground involuntarily.

No. No no no.

Not this. Not right now.

One more roar of thunder made me grip my ears tighter and that’s when I felt it.

My stomach dropped as my hands loosened so that my fingers could run along the edges. The very pointed edges that I knew did not belong on my natural ears. My stunned brain short-circuited enough to ignore the next thunder and focus solely on the change to my body.

“What the f*ck?”

A few strands of hair had been pushed down by the rain and into my line of sight.

A strangled cry left me as the bright white color shone in the lighting and my hands flew to fist my hair. Even though it was soaking wet, the texture was softer and smoother than my normally dry and sh*tty hair. It was still short, only down to my mid-neck, but far thicker than I had ever hoped it would be even with those bouji routines my roommate kept trying to get me on.

As I was running my hand through my hair, something in me snapped and I instantly began to feel myself up for any other changes.

“What the f*ck? What the f*ck? What the f*ck?”

My breathing sped up the more I searched and the more that I found. This was not my body. This was not my f*cking body. What the f*ck? What the actual f*ck?!

My breasts were gone and replaced by a flat, and I mean flat, chest. Though I wasn’t that big of a person, I knew damn well that I was never this thin. My limbs were far too slim and the little bit of pudge that I had in my stomach had vanished. My thicc thighs that saved lives had shrunk and that alone ripped my heart out.

Speaking of heart, my thump in my chest was pounding so hard in my f*cking pointed ears that it almost blocked out the sounds of the disgusting thunder. The rest of the environment was blocked out by my rapid breath that only kept speeding up by the second. I let out a pathetic whine when the lightning blinded me and then a shriek as one last blast nearly destroyed my ears.

Why was everything so loud?

My heart was too loud. The thunder was horribly painful and the rain hitting the ground nearly split my skull open. The more I sat there, shivering and hyperventilating in the freezing storm, the more grating the wind and rain and beats became.

“What the f*ck?” I stuttered out, a sob nearly choking me. “Anyone?! Please help me!”

My body gave another shudder as an extremely sharp gust of wind almost knocked me over.

Then I felt it.

As I was checking myself, I gripped something between my not-so-thicc thighs. Something foreign that should not have been there. Something that cemented the fact into my stuttering brain that this was not my f*cking body.

A sharp and startled scream tore through the storming sky as I let full panic set in.

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Bilbo Baggins liked to think of himself as a very reasonable Hobbit when it came to stressful situations.

After all, he had been the one that had dealt with the disasters in the Shire, such as when his neighbor’s crops had been infested with weeds and even prevented a catastrophe from occurring when the Old Lass Ruby had forgotten to order a celebration cake for her son’s birthday.

This, however, was far greater of a situation than what he had ever dealt with.

After a particularly terrible storm the night before, he had gone out to assess the damage done to his crops. He had expected a few broken stems or even an abundance of mud that would have been particularly difficult on his garden.

A terrified and crying Big Folk was not what he expected in the slightest.

It took an embarrassingly long time to snap out of his shock and rush to aid this fallen stranger. It took even longer to work up the courage to speak to them, though they were clearly quite shaken. A knot formed in his stomach when he saw the condition of this poor stranger.

Looking a bit closer, he could see that it was a male and a shockingly young one at that. He was soaking wet and trembling violently while curling on the ground. His hands had a death grip on his head, as if it caused him great pain. He was strikingly beautiful, probably the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld, even though mud caked much of his body and face. However, the pointed ears were the most shocking thing about him.

The wonder of seeing an elf in person sent a wave of childhood nostalgia through him - memories of searching and spying into the woods near his home on those summer nights peeking through - only for the shock and worry for this boy to set his head back into place. A pathetic whimper was enough to bring him out fully and he, despite knowing how difficult it would be to remove the mud stains from his clothes, knelt to aid this stranger.

His heart almost shattered when the elf flinched away from him and tried to run. He didn’t get very far, barely a foot, before slipping on the mud and landing back on the wet ground on his back. He didn’t try to get back up, but the rapid growing fear was as clear as day. The knot in his stomach grew until it became a feeling closer to rage.

What had caused him to end up in such a state?

He wasn’t anything like the stories his mother told him, where the elves were graceful, fearless and among the strongest fighters in Middle Earth. Though tall, he was smaller than what he had pictured they’d be, and it seemed like a Fauntling would be able to take him down. No, he most certainly wasn’t like them in the slightest, cowering in the mud and terrified of a Hobbit, no less!

The next few moments passed in a rapid blur, with him struggling to calm the elf and keep him from tumbling into his garden any further (Bilbo almost felt his heart give out when he realized that his poor carrots were nearly uprooted in the struggle). The Elf struggled when he went to lift him, but had no strength to do much, to Bilbo’s worry. He tried to speak with him and explain that he meant no harm, but alas, none of the words seemed to register.

He didn’t know how long it took to calm him down enough to let him pull him to his home, but by the time they were in, the sun was already rising.

Though it was terribly rude and very un-Baggins like, he decided to skip offering his impromptu guest any refreshments and pulled him straight into the bathroom. After all, it would have been even more rude to leave him covered in mud and rainwater.

The Elf was still trembling, occasionally sniffling away tears, but followed him obediently. Bilbo silently thanked his earlier self that he had already heated up water for his bath that morning, even though it might not be enough for his guest. He gently pushed the elf into the bathroom, gesturing him to sit down in the corner while he went to get the bath ready.

Bilbo sighed in relief when he poured the steaming bath water into the tub, finding it just enough to rid his guest of the mud and grime. He would need to heat up more to fully clean him, but it was enough for now. He pulled out a spare washcloth and soap from the cabinet a set them down next to the tub.

Trusting his guest to be able to figure things out from here, he left to gather more water and start breakfast. After all, he didn't want to be ruder than he already was.

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This was actually happening.

I made the connection as soon as I saw the huge feet on the small body of the man that had pulled me up and dragged me into his house. After spending hours in the freezing rain without so much a waver in the fabric of reality to indicate that I was going to wake up, the dream theory was out the window, and I was ready to accept any explanation at this point. Seeing Bilbo f*cking Baggins the next morning was the final shock to my system.

I’ve read enough fanfictions to be able to see what the f*ck had just happened.

When he managed to pull my hyperventilating ass off the ground, I managed to push down the rest of my panic enough to follow him. Normally, it would have been a big no-no for me to follow a random man into his house in the middle of nowhere, but I was tired, hungry and more importantly, wet and freezing. My body shuddered when I felt the warm air hit me as I ducked to step inside Bag End.

I didn’t bother looking around, since I ended up smearing mud into my eye trying to get the tears and snot off my face. I gasped in pain but kept walking until I was pushed into another room. I couldn't see much of where I was, but I let myself be guided to a wall to sit down on. I could hear the Hobbit moving and water pouring but ignored them in favor of getting my eyes to stop stinging.

By the time I gave up, Bilbo had already left.

Though my vision was blurry, the wooden tub in the middle of the room, larger than what I’d picture for a Hobbit, was easy to see. I almost cried again when I saw the steam rising from the water, pushing myself up and desperately ripping the stained clothes off myself. It was a shame since this was my favorite nightgown and something tells me that it was never going back to white again.

I winced when I looked down at my...new parts...but swallowed my panic and just got in the tub. The tub was rough, small, barely fit my body and the hot water stung at my cold skin, but it felt too good for me to care. After staying there for a while, warming up, I grabbed the rough cloth and oily bar of soap that was left next to it.

I sighed and began the process of scraping off the thick layers of mud off.

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Bilbo spent the next hour in the kitchen, pondering about the strange guest in his house as he made a hearty and hot breakfast of bread and butter, a nice ham and a warm apple crumble.

Clearly, something must have happened to make him so afraid. The poor boy was simply terrified and skittish, even somewhere as safe and peaceful as a home in the Shire. He had even flinched and cowered at Bilbo’s presence. He never would have thought that he would see the day where someone, much less an Elf, be afraid of a Hobbit. It was preposterous, but right there in his own living room.

His appearance was also very concerning.

Though he knew better than to try to guess an elf’s age, the boy looked far too young by his standards. It may have been the delicate beauty of him or the way he shrunk into himself that made him look younger, but he didn’t act very old and held no ancient wisdom in his eyes. He felt young, like the youth that would gather around and make a mess in the Shire during the days.

It was nothing like his mother’s tales or the books in his father’s study.

Speaking of tales, the images in the books looked vastly different. Though he had never met one until now, he knew elves prided themselves on their appearance and would never allow themselves to be disgraced as now.

He had shown up in what appeared to be undergarments and covered in mud. The undergarments were simply too immodest for him to believe that he willingly left his home like that, meaning something had either changed him into them or his clothes had been torn from his body. Neither option seemed to be better in his mind.

The mud could have been explained by the storm he was caught in. The other features, not so much.

Namely, his hair was the biggest concern.

In none of the images he had seen had an elf ever had their hair short. Even in his earliest memories, he had remembered his mother joking about how the Elves would have a heart attack as she trimmed his curls. He knew they kept their hair straight, pristine and long across their backs, not the mess of short and unruly that his guest sported. No elf could ever bring themselves to cut off something they took so much pride in, thus leaving the only possibility that it was cut by force.

Something truly awful must have happened to him and Bilbo wasn’t sure he wanted to find out exactly what. He decided not to think about it as he went to pull out the largest extra set of clothes from the guest room while he left the breakfast to bake.

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I was covered in bruises.

I didn’t notice them until the mud came off and my head cleared up enough to let me examine my body more thoroughly, but they were there. Large red and purple marks littered the areas of my skin, most around my ribs, stomach and thighs, though I wouldn’t doubt that there were more on my back and possibly on my face. They were in random places and different sizes without a pattern.

It should have shocked me, but it honestly just felt numb as I traced my fingers over the areas.

I flinched when I heard a knock, quickly grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my chest after a rub down. I still felt dirty, but it was infinitely better than how it was before. I said a small “come in”.

He jumped when he saw me, horrified as he saw the bruises upon bruises that littered my body.

He didn’t say anything, however, instead gesturing me to follow him to a room through the massive labyrinth that was his home. I shuddered as the colder air hit my still wet skin. I tried not to wince when he shut the door after I walked in, leaving me once again.

I shook my head and looked around.

The room was larger than I expected, with normal sized furniture and space, similar to my college dorm. It was still old and cottage core style like the rest of the house, so warm and cozy all the same. There were no decorations in the room, save for the few empty vases and the single painting of flowers hanging on the wall. The room was also windowless and was illuminated by a single fireplace near the wall and a few candles.

On the bed, which was large enough to be a twin size, were a set of clothes. They were nothing fancy, just plain brown trousers, a shirt and white cloth that looked to be very old-fashioned underwear. It took a while to figure out how everything went, and which buttons belonged where, and it was a bit tighter than I wished. But once again, beggars can’t be choosers.

I don’t know how long I stayed there. I was too afraid to leave the room and risk getting lost in the halls of the home. With nothing else to do, I started exploring.

There wasn’t much for me to look at without moving anything, and I didn’t dare touch anything. It looked way too expensive, and I wasn’t going to risk breaking something of Bilbo’s. Even the jars on the desk reminded me of those high-end antique shops that my roommate would blow her paychecks on. Even the wooden brush looked too fancy to use. I sighed and moved away from the desk.

There was a mirror in the room.

I noticed it as I was drying off my hair with the towel and forced myself in front of it as soon as I was dry. Looking at it made me suck in a breath in shocked horror.

The stranger staring back at me was beyond cute.

He had striking white hair that was messy and sticking out in a way that suited him perfectly, like a fluffy marshmallow or soft cotton. His skin was pale and still pink from the hot water, minus the horrendous bruising, with freckles scattered across his cheeks and adorable nose. His large eyes were the warmest brown that I’ve ever seen, reminding me of hot chocolate during a cold, winter night.

He was thin and tall compared to most things in the room but didn’t seem threatening or intimidating in the slightest. His figure was too fragile and delicate for fighting, more like a gentle dancer than a warrior. Everything about him didn’t seem real and he was far too pretty to be let out by himself, like a porcelain doll that one would keep on a shelf to keep from breaking.

The marks across his skin weren’t helping the look either. The dark bruises were a sharp contrast against his pale skin and looked horrendously painful. Thankfully, the only one above the clothes that was visible was a small one underneath the right eye that was already fading.

This was me, wasn’t it?

What the f*ck happened to me?

“This can’t be real.” I shook my head, moving away from that cursed mirror and going back to sit back down on the bed. “It can’t be...”

I buried my face in my hands and felt my eyes burn again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo was once again uncomfortable when he opened the door to ask his guest if he wanted any food. He knocked, announced his intention of coming in, waited a few seconds, and then opened the door when he heard no answer.

The elf was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor with a blank expression, though it was clear that he had finished crying not too long ago. He was changed and dry, with the dirty towel and the poor excuse for undergarments folded neatly in the corner of the room. Nothing in the room was touched otherwise, not even the various hair and skin products that he had left out for him.

Had he been sitting there the entire time? He had left him to calm down for well over an hour, and yet he stayed in the small, confined space in the already small room.

However, he pushed down the disturbed feeling and knocked once more to gain is attention.

Bilbo ignored the way he flinched and cleared his throat.

“I’ve come to see if you would like anything to eat and if there’s anything else that I can get for you.” He started off, switching back to the polite voice he used for all his guests.

The growl of his stomach answered the question for him. The elf began to blush, but Bibo didn’t let him have the time to worry about embarrassment. He made a ‘follow me’ gesture with his hands.

“Right then. Come along. Breakfast is ready and we can talk once we get you fed.”

The Elf nodded without a word, standing up to follow. Bilbo inwardly winced again at his demeanor, so meek and skittish like a cornered mouse as he held himself closeand his hands rubbing his arms like a child seeking comfort. He didn’t look him in the eye like any polite guest would, instead choosing to look just below him.

Bilbo had never been more disturbed in his short life.

“Right, well. If you would just follow me.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Breakfast was a tense affair.

The Elf sat where he was told, keeping a close eye on Bilbo as he plated the ham, bread and crumble with an extra side of eggs and bacon. He served himself as well, sitting at the opposite end of his table and seasoning his eggs and buttering his bread.

Rather than eating despite his obvious hunger, the Elf stared at him and waited until Bilbo took his first bite to eat. Did he think he would poison him? No, that was ridiculous. No Hobbit, respectable or not, would dare mess with food, especially food meant for a guest.

He shied away every time Bilbo looked at him, so he focused on his own plate until it was cleared. It was a tense half hour later, when everything was gone, that he looked back up to offer his guest seconds. To his surprise and a slightest bit of insult, the Elf had barely touched the plate, which each item having no more than two bites taken out of them.

Was it not to his taste? No, that couldn’t be it. Bilbo may not be the greatest cook in the Shire, but he was a Hobbit! To serve anything less than satisfying was to spit in the face of himself and to his guest.

So, why hadn’t he eaten anything? Surely, he was hungry. He had heard his stomach when he went to fetch him. He had never seen a person deny themselves food while hungry. He almost said something, but the bothered look on the elf’s face shut him up and made him rethink his words. Instead, he opted for small talk.

“I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. I’m Bilbo Baggins.” He said. “Might I ask what your name is?”

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“My name?” My voice made me wince.

Does this body have a name? This is me, but...this isn’t me, not really. It certainly the opposite of everything I considered myself, male and pretty as opposed to female and average, so my name wouldn’t fit him. Aria was my name, and this wasn’t me.

This isn’t Aria and he shouldn’t get to have that name.

“Do...you have a name?” He asked.

I blinked, looking down at my barely picked at food to avoid his eyes. Even through hunger, it no longer looked appetizing. My stomach churned thinking about the last part of my identity no longer belonging to my body. My body...

My body was gone, and my name was barely hanging on without a host. A body without a name, or was it a name without a body? This body doesn’t have a name since it isn’t me, yet it was me now. A new me? A new me without a name. I guess I really don’t have a name anymore, do I?

“I...” After a moment, I shook my head.

“Oh...” He said, sounding confused and worried. “Well, that certainly won’t do. We’ll just have to give you one, won’t we?”

What?

That sent a sharp spike up my chest, and I felt my cheeks heat up, yet flattery and gratitude wasn’t part of it. I swallowed down the choking feeling of shame that almost made me cry again. It shouldn’t have bothered me. It really shouldn’t have. He didn’t mean it in an insulting way. He was being nice, yet being named...

Why did this feel like adopting a dog? Something he found, dirty in his yard, bathed and fed and then named...

I felt sick.

Yet I nodded.

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The Elf had gone to sleep in his guest room the moment breakfast was finished. At least, he had hoped he had gone to sleep. He looked exhausted, swaying as he stood and slow as he walked toward the room in the back. He had practically collapsed on the bed, leaving Bilbo to go searching through his father’s study.

There was only one book of the Elvish language in his father’s library. The Elf had said that any name Bilbo had chosen was fine, yet the Hobbit had insisted on attempting to find an Elvish name that would fit. A hobbit’s name wouldn’t suit him, so he took up the grueling task of translating and sewing together from Elvish script.

It took a good portion of the day, but he had managed to piece together a good deal of names from the language. Many probably didn’t make sense when the language was applied, but he was sure the Elf could pick out the ones that were too ridiculous or make not a lick of sense. He had left the list of names on his desk and left to go attend to the more pressing matters of getting his house ready for a long-term guest.

He would have to pay someone in town to make clothes that would fit the Elf, or even travel outside the Shire to purchase bigger supplies. It would be rather difficult to find a Hobbit willing to do so, but he was sure there would be at least a few that would for the right price. If all else failed, he knew his way around the Shire enough to find at least one skilled seamstress or tailor.

Therefore, the first stop of the day was into town. He left a note on the elf’s door telling him where he was going, filled his pockets with coins and out the door he went. He shouldn’t be gone for too long.

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6 hours later...

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My name was Glírae. Songbird.

I had picked it out from the list Bilbo handed me. Truthfully, it was the first name that I could pronounce clearly, so not much thought went into it. However, it seemed to make Bilbo happy and that was enough for me to tolerate it.

I had chosen it as I was being measured by a kind, older Hobbit woman and her helpers, Madam Parsley and her daughters Rosemary and Sage. She had brought along fabric and was screaming out the measurements while the others held up fabric while trying to decide which would look better on me.

“Very fitting for someone with a voice that fair and a face to match.” The seamstress had said, then ordered me to sit so she could measure my chest and arms. “However, you’re far too skinny dear. Do come over our house so we can feed you properly, alright?”

I blushed, the words causing a flutter in my chest. She had fussed over me from the moment she saw me, practically smothering me as she interrogated me over who would hurt me like this. I couldn’t answer before she was yanked off and Bilbo whispered in her ear. She calmed immediately and looked disturbed but had gotten straight to work right after. It didn’t stop her from being soft and gentle, making statements like my mother would as a child.

Before I could think of my mother’s fussing, Bilbo interrupted.

“How many items do you think you could make for him?”

“Well, he certainly is a lot taller than I’m used to, but the proportions are the same as any young Faunt. Give me a week and I can make him 10 shirts, 5 pairs of slacks and some undergarments. If you want anything for shoes and socks, you’re out of luck here. You’ll have to go to a cobbler in Bree for those, but I can get those measurements too.” She said, tightening the measuring rope across my chest.

“Perfect. We’ll settle on the price tonight then?”

“Yes. For now, help the girls to some tea and biscuits, if you will? We missed breakfast for this.” She laughed, waving him off.

True to her word, a week later, I had gotten clothes that didn’t feel like they were trying to constrict me. They were simple clothes, styled like Hobbits with white shirts, trousers with suspenders and with a brown coat for those slightly chilly days. She even threw in a few scarves and handkerchiefs made from left over fabric. In all, a perfect cottage core blend that I could never afford in my world.

Bilbo must have spent a lot of money on these.

I swallowed down my guilt and smiled as Bilbo pushed me into my room to try them on.

The guilt only increased when another weeklater, I was handed a pair of new leather shoes and a few pairs of wool socks. I almost cried as I put them on.

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The moment I could function again, I started to make myself useful and help around his house. He protested, pointing out that I wasn’t fully healed and was a guest in his home, but I wasn’t just going to sit around. It was a rough compromise, but eventually we agreed that I would leave any lifting to him and would only assist in the lighter chores, like setting the table and mending the torn fabrics around the house. It was tedious but lessened the burden of having to care for me.

The longer I stayed, the more chores I began to take up until gradually, I was doing most of the indoor housework. As much as I’ve grown to like Bilbo, this man wasn’t great at taking care of himself other than outward appearances.

Unless he was going out, he would stay in the same clothes that he had been in for days and would let laundry pile up to wash, then spend the day doing it all while complaining as if it weren’t the consequences of his own actions. The same went for his room and basically anything that didn’t involve his parents' things, which he would clean religiously to the point of obsession. I think he’s still mourning, even if he refused to admit it.

He didn’t do much in the Shire (besides the various parties that he only went to for appearance sakes and left as soon as it was polite to do so), simply going out every week to shop for food and sometimes new items that would inevitably be forgotten once he had gotten home, only to repeat again the following week. Otherwise, he would stay at home, reading his father’s books in his home or yet again cleaning his mother’s things. Not to mention the same, repetitive meals that he had throughout the week.

Granted, I did the same things when I was in my dorm, but that was a different story. Bilbo wasn’t going to become me, and I wasn’t going to let him stop taking care of himself like I had. He didn’t deserve that.

Besides, I had to do something to earn my right to live here basically for free and cooking and cleaning was something I could do and grew up doing. Dragging him out to enjoy the Shire was more for me than for him to enjoy the cottage core aesthetic, but he didn’t need to know that.

Eventually, the days I was here turned into months, which grew into five years.

It took a few months for me to hear the gossip and theories about me floating around. I expected them, seeing how skittish Hobbits were towards anyone they didn’t know, but some of them were ridiculous and bat sh*t crazy.

“I knew Bilbo Baggins was rich, but how did he afford an Elf for a housekeeper?”

“I heard that his mother went on adventures. Do you think she hired the elf for her son when she was alive?”

“Do you think he kidnapped him?”

“Do you think that’s a hidden relative? People say the Tooks are decedents of faeries, but I thought those were just tales!”

“What if he’s blackmailing Bilbo into letting him work there so he can steal his fortune?”

“Maybe he got lost while on his way to leave and ended up here?”

“It might be a life debt. What if Bilbo saved his life and now, he works as a servant to repay him?”

The rumors weren’t said directly to me, but my new sensitive ears could hear them from across the market. It made it hard to look at some Hobbits and I think they eventually discovered that I could hear them, as they began to hide from me whenever I was out or stop their conversations as I walked past them.

Otherwise, I had gotten along with the Hobbits well. Especially with the Hobbit women, seeing as I had the same hobbies that they had, such as cooking, sewing, embroidery and drawing. (They also made it a mission to feed me every chance they got, claiming that I was far too skinny. They reminded me of my Abuela)

Life here wasn’t that bad. It was calm, simple and repetitive, but never boring or troubling. Here I didn’t have to wake up early for classes, I would never eat the terrible and cheap food that was all I could afford or break my back at my server job to pay off my loans.

Here, I could wear old-fashioned clothes and attend the parties of my dreams and not have to worry about being judged. I could sleep in on weekends without worrying about being late to my job or go to bed early as homework didn’t exist. I didn’t have to walk to classes in below zero weather when my sh*tty car wouldn’t start or have to cancel plans to babysit my siblings for my mother.

It was nice, minus one thing.

I still wasn’t used to this body, even after five years. I would wake up sometimes and look at myself in the mirror, only to be disappointed at the face looking back at me.

There were some upsides, like my allergies disappearing and not having to worry about getting sick in the winter, but the change was unwanted.

I liked my own body before, even with the scars, stretch marks, poor eyesight and the gap in my teeth. I missed the rougher texture of my skin and the shorter height I would always get teased about. I missed the birthmarks on my back and inner thigh and the beauty mark right underneath my ear. I missed my short, damaged brown hair that could never seem to get itself under control. I even miss the tattoo on my wrist that I regretted getting so much.

This body was perfect and pretty, and I f*cking hated it.

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Glírae was an oddity, Bilbo thought. He was also sweet, caring and very much reminded him of his mother.He was calm, yet passionate as he slowly broke out of the guarded shell that he had for the first three months.

Bilbo had learned that Glírae had a love for drawing and sewing, spending many hours with Madam Parsley in her shop while he taught her the art of making stuffed animals out of fabrics while she taught him how to sew clothing and repair tears. His room was filled with his creations, from simple animals like horses to those he had never seen before (he still wasn’t sure what a giraffe was).

As for drawing, Bilbo had never seen his creations. He had preferred to keep his books under his bed in a chest and Bilbo wasn’t rude enough to snoop.

It took 6 months for Bilbo to hear the sharp tongue on him that he now flaunted around. He didn’t understand more of what he said, as he used words that he had never heard before or ones he was sure were used incorrectly, but he reasoned that it was simply a clash of cultures.

He was very kind, especially to the Faunts. He would sometimes sit outside with them, singing songs at their requests and comforting them at parties whenever they grew too fussy for their parents. He would play for them for hours on end or simply sit with them one on one while they spoke about their problems to them. He grew very popular soon for his deep understanding.

However, there were things about him that made his stomach knot thinking about. He had no idea what he had gone through prior to being found, but the effects were loud and clear to him. He’d noticed all the little things that he’d do that indicated signs of something awful.

Bilbo had noticed how he would put his chores above anything, sometimes skipping meals in favor of beating a rug or scrubbing the floors. On the days he would eat normally, his food was quick and barely enough to satisfy, not to mention fill. Bilbo’s heart stopped the morning he found him eating plain bread for breakfast, without even having the decency to add jam or honey. It was nothing like the hearty foods he would make for Bilbo, even if they ate them together. To skip a meal or to settle with something bland was unheard of for Hobbits.

During the first months, he had even seen him give away his food to the kids in the Shire, claiming to not be hungry even as his stomach growled. The same went for the stuffed toys he made and various paper crafts, which would be given to the first child that wanted it. Not to mention how he could never say no to their mothers, who would coerce him into watching their children while they went out to shop, even when he was clearly busy. (They had only stopped after Bilbo had a stern talk with Misses Heather after she dumped all 11 of her children at once so she could go out like she was 30 again.)

He’d also seen the way he would freeze up whenever someone raised their voice, even when it wasn’t directed at him. Glírae would go quiet and still, sometimes for hours on end, every time Bilbo came home annoyed or irritated. It was disturbing to see him simply sitting or standing where he was, looking at the ground and tense as if expecting to be lashed out (whether verbally or physically, he didn’t want to know) at if he made any noise or eye contact.

He would also agree with everything that was said to him. Bilbo had tested it by changing his opinion on a subject purposefully only for Glírae to agree both times without hesitation. He felt nothing but shame and guilt for having done so, though apologizing only earned him a blank stare of confusion and an avid proclamation of him having done nothing wrong.

However, none of those things made his heart break faster than the incident 2 years ago, when he had walked by and heard crying in his room. He had rushed in, asking if everything was alright, only for Glírae to apologize for waking him up and promising to be quiet despite his obvious need for comfort. It felt like a stab to his very soul.

As he sat outside, blowing smoke from his pipe, he knew what he had to do. Glírae must be protected at all costs.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

You know, I really miss home sometimes.

I missed a lot of things, actually, but some more than others. I missed my hard, questionable mattress from my dorm room, the leaky sink in my Mother’s house, the ugly rat of a dog with an even uglier personality that my sister decided to adopt, and so much more here. I missed my friends, my roommate who I barely spoke to, my music playing from the sh*tty Walmart headphones, and my collection of anime merch from shows I binged on the weekends. My broken car, my laptop, my dresses, makeup, etc.

But more, I missed speaking Spanish.

It stung every time I spoke out loud and got no response, or when I sang the lyrics of my songs and saw Bilbo looking at me with confusion. It hurt when I accidentally switched to it in public and one of the Hobbits would ask me to translate, assuming it was Elvish and then becoming confused when I insisted that it wasn’t. The language didn’t exist here, and I very well couldn’t explain that I was the only speaker since the rest were in another dimension entirely, so I gave up after a while.

It hurt worse than when I moved from Mexico to the US to a similar reaction, but here I didn’t have my family’s home to converse in outside of the public. Here, I didn’t have my Mother to critique my grammar nor my sisters to watch Telenovelas with nor my brothers to curse out. There wasn’t even a Spanish club full of American girlsto converse with, leaving me with no one.

Bilbo, ever the sweetheart, had insisted that I was free to speak in whatever language I wished in his house, especially after he had heard me sing. I think “Dos Oruguitas” was his favorite, as he often requests that I sing it while he cleans or cooks dinner. He wanted to learn the basics to expand his knowledge but has yet to find the time to sit down to learn with me.

Which ended with me taking on the only people who would care enough to learn my language to converse with: A 6-year-old girl and a 9-year-old boy.

“And that concludes today’s lesson!” I shut my book. “Te fue muy bien, Thyme!”

The little girl beamed and nodded, also packing up her notebook and piece of charcoal. I helped by capping my ink and putting my quills away into my bag.

“Eh? What about me? I did good too!” Her brother, Hilde, whined as I snatched his book away from him.

“If you’re going to sleep through my lesson, at least have the decency to snore in Spanish.” I finished my sentence by gently smacking his head with his practically empty book. “Or go play with your friends.”

He whined and fell back to lie down, but his third nap of the day was cut short by Thyme pushing him down the hill into a puddle of mud. I pretended not to see it and walked away before they started throwing it at each other again. Parsley can deal with her youngest children when they get home, if she lets them into her house at all.

So far, those two were the only ones willing to learn Spanish rather than just listen to me speak or sing in it. It wasn’t that surprising, considering Hobbits rarely try to learn anything foreign and they are rather opposed to sitting still to practice concepts, especially literature. Most can read, yes, but never more than the signs they put up or the invitations they send and certainly not enough to learn a different writing style. Not to mention how bored most children get during their regular lessons, and I doubt they’d volunteer to sit through more even if I was the one teaching it.

Granted, Hilde only wanted to learn to insult his friends without them knowing and Thyme just wanted to be better at it than her brother, but that was expected with children. As long as they wanted to learn, I’d teach them.

Besides, it was nice to be able to speak it with someone rather than me just repeating the words to myself before bed.

It didn’t take long to walk back to Bag End, with a quick pit stop to warn Parsley about her muddied children so she could get a few buckets of hot water ready. She handed me a loaf of bread as a thanks, which I chewed on during my walk back. It was a bit overdone, but I couldn’t blame her for it considering she had 9 children to look after.

I was humming “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes”, minding my own business and making a mental list of stuff I needed for dinner tonight, when I nearly choked on the dry bread.

Bilbo was sitting in his usual spot, where he liked to watch the birds and smoke his pipe (no matter how much I hated the smell, I wouldn’t take that away from him) during the early hours of the morning or late afternoon. Now, Bilbo himself wasn’t what startled me. Bilbo was a pretty normal sight. It was who Bilbo was with. Someone I’ve never seen before yet recognized on the spot.

Tall man. Grey robes. Pointed Hat. Staff. Beard. Dirty.

Gandalf the Grey was here.

Oh f*ck.

f*ck.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

sh*t! Was that happening already? Was this the start of the movie? Or am I in the book? What the f*ck? So soon?! Is this soon? I know it’s been like 5 years, but I’m not ready for this yet! Have I really been that distracted by this cottage core lifestyle that I completely forgot about the main story that takes place here? Are my days of going to marketplaces and forcing Bilbo to buy me trinkets over?!

Why did this start now? Have I even planned anything for this? Do we have enough supplies in the house? Was I going to go or stay and make sure Bilbo’s house didn’t get robbed? We haven’t even made preparations to watch the house or garden or...

Oh f*ck, the house! They’re going to trash the house first! I just mopped those floors and deep cleaned the pantry! His pantry is going to be depleted! Bilbo’s prized tomatoes, his cheeses, his fruits and his ale! The wine for his guests!

GASP!

They’re going to eat my corn bread! My tortillas! My chilies! Oh no! Please God, not my food. Anything but my food. That’s all I have left of home! They can’t eat it!

Oh no. No no no. Absolutely not!

I draw the line at my food!

Crunch

I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts to see crumbs from the bread falling to the floor. I crushed it in that little panic, the little dark pieces breaking off easily. I was gripping it so hard, I had torn right through it.

I swallowed, looking back up only to see Bilbo gone and Gandalf carving his symbol into the door. The freshly painted door too! Have these people no shame towards the property of others?!

I waited before he turned and walked away, thankfully away from my direction, before running back to the house again. I didn’t bother knocking this time, rushing past Bilbo to the family room of food. I had corn bread to hide!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glírae was acting strange.

He had barged in shortly after the Wizard had left, screaming about tortillas and corn bread and protecting his "lifeline”. He didn’t offer an explanation or a reason as to why he was suddenly shoveling container after container into his arms and running away with them to hide in his room, nor did he stop to pick up the mess he was making. Any attempts to ask him were met by a panicked look and incoherent crying in his other tongue, followed by an order to start the pot for a massive dinner.

It was very unusual and very concerning, to say the least.

It took nearly half an hour to calm down the frantic elf, who began to set the place up for a dinner party, yet for some reason, hid all the fragile China and his mother’s doilies and cheese clothes and anything not a dish towel or paper napkin. All his glass decorations were also hidden underneath sinks, in containers and inside empty pantries, much like they’ve done whenever guests with sticky fingers would visit.

Had they invited the Sackville-Bagginses to dinner?

“Glírae, what are you doing?” He finally managed to get out. “Is there a dinner party I should know about? Was I not told?”

He kept his voice calm. It wouldn’t do any good to make him panic even more, even if it wasn’t ideal that he hadn’t known. Having a party in their home wasn’t the end of the world and he was free to invite any friends over. He’d assist him regardless.

“Neither of us were! It’s why I’m rushing to set it up!” He answered back, out of breath and very much to the point of tears. “God, I don’t know how much to make.”

That wasn’t what he was expecting. Who was coming to dinner, if neither of them had issued an invite?

Bilbo could feel the familiar burning of annoyance rising in his chest but kept it down so as not to spook his housemate anymore. He had to choose his words carefully when Glírae was in such a state.

“Who’s coming to dinner? Did someone invite themselves again? I’ll have another stern talking to Misses Heather is she tried to push her children onto you again-”

“It’s not her.” Glírae interrupted, shocking Bilbo.

Now he knew something was very wrong. It was difficult to get Glírae to speak freely in general and interrupting, even by accident, always made him panic. Something must have scared him severely to put him in such a state. He tried not to think of the worst possible scenario, yet various reasons kept rotating in his head, each one worse than the last, though he did push out the ridiculous thought of Glírae being accosted by starving Men.

Had the Sackville-Bagginses finally coerced him into being their servant like they wanted?!

No.

No, that was ridiculous. Glírae might not have much respect for himself, but even the smallest amount was enough to keep him from going that far. He would never invite that family over, even if he was the biggest push-over he had ever met.

So, what was wrong?

“Who’s coming?”

“I...I don’t know...” He whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God, I really wished that I could tell Bilbo what was going to happen. It made my stomach hurt to lie to the sweet man, even when I didn’t have much of a choice. I couldn’t tell him anything.

Anytime I wanted to speak to him about anything that was going to happen or even about being from another world, I feltthis powerful feeling of pure dread and nausea hit me and my mouth would just shut. It happened the first month I was here, when I tried to answer Bilbo’s question about where I was from. Like some cloud or spell or some sh*t was trying to force my throat closed.

It was the worst thing I’ve ever felt.

My face had begun to burn and itch like needles driving into my flesh, and I couldn’t get the taste of bile out of my mouth nor the searing pain in my stomach to calm. Trying to push past it only made it worse until I had doubled over. It was a miracle that I made it outside to vomit, crawling and crying, with Bilbo watching in horror as I collapsed into a panicking mess, yet I was completely fine not a few minutes later.

It left me more confused than ever.

It happened again when I tried to bring up more modern concepts, like photographs and even using pens rather than quills, this time with my head almost splitting open from the pain I was assaulted with. I think I gave Bilbo a heart attack during that one, if my screams were anything to go by. It went away as soon as I forgot what I was going to say, as if it had never been there. Not even the usual buzz or the burning in my eyes that usually appeared after a migraine was present.

When it happened the third time, I began to realize what was happening to me.

I tried to warn him about the events of his future the first year I was here. I didn’t want him to suffer as much as he was going to, even if I couldn’t stop any outcomes. Before I could even begin to gather my thoughts, my body was on fire with the worst agony of my life. It was a bitter, burning pain that hurt worse than anything, pushing down past my flesh and into my soul. Unlike the other times, it didn’t center on one area, but attacked every part of me until I couldn’t feel anything but heat.By the time it finally stopped, I understood the message.

Stop

Thank God Bilbo wasn’t home at the time.

I couldn’t tell him anything directly. However, I could still bend the situation to get the same outcome.

“The Grey Wizard visited you.” I said, taking a deep breath. “It’s never a good sign when he visits, especially after what he told you.”

“You heard us?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to, but I still heard.” I said, then put the rags down to face the shorter man. “I know of him. He wanders around from place to place, meddling in everyone’s affairs and convinced that he knows what’s best for them. He is famous, or rather infamous, for not taking no for an answer. He wants you on a mission with his party, meaning he already has one and has said yes on your behalf. Which means he’s bringing them here and we don’t know how many there are to feed them all.”

The lie was easy to say, and it made me feel gross. I kept most of the truth, but it didn’t feel right not being totally honest.

“You’re serious? And they’re on their way here now?” Bilbo exclaimed after a stunned pause. “Oh dear, that certainly is a problem. How many do you supposed there will be?”

I sighed, making my way over to the spice cabinet and pulling out the containers by the box

“I’m not sure. But I can guarantee that they won’t be Hobbits. Maybe men? Dwarves? I’m not too sure about Elves. We...” I swallowed, feeling the sting of the word. “...don’t really go out past our borders. I’m not sure. Better to make more rather than less, since food can always be stored or taken home.”

Bilbo sighed in frustration but moved over to wash his hands.

“Alright then. Let’s start a dinner party.”

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Glírae was every bit of a songbird that his name suggested. He would often hum tunes or sing songs while doing housework or simply drawing. It was an unconscious thing, Bilbo realized after a while, and helped keep him focus from moving onto too many tasks. He didn’t recognize a single song and they were all vastly different from each other and not all were in Westron. It became entertainment of its own to see what song he would sing next.

His voice had a sweet ring to it, even when he sang notes that were so high, he was sure it hurt. It was smooth like cream, yet his control over it was immaculate. It was no wonder his songs were requested a lot during parties and to children to sooth them. Even at home, Bilbo requested songs be sung.

Currently, he was baking a cake and was dancing throughout the kitchen, grabbing ingredients and measuring rapidly. He had never seen his friend happier than when he was singing as he worked, even with the songs that were too depressing for his take. Thankfully, this song was one of the happier ones he sang, with his voice going higher and playful.

“All you have to do is take a cup of flour

Add it to the mix

Now just take a little something sweet, not sour

A bit of salt, just a pinch! ”

Glírae laughed as the sugar poured into the bowl, nearly spilling it. He mixed it quickly to combine the dry ingredients together. He used a lot of it, considering how expensive sugar was, but Bilbo didn’t mind. He wasn’t a fan of sweet things in general, being more of a savory person, and his mother was a hoarder of the stuff, so the more he used it, the better. He could always purchase more if he needed it.

“Baking these treats is such a cinch

Add a teaspoon of vanilla

Add a little more, and you count to four,

And you never get your fill of... ”

Bilbo handed him the wet ingredients that he prepared for him. Glírae didn’t stop singing as he incorporated the ingredients together, folding the mixture with practiced ease. It was his most popular food that he would bring to parties, especially with Faunts and most women, though he had seen some of the grumpy elders indulge themselves in it on occasion.

“Cupcakes! So sweet and tasty

Cupcakes! Don't be too hasty

Cupcakes! Cupcakes, cupcakes, CUPCAKES! ”

Glírae paused from folding the dough to give Bilbo a sideways glance, clear disapproval on his face.

“Or rather, pan dulce in this instance. You don’t have a pan for cupcakes and don’t like cake because you’re old, stingy and boring.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, yet the smile never left his face.

Glírae was finally calm enough to insult him, which was a victory on its own. His sharp retorts and playful jabs at him were comforting, surprisingly. They reminded him of the Faunts from the younger generations that liked to poke fun at the elders, though he figured that Glírae was far older than any of them.

The Elf then thrusted the bowl into his arms.

“Alright. Start kneading this. I’m going to grab some more bowls from the storage just in case. Don’t stop until everything is smooth!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Bilbo’s confusion and slight worry, I had eaten dinner before the Dwarves showed up. I didn’t give him a reason as to why I started shoveling food in my face the moment I saw that it was dark outside, but he seemed to accept it since I was eating more than a few bites of this meal after skipping lunch today. It was the last night with a full pantry, so I was going to make the most of it, even if I made myself sick by eating all my favorite foods before they got to them. I wasn’t going to tell him that I probably wouldn’t be allowed to eat later by them.

I’ll regret it later, but at least my corn bread is safe in my belly.

I had just finished setting the table with 15 plates and chairs when the doorbell was heard ringing. It was embarrassing to say that I squeaked in surprise, almost dropping the expensive ceramic on the floor, but managed to catch it before it could shatter. I placed it back down on the table, hoping Bilbo didn’t see, but one look from him told me he did and found it funny.

Damn him.

Bilbo rushed over to answer the door, taking just a moment to collect himself before opening it. I followed, stopping in the doorway between so I could see the guest we were waiting for.

I held my breath as it swung open to reveal a rather intimidating Dwarf. He was slightly taller than Bilbo, with muscles that were so defined they were practically carved out of stone. He was bald, though his head was hidden underneath a dark green hood and had a beard so long and full that it was tucked into a golden belt on his waist. I couldn’t see much of him from where I was, but I could see the way Bilbo tensed when he bowed.

He looked so strong, stronger than either of us.

And that axe on his back could do some serious damage. That was a trained warrior, one that has killed before and will kill again on this journey. One who doesn’t care yet for the lives outside his kin...

I swallowed, my teeth clenching as the sudden thoughts of what those muscles could do crept their way into my head. My stomach started to hurt, and my chest was vibrating as the images ran through my mind.

How if he wanted to, he could very much break me. Bilbo wouldn’t be able to stop him. Not with those flabby middle-aged Hobbit twigs he called arms. He’d be too slow and too weak for this warrior, and he wouldn’t be able to stop the axe if he swung. He was strong and Dwarves were violent when mad and I would make him mad somehow tonight. That axe could cut right through me, through him, through-

No.

No intrusive thoughts.

Absolutely not.

I took a deep breath, forcing my body to relax before my nails could pierce through the skin on my hands. I rubbed the indentations to get them to go away faster.

“Dwalin. At your service.” His voice was deeper than I expected, and it made me jump.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours.” Bilbo returned it with a slight bow. “I take it you’re one of the guests the Wizard invited.”

The slight hint of annoyance was only clear to me.

The Dwarf, Dwalin, just nodded and walked right in past Bilbo, taking off his cloak while looking around the large home. He hadn’t noticed me yet, which I silently thanked the stars for as I moved further behind the wall.

“Which way, laddie? Is it down here?”

“I-Is what down where?” Bilbo stuttered at the obvious break in politeness.

Come on, Bilbo. He’s obviously talking about food. That’s what he’s here for.

“Supper. He said there’d be food. And lots of it.”

I blinked in offense as he tossed the cloak on Bilbo, who scrambled to catch it.

What a rude bitch! What kind of disrespect did I just witness? Who throws a coat at someone after barging your way in? If I did that at home, I wouldn’t be able to sit for a f*cking week! Who even raised you?!

How dare he?

I stepped out, ready to fight for him, but the words died on my tongue as a sudden whiplash of anxiety and fear shot through me when I took a good look at him.

The Dwarf stared at me, his expression turning from amused but indifferent to one of hostility and rage. His body language became tense and alert, his fist clenching and his feet planting themselves on the floor. All within a few seconds.It was actually kind of scary how quickly it changed.

I blinked, freezing to the spot, as if a single movement would set him off. It probably will.

He was glaring at me and gritting his teeth so hard it looked painful. He was angry enough that the veins in his head were starting to pop, which was clear to see due to the lack of hair.It was intimidating, even though I was a good foot and a half taller. I was expecting it, but it didn’t make it sting any less.

Bilbo stopped his rambling when he saw the change and noticed my spike of fear at the shift of the aura. He looked over at me, gesturing towards the back. I nodded, breaking eye contact with the hostile guest.

I shrunk away, stepping back into the kitchen and away from the angry Dwarf.

“Please help yourself to the food in the dining area. There should be plenty for you and your companions.” Bilbo called back to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What was that? Are you alright?” Bilbo whispered.

His concern had grown since walking in here, once he noticed that I was shaking and began to fuss over me despite my assurance that I was fine.

“Yes, I’m alright. I just...” I sighed, laughing though my eyes were stinging. “Dwarves aren’t fans of Elves. They haven’t been since the First Age. After Erebor fell, they became downright hostile towards us, though we aren’t much better to them. I won’t get any warmth from them, and they might get angry with me being here, so I’ll just wait in my room or in the kitchen making more food. Where there is one, there’s at least 5.”

Or rather, 12 more. 12 more hostile and angry Dwarves with an undying hatred for anything resembling me, even if this me wasn’t really me.

I wasn’t looking forward to the others showing up.

“What? Absolutely not. You live here and I won’t stand for them banishing you anywhere. Guests or not, you will be respected in this household if I have anything to say about this.”

This wasn’t about being respected, my guy. I can handle disrespect. I have little siblings. My actual safety was on the line out there and I doubt your tiny body would be able to protect me. No offense, but you are very easy to punt.

“Bilbo, it’s fine. They look like they’re here for you and I’ll just be in the way.” I assured him.

“No. Nope. No buts about it. You may leave if it makes you comfortable, but I will not have you be ashamed of showing your face in your own home. If they so much as look at you wrong, I will have very strong words for them.” Bilbo said firmly, if the hands on his hips were anything to go by,

“Bilbo...”

We were interrupted by the bell ringing once again.

“Another one’s here.” I said, my stomach tightening as Bilbo rushed over to open the door for Balin.

Yep. I’m staying back here tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo was at his wits end by the time the door rang for the fourth time.

He had been pushed around his own home, with their stuff piled into his arms and his words falling on deaf ears as they ignored him and showed the most horrendous table manners he had ever seen. He had gotten the closest he had ever been to hitting someone when one of them wiped their feet on his mother’s glory box.

He was quickly thanking Glírae’s suggestion of moving everything to the middle of the hallway rather than his tiny dining room. At least he didn’t have to worry about them taking his grandfather’s chairs to sit on.

The food on the table didn’t seem to be enough for them, as they quickly rummaged through his pantry until there was nothing but chaos and destruction wherever he went. Everything from his prized tomatoes to his aged cheese blocks and even the leftovers that Glírae had missed earlier (he silently apologized to his dear friend for the loss of his empanadas ) was taken from his place and shoved onto the plates of his greedy guests.

But the guest he had a real problem with was sitting near the end, a fifth glass of red wine in his hand and looking none the wiser at Bilbo’s incoming heart attack.

He hadn’t seen Glírae once during the entire event.

He must have locked himself back in his room for the night, which made sense. The elf wasn’t one for large parties or crowds, and certainly not a fan of loud noises and rambunctious chatter. He was easy to overwhelm and overstimulate, if his excuses for stepping outside of parties every 20 minutes was anything to go by. The burping contest and food fight that they had would traumatize the poor elf. He was really tempted to join him.

Bilbo was finally at his limit when he had to snatch his mother’s doily from a Dwarf that had attempted to use it as a dish cloth.

“My dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter?” The insufferable old wizard asked him.

Bilbo’s eye twitched.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One thing that sucks about being an elf now is the heightening of my senses.

Everything was clearer to me now, which was far more of a headache than many would even realize. I could see farther and through more things, making out every detail in a leaf on a tree or the ants on the ground. The dark was easier to see through, making it impossible to sleep sometimes. I could feel things I normally wouldn’t, such as the movement of my clothes against my body when I moved, the fibers on my sheets at night, or every slight shift from the air around me.

This also meant that I could hear everything that was going on outside my door.

Everything was too loud.

I winced once more at the Dwarves pounding their silverware on the tables. The sounds of the silver scrapping against each other were grating, like nails dragging across a chalkboard. The singing that followed only increased the pressure on my ears and head. I recoiled at every pound and clank of the dishes and boots against the floor.

I pressed my head against the pillow, biting down on my sheets while curling up tighter in an effort to block out their terrible singing. Blocking my ears and singing to myself did nothing to block out the noises that were becoming painful. So goddamn painful.

I knew this song, having replayed it hundreds of times while binging this series with my roommate. I knew the words by heart, even catching myself singing the melody by accident while here. Luckily, never in front of Bilbo.

It wasn’t nearly as entertaining living through it as watching it on the screen. For the first time, I didn’t sing along to the lyrics. Instead, I simply clenched my teeth and pushed the pillow harder on my ears.

Knock Knock Knock

I jumped when my door was knocked on, then again when it was opened to reveal the frazzled form of Bilbo, who looked madder than I had ever seen him. The blast of noise almost drove me to tears, but I pushed it down before Bilbo could see. It only took a few seconds to compose myself enough for him.

I sat up from my bed, only wincing a bit when I set the pillow down and moved over to give room for him to sit on. He shut the door, muffling the singing once more and nearly stomping over to me. He didn’t give me much time to feel the usual burst of anxiety before slinking onto the bed in exhaustion. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t ask. He needed this break.

I raised my hand to him and waited for his nod of approval, before running my hand through his locks of hair. He sunk down to my lap, sighing in frustration and anger, letting the emotions calm through my comforts.

We sat in silence, as much as it could be with their grating laughter outside, with Bilbo occasionally shifting. I detangled his hair with my fingers, careful not to pull through them in case I break his hair. It was really soft still, not at all how it will probably be in 15 months.

15 months.

Oh sh*t.

I have to pack a bag for him. If he waits until morning to do it, he’s going to forget so much sh*t. He needs a hairbrush and normal grooming supplies, some extra clothes and underwear, snacks, a water flask, a towel just in case, etc. We need to leave a note for the Gamgees and payment up front to show we didn’t just abandon the house and Bilbo’s not dead. We need to be prepared to hide our valuables just in case Ms. Lobelia decides to come in and rob us blind. I need to check to see if I was even allowed to come with!

What the f*ck was I doing all this time? What is wrong with me? Why the f*ck was I lying in bed this whole time, whining like a bitch when I could have been preparing? Bilbo could die here and I was just doing nothing!

I’m f*cking stupid!

I was so lost in thought that I barely noticed that Bilbo had frozen still on my lap. It wasn’t until he grabbed my hand that I noticed something was off.

The noise had stopped.

Oh f*ck.

“They stopped.” He said, shooting up from my lap. “Why did they stop?”

“I don’t know...” I lied.

Thorin was here.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

The silence was more uncomfortable than the painful noise that appeared only seconds before.

I swallowed hard, the knot in my stomach returning. I bit my tongue as the sudden smack of anxiety and nausea hit me again. The voices were muffled and low, but I knew this scene perfectly enough to know what was being said.

Except for the major difference that Bilbo wasn’t there this time.

Ah sh*t.

f*ck. f*ck f*ck f*ck.

We’re barely into the movie and I still managed to mess some sh*t up. Crap. I gotta get Bilbo back out there to get the plot going. They’re going to notice him missing at some point, or at the very least Gandalf is. I wasn’t sure they noticed him this entire evening, but they certainly will now. It won’t make a good impression if he isn’t there to greet their King and a good impression is important.

How do I push this man out there, though?

One look at the Hobbit in my lap told me enough to know how exhausted and overwhelmed with the night he was. He was relaxed in my bed, limp and breathing heavily. He was practically falling asleep, even through his panic and annoyance. Bilbo was an introvert at heart, just like I was, and this night alone was enough to drain him for almost the next week.

I feel bad for pushing him, but he has to get back up. The future of Middle Earth rests on his tiny, shriveled up, old man shoulders.

But I don’t want to go out there.

If this was the movie rather than the book, which I honestly think it is if we’re following Fanfiction cliches, then Thorin is the biggest Elf hater that the series has. Dwalin was angry just looking at me, so I don’t want to know what their reaction would be to me living here and possibly listening into their conversations and plans about Smaug.

I mean, I guess I don’t have to stay inside while they talk. I can step outside and wait in the garden while they talk. I wouldn’t mind sleeping there either, if they’re staying the night and don’t want me in the house. I get it. I could go to Parsley’s house for the night, but then I wouldn’t be able to pack for Bilbo tonight and possibly myself.

Wait, would they even let me join?

If listening in was out of the question, then joining wouldn’t even be an option for me. Which would honestly suck since Bilbo needs all the help he can get if he wants this journey to go a lot smoother. Fun adventure and sudden new inspiration for life at the end aside, I’m pretty sure he’s going to end up with some form of trauma disorder if he watched Thorin and the princes die and that’s not going to happen. There is only room for one person with PTSD in this household and it’s better that it’s me than him.

“Glírae, are you alright?”

I blinked, mentally shaking myself awake.

“Yes, I am. How are you, hon? That seemed like a lot.”

“Oh, yes!” Bilbo bristled. “They are the rudest guests we’ve ever had. Throwing dishes everywhere and disrespecting my parents’ items. They were noisy, inconsiderate and ignored me the entire night. I couldn’t get a word in to any of them. Be glad that you had the wisdom to hide yourself back here and away from this mess. They would have scarred you for life.”

He huffed, laying back down and not even bothering to look at the door, grabbing my hand to weave it back into his hair. I took the silent order with a smile and gently scratched his scalp, paying special attention to the knots that were forming once more in his curls. Hobbit hair tangled so easily compared to mine.

“Worse than Sage’s birthday party last year?”

We both shuddered at that memory.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I rank it very, very close. One wiped his feet on my mother’s glory box! Can you believe the nerve? And don’t get me started on the abysmal table manners! You would think they didn’t know what a coaster was! I doubt that I’m ever going to the ale stains off the floor!”

“Really?” I pretended to be shocked, though the offense was very real. “Did they at least use the plates we set out for dinner?”

Bilbo sucked in a breath as his anger was ignited.

“Ha! Dinner was used as the appetizer! Everything was gone within the half-hour, so they ransacked the pantry and devoured everything! My tomatoes, my fruits, cheeses and even your empanadas!”

”They ate my empanadas?!” I cried, accidentally gripping his hair.

Bilbo didn’t seem to mind, too angry to care.

“Every last one of them! In one bite too! I didn’t manage to save a single one for you!”

“Those bitches!”

Knock Knock Knock

We both froze, my body stiffening at the sudden pounding of my bedroom door. Bilbo got up once again, though my eyes were locked onto the doorknob that was suddenly moving for me to notice his reaction.

“Bilbo Baggins, why on earth are you hiding in here?” An old voice said from the other side as the door slid open. “There’s someone that I-”

I stopped breathing when the figure behind the door stepped in, nearly banging his head on the low frame (which hurts more than you realize). He wasn’t what I pictured, though he had grey robes, pointed hat, long beard and all. He looked more like a beggar than a wizard, with his hunched back, dirty clothes, tangled hair and an unkempt appearance in general. He was shorter than I thought he would be and looked more fragile and skinnier. That didn’t stop me from feeling a rush of terror claw itself up my chest, however.

That was a powerful Maia underneath that disguise. A Maia that fought in countless battles and survived. A Maia that would defeat a Balrog and fall yet live once again to fight. A Maia that lived far longer than I could even fathom.

A Maia that was looking right at me.

Looking at me with an expression of shock and something else I couldn’t pinpoint.

“Oh...”

I swallowed hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glírae’s emotions were hard to read at times, but fear was one of the things that Bilbo could pick up on easily.

Contrary to what others may think, Glírae was not afraid of his own shadow like many Hobbits have come to believe. Yes, he was painfully shy, rather jumpy, and would avoid confrontation like it was a disease, yet most of it came from nerves and awkwardness rather than real fear.

In fact, he had only seen fear from him a handful of times, mostly in the form of horrific nightmares and memories during the day that would leave him staring at a wall for hours on end or crying in a mess of sheets in his room. In the five years they spent, Bilbo had learned to recognize those signs of fear from his friend and ways he could help.

And right now, with the Wizard locking eyes with them, Glírae was very afraid.

Bilbo wasted no time, slowly removing himself from the bed and calmly walking over to the Wizard. No sudden movements that could set the poor elf off, who hadn’t even reacted to him leaving. The last thing they needed was for Glírae to shut down completely.

“Yes, is there anything that you need, Gandalf?” He asked, keeping his voice calm and firm.

Gandalf, to his credit, composed himself rather quickly and straightened out, as much as the low ceiling of the archway would let him.

“Oh, yes. The final guest has arrived, and I would like to introduce you. He’s a rather important fellow and it’s best to not keep him waiting.” Gandalf glanced back over to elf on the bed (Bilbo cursed when he saw Glírae beginning to tremble). “I was unaware that you had another guest.”

Bilbo bit back a sharp retort at the tip of his tongue. He would have known if he had the decency to ask rather than invite himself over.

“Not a guest. Glírae lives here and quite frankly, has not felt comfortable since your companions arrived. So much that he has been caged in his room to escape them.”

Gandalf gave a small, grave nod.

“Yes, well...I’m afraid that the stubbornness of Dwarves makes it difficult for them to be courteous to Elves. Rest assured, however, that they are harmless. He may join us if he wishes, and I will make sure no harm comes to him. In fact, I would like to insist that he joins. He may have something to contribute.”

Bilbo looked over to his friend, who said nothingand climbed off the bed. The panic was clear in his form, and he was clearly terrified, yet Bilbo wasn’t going to doubt him by questioning his decision to follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The meeting with the Dwarves went about as well as I’d expected, which was not very well at all.

Thorin’s meeting with Bilbo had gone exactly like the movie, with Thorin questioning Bilbo’s strength and joking at his expense. It was more playful to hear in real life, but it didn’t stop the burn of annoyance I had in Bilbo’s defense. If I wasn’t hiding in the hallway like Gandalf had suggested, then I would have said something.

Actually, I probably wouldn’t since I’m a f*cking coward and was busy trying not to go into a meltdown. I caught myself a few times before I could start whimpering or something else like the pathetic bitch I am.

But I kept my mouth shut until Gandalf gestured to me to come over. I barely made it three steps into the open before the laughter died on the spot and the atmosphere dropped.

I nearly gave up and ran to my room from the sudden stares and glares that I was receiving. The tightening in my chest suddenly became constricting and I forgot how to breathe for a moment. My chest hurts. Breathing hurts. They were looking at me.

Oh no. Ah sh*t. This was a mistake. This was a bad idea. Why did I do this instead of just hiding and packing in my room? Why the f*ck did I follow them? Did I think I was just going to waltz in here, proclaim myself Bilbo’s loyal follower, and demand that they take me along to reclaim their homeland? How well did I think this was going to go over?

I’m stupid. I’m so f*cking stupid. You dumb bitch, why did you think you could do this?

Please stop. Stop looking at me like that. Stop looking at me like I killed your mother. Stop looking at me in general. Just stop. Make them stop.

“Why is there an elf here?” The dark-haired Dwarf that was Thorin said, his voice cold and his fury barely hidden.

I barely registered it.

“He lives here.” Bilbo said, crossing his arms and stepping in front of me. “He has just as much of a right to be here as the rest of you. Moreso, even. I won’t have him confined to his room simply because you don’t like him, though I cannot see why.”

Bilbo. Bilbo sweetheart. Please stop defending me. They’re glaring at you now and I don’t want that for you. Please don’t make them mad before you join their quest. That’s going to make it harder for you and you don’t deserve that.

“Gandalf, I thought this meeting was supposed to be in secret.” Thorin ignored Bilbo, turning towards Gandalf. “Why did you bring us to a place where one of them can spy on us?”

Spy? Me?

That’s almost laughable considering how easily I would crack under pressure. Plus, I don’t think a spy would willingly walk up to you like I did.

“Well, now. It's most certainly not a crime for him to be here.” Gandalf didn’t sound the slightest bit fazed. “In fact, I suggested he come along just in case he can provide any insight or ideas. The more minds, the better I say.”

“He is not welcomed. I will not discuss our kin’s plans and secrets with our enemy.” Thorin spat, his sharp glare sending another wave of cold terror through my chest. “I will not have some woodland sprite dishonor my kin once again.”

Oh god. He looked angry. He looked really angry. I’ve never seen a person that angry before, and I was there during Sage’s birthday party last year. His fists were clenching hard enough to strain his muscles, even through his thick coats. His eyes were burning, burning like hellfire as he took every pathetic inch of me in. How does one so small look so intimidating?

He wanted to kill me. He was going to kill me.

I’m so scared.

Around this time, you’d expect your average OC to stand up for themselves, give some badass retort and stand their ground while telling them to shove their insults up their ass. They were brave women who’d take no sh*t from a bunch of men – or dwarves – and would not tolerate being disrespected.

I, however, am extremely sensitive and have grown even more since being in the Shire with soft Hobbits who never had a negative thing to say to me. To my face, at least. Not used to this anymore, it was no surprise that I felt my eyes sting.

I blinked it back, however, when I saw Bilbo tense.

“He is no enemy, Thorin Oakenshield. The only enemies you will find here are the ones you make yourself! He is neither spy nor foe and he will join us, seeing as he lives with our Burglar.”

Uh, do I get a say in this? I just followed because you told me to, my dude. I didn’t know I was supposed to contribute. It’s not like I can offer much without paralyzing myself, so why am I even here?

“Burglar?” Thorin scoffed. “You think I want him in our Company, now that I know he’s conspiring with Elves? You can keep the Halfling.”

Halfling?! My good sir, he is a Hobbit! He isn’t half of anything, thank you very much! Shove it up your ass if you’re going to call him that-

Wait.

WHAT?! NO!

No no no no no no.

That is not going to happen. I’m not f*cking up this plot! Bilbo is going along with you guys and finding that damned piece of jewelry even if I have to fight you for it. I’m not dooming the future of Middle Earth.

Not today, Satan not today!

“That is enough.” Bilbo shouted, surprising everyone. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Right now. All of you. Grab your things and kindly escort yourselves out of my home. I will not have you disrespecting him like that.”

Bilbo, what are you doing?!

You never kick anyone out! Not even Miss Lobelia when she chopped the heads off your roses!

“Um...I...” I took a small step back. “I can...wait outside or leave if you don’t want me he-”

“Absolutely not.” Bilbo cut me off. “You don’t have to go anywhere just because they have a problem with you. Don’t let them banish you from your own home. If anyone should leave, it’s them. They came into our house uninvited and insulted you.”

“But Bilbo-”

“No.” Bilbo said firmly, much like my mother did whenever I was doing something wrong.

I shut my mouth.

“He will not being going anywhere, and neither will you, Thorin.” Gandalf said, and suddenly the atmosphere plummeted even further.

Uh, is it darker in here to anyone else? What happened to the lights? Did this motherf*cker just blow out our candles with his magic?! What the f*ck is with this man?

“You asked me to find the 14th member of this Company and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. If it means that we have one to add, all the better.” Gandalf said. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most, if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of Hobbit is unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage.”

“Excuse me.” Bilbo squeaked. “Burglar? Dragon? What is this about a Company?”

He was ignored.

“And Elves, hate them as you may, have a deeper connection to nature and are naturally agile and enduring. They sleep less and do not tire as quickly, making them perfect guides and aids.”

Bilbo snorted at that, and I had to fight the urge to kick him in the shins.

“While he might not be much help against the Dragon directly, the journey to the mountain will be easier if he follows along. Elves are easier to trust by people than Dwarves, so we have an advantage there if we were to go through any settlements.”

Wait, I’m actually coming too?

“What makes you so sure that you are a part of this Company after this?” Thorin threatened.

Uh....

“Because, my dear Thorin, you cannot get into the mountain without me. Not with the doors sealed and without the key.” Gandalf said, pulling out the massive key from who knows where.

Was that just chilling in his robes this entire time? He has pockets?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo had never been angrier in his life. He was sure that he was bright red with how flushed his face felt, but for once, he didn’t care for his appearance in front of his guests. No, not guests. Not anymore.

They revoked that privilege once he saw Glírae begin to cry.

He didn’t bother listening to the rest of the conversation, quickly pulling the shaking elf over to the other side of the room. He followed along, though kept sending nervous glances at the arguing Wizard and Dwarf. Something about who had the rights to the key.

“Your father gave me the key for safekeeping and instructed me to give it to you when you are ready. And right now, Thorin, you are nothing of the sort!”

It didn’t matter anyways. There was only one thing that mattered and that was making sure that his friend was calm and alright. His emotions were fragile and he hadn’t had a fright like this in years.

“Are you alright? You hardly said a word.” Bilbo asked.

Glírae nodded, though he didn’t look Bilbo in the eyes. Right, he wasn’t going to be honest about his feelings. At least, not in front of those that scared him so much. Why didn’t he just have Bilbo kick them out like he wanted to, he’d never know, but he suspected it was Glírae’s aversion to confrontation.

Bilbo sighed.

“You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. But they won’t say another ill word to you while they are here. I’ll deal with them. Do you want to go back to your room?”

Glírae shook his head, reaching out to grab his arm. His grip was loose, and his hand was trembling, but Bilbo made no move to push him off.

“Don’t let them leave. They have something important to do if the Wizard is trying to get us to go on a quest. Whenever he’s involved, it’s something big and important. I’m afraid I might mess up whatever plan he had for you.” He whispered. “You have to go with them.”

“For me? Go where? I’m certainly not joining a group that harassed you in your own home, much less with a leader like that. If they don’t allow you, then neither of us are going, not that I wish to go anyways! I hardly know what they’re talking about!”

He had no intention of leaving on some quest (rather dreadful things that no respectable Hobbit would do), but he had even less to allow Glírae to blame himself for the night going wrong. The elf had done and said nothing and was slandered for it, for heaven’s sake!

“Bilbo, please.” Glírae begged. “Just...trust me on this. I know you don’t want to leave-”

“I most certainly don’t!” Bilbo bristled. “I am a Baggins of Bag End and I am perfectly content to staying here, with you, looking after our gardens and living life peacefully! Nothing will change that. You know this!”

Glírae flinched back at his tone and that’s when Bilbo realized that he had snapped at his friend. The elf pulled his hand back, his eyes snapping to the floor and his body shrinking against the wall in a wordless apology, and it made Bilbo feel sick.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. I don’t know where that came from.”

Before Glírae could say another word, a Dwarf, this one with a long white beard, came over with a scroll of parchment.

“Here ya go, laddie. It’s just the usual contract of employment.”

Bilbo sucked in a breath of rage.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Bilbo promptly shoved the contract back into the Dwarf’s hands.

“No thank you. I’m not seeking employment at the moment, and I certainly won’t be working for a Company as rude as yourselves. If that’s all you came to see me for, I request that you leave.”

“Bilbo-” Glírae tried to protest, but one sharp look was enough to stop his words.

Bilbo tried not to think about how scared he looked by it. Instead, he turned his ire back to the large party.

“You have been nothing but disrespectful since you arrived. I don’t know what the Wizard has promised you, but whatever it was died the moment you decided to speak a foul word to my friend. I don’t care what type of feud Elves and Dwarfs have, but it is no excuse to make him feel unsafe in his own home.” He said, crossing his arms. “You eat all our food, you disrespect my parents’ belongings, you mock me and berate me before even knowing anything about me, and you try to make me leave my home before even bothering to tell me what this is about. Never had I been more offended by company, unwanted at that. I think you have overstayed your welcome-”

His rant was stopped by a sudden hand on his shoulder, trembling but firm. He turned back to the elf, who was glaring at him of all things! Bilbo blinked back the sudden shock and confusion, and he was suddenly being pushed towards the hallways.

“If you’ll excuse us, Master Dwarf, Master Wizard. I would like to have a word in private with this Hobbit.” Glírae said, bowing his head to both men as he shoved Bilbo rather forcefully into the hallways and into his seating room. “If I may see the contract? Please?”

Bilbo sputtered in disbelief, trying to say something in protest, but finding every word dying on his tongue. Glírae didn’t seem too bothered as he took the contract and dragged Bilbo’s smaller body. Nor did he seem bothered when he promptly deposited him into his father’s chair. With a firm look, he knelt across from him on the floor.

“Bilbo, you need to calm down, hon.” Glírae said, his tone now sweet, but strained. “Take a moment to breathe and think about this rationally.”

Bilbo sputtered once more, sitting up in his chair in defense.

“Me? Calm down? I believe I have a right to be upset and so do you! I know you might not be the best at defending yourself, but-”

Glírae shook his head and the words died once again.

“This isn’t about that, hon. Forget about me and them. I’ve been called worse and I’m alright. This is about you right now.”

Him?

He certainly didn’t think he’d done anything wrong that night. If anything, he was far too patient. He should have kicked them out the moment that his mother’s glory box was damaged. They were lucky to have been fed at all.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m not as bothered by them as you think I am.”

“They made you cry!”

Glírae rolled his eyes and smiled gently.

“Bilbo, everything makes me cry. I cry when noises get too loud or when I spill milk. You were there when I cried after tearing a hole in an old sheet. You’ve been there on my really bad nights. This is barely a scratch.”

“It still doesn’t make it right.” Bilbo argues, though the fire in his voice had dropped.

He shook his head in agreement.

“No, it doesn’t. But I was expecting it and I’ve gotten over it at this point. There’s nothing you can really do to change their opinion. I’m not too fond of them myself, if that helps.”

Bilbo huffed and leaned back in his chair, snorting at the confession. The old cushion hurt his back after so many years, causing him to shift but to no avail.

“Listen, hon. I think you should go.”

Bilbo sat up once again to protest, but Glírae put his hand up to stop him. Bilbo frowned, ready to rebuke any argument that was presented.

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. You’re depressed.”

Well.

That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

“I’m not sad!”

Glírae winced and shook his head once more.

“That’s not what depression is. While it can be sadness, most of the time, you just feel numb inside. No offense, my friend, but you’re not really living anymore. Everything we do is repetitive and dull and, while I enjoy living with you and would never trade our time together,I haven’t seen much fire in your life. I think this will be good for you. Haven’t you wanted to see what was out there instead of relying on maps?”

He had, though he hated to admit it.

Glírae showing up those 5 years ago had relit a fire in his chest that had died along with his parents, even though he stayed home then too. Something new that had shown up, with vastly different customs and experiences, terrible as they were, had made him feel more alive than he had ever felt. His new songs, recipes, skills and stories filled his heart with hope and wonder since then.

Not that he would ever admit it.

It was an absurd idea for a Hobbit, much less a respectable Baggins, to want what he had wanted. He had come to terms with that long ago and focused on burying himself in the lifestyle his father had led, and his mother had grown into. It was a lifestyle that earned his respect from his fellow Hobbits, which was far better than the disgusting pity that he received from them after his parents’ deaths.

Adventures were dangerous things to go on.

Everyone knew that. There was no safety in adventures, with their unpredictable twists and turns, perilous roads and even more terrible creatures that haunted the outside of their borders. His mother’s tales may have been fantastical to his child ears, but their aura of wonder was dead as far as he was concerned.

They were snuffed out in the cold of Fell Winter, torn by wolves that lived beyond the borders.

“Bilbo?” A gentle hand on his head brought him out of his memories.

Glírae smiled at him, though his concern was clear in his eyes. Bilbo leaned into his touch, placing a small hand on top of his.

“It’s alright to be afraid.” He said. “Heck, I’m basically scared of everything that moves and some things that don’t. But fear can’t ground you forever. Otherwise, you’ll end up like me and no one wants that.”

Bilbo snorted, to which Glírae giggled.

“Not to say being me is a bad thing, but I’d rather you take care of yourself better. This repetitive lifestyle isn’t good for you. You, sir, are in desperate need of a change of scenery.”

The elf ended his sentence by tapping him on the nose, causing the Hobbit to frown in mock offense. Glírae smiled brighter and tapped him again, laughing when Bilbo moved away. They moved to a comfortable silence, with Bilbo enjoying the calming presence of his roommate. Slowly, the tension caused by the Dwarves and Wizard was beginning to melt.

“I’ll read the contract.” Bilbo said at last. “I won’t guarantee that I’ll sign it, but I’ll read through it.”

Glírae beamed, perking up in a way that reminded Bilbo of Posco’s hound whenever he was excited or playful. He moved his hand from Bilbo’s head, crawling over to sit next to the chair to read the contract with him.

“On one condition, however. If, by some odd miracle, I agree to go on this quest, you will come with me.” Bilbo said, taking the parchment scroll from the floor. “I rather not leave you here alone to deal with these insufferable Hobbits. They will take advantage of you the moment I am gone. Not to mention, I know for a fact that you will start skipping meals again.”

Glírae had the decency to blush as he looked away.

“Now, let’s see here... ‘Present Company shall not be liable...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gandalf was worried as he was called into the room by the timid and beautiful elf. Bilbo was seated in an armchair, glaring at the contract with intensity and didn’t bother to spare a glance at him. It was rude, un-Bilbo like behavior, but he ignored it.

The elf bowed his head once more, then moved over to kneel at the foot of Bilbo’s armchair. A small flutter struck Gandalf’s chest, forcing him to swallow as his mouth suddenly went dry. There in the light of the fireplace and through the calmness of the room, Gandalf finally got a good look at the unexpected member of the house (not that he hadn’t been staring before).

By the Valar, he had never seen a being that fair, not in Arda nor in Valinor.

It was a beauty that rivaled any crafted gem, any flower grown, the lights that shone in the skies, and any life that had ever lived. Though he was thin, meek and dressed crudely compared to the Elf lords and ladies he had come to admire, it did little to shatter theglowing image.

The urge to admire him until the world ended burned in his chest.

The elf – Glírae – gestured for him to come over to them, and Gandalf found his feet moving as if he were in a trance. He had no idea why he was suddenly compelled to be near this impossible beautiful creature, but his eyes were locked on him as if nothing else mattered.

Nothing else mattered-

“I have various questions about this contract, Gandalf.”

Like glass shattering, the fuzziness in head broke away and he was snapped back into reality. He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the elf and to the Hobbit in the chair. The trance-like glow was gone, leaving only a faint buzzing in his ears, which he chose to ignore.

Something strange had just occurred. Something he would have to investigate later.

“Yes, dear Bilbo?” He asked, not daring to look too closely, lest he catch another look at Glírae.

“Lacerations, eviscerations, and incineration? What type of quest are you going on that you need these terms?” Bilbo asked, his voice squeaking at the end the farther he read. “Dragon slaying?”

“Precisely.” Gandalf said, smiling broadly as he shook off the last bit of fuzz. “The kingdom of Erebor must be reclaimed from the dragon Smaug, which is the goal of this Company. To do that, we need a burglar, for which I have chosen you for.”

Bilbo frowned, scanning the contract again as if the words were going to magically change.

“Me? A burglar? I have never stolen a thing in my life! I’m not prepared on such short notice, not to mention that you failed to inform me of the danger of this quest! I could very well die, and so can Glírae!”

It took all his willpower not to look at the elf again.

“Life is too short to worry about death, Master Baggins. If you spend your life worrying about such a simple thing, it will fly right by you.”

He expected a rebuttal, and prepared for it even, but was surprised when all Bilbo did was sigh and bury his head into his hand.

“I know nothing of the outside world. I know not how to fight or fend for myself. The Dwarves hold a hatred for my companion, and I hardly have my affairs in order.” Bilbo argued, but with his eyes to the fireplace.

“All of which, can be fixed or attended to. They will gladly teach you how to fight, which you may not have to do if things go smoothly. Letters can be sent, and I can deliver them to the Thain for you tonight or in the morning. Heaven knows he will not deny my requests. The Dwarves may be rough with your friend, but I’ll be there to make sure they do not lay a hand on him. And the best way to learn about the outside world is to explore it yourself. Your mother certainly did.”

Bilbo gripped his armchair at the mention of his mother, but Gandalf saw no fury left in him.

Perhaps there was still hope yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo was starting to crack.

“The decision is yours, Bilbo Baggins.” Gandalf said.

This was certainly not how I expected his night to go. Hopefully I haven’t changed the plot too much.

I got up, leaving them to talk a bit more and made my way into the kitchen. The Dwarves didn’t say anything to me, only glared or looked at me with curiosity (though those were only Ori, Fili and Kili).

I pushed into the cleaned kitchen, pulling out the kettle and leaf bags from the hidden drawers. After filling it with clean water from our sealed clay tank, I lit the stove to make Bilbo’s favorite tea.

The short bastard looked like he needed it.

It didn’t take long to boil, not too hot so he could drink it immediately, and pour it into his favorite mug. He liked his tea with a splash of milk and honey yet avoided the sugar because he’s a loser. But he was my loser, and I wasn’t about to judge his gross tastes in drinks.

I debated pouring a cup for myself but decided that it wasn’t worth his tea getting cold while I searched for sugar. I could always make myself a cup later.

Walking back to the study was easier, now that the Dwarves had moved to another part to discuss something. I entered again, handing the cup of tea to a frazzled Bilbo and kneeling back down to my designated spot. Bilbo nodded in thanks, nearly inhaling the hot blend.

“I’ll make a decision. Just let me sit quietly for a moment.” Bilbo said, cradling his mug.

“You've been sitting quietly for far too long!” Gandalf retorted sharply. “Tell me. When did doilies and your mother’s dishes become so important to you?”

Ok bro, chill.

Grief does some weird things to people and Bilbo copes by maintaining their things. Sure, it’s unhealthy, but at least he’s not an alcoholic like most of my family. Not the most harmful coping mechanism.

“I remember a young Hobbit who was always running off in search of Elves in the woods.”

“What?”

Oh yeah. I forgot Bilbo did that as a kid.

I keep forgetting that I’m the only Elf most of these Hobbit have ever seen. Plus, I keep forgetting that I’m also an Elf until something or someone reminds me. I guess I’m the reason most of the Faunts don’t run off into the woods anymore, since they see me on a daily basis.

Bilbo sat up, nearly spilling the tea, suddenly embarrassed while gesturing Gandalf to shut up.

“Bilbo Baggins, you never told me about that.” I cracked a small smile, my voice rising in fake awe. “A little Bilbo playing in the mud and leaves to look for me? I simply can’t imagine you dragging dirt everywhere.”

“Be quiet! I was young and... and...” He stuttered out.

I laughedat his face. He was turning red, and I could practically see the wheels in his head turning while he tried to come up with an explanation. Even Gandalf looked slightly amused by the sudden break in tension.

“Well, Mr. Baggins.” I placed my hand on my chest and leaned a bit in a dramatic pose. “Was I all you dreamed of? Am I the standard of what you pictured of the Firstborn? Do I live up to your expectations of beauty and grace?”

I was about to break into another fit of laughter but was interrupted by the object of my ridicule.

“Alas, dear Glírae, though I cannot deny your beauty, I would have thought they’d be taller, stronger and much more graceful than what I received. At the very least, they’d be smart enough not to burn their hand on the stove by forgetting their oven mitts.”

Gasp!

How dare this bitch bring up last week?!

“Really? I suddenly seem to remember a certain Hobbit getting into a fight with a tween over a lily, which he lost when he got kicked in the shins and pushed into the dirt. Guess Hobbits aren’t very graceful either.” I said, narrowing my eyes playfully.

Bilbo bristled, taking one last sip of his tea and setting his mug down on the floor.

“Yes, but Hobbits tend to not slip and fall down a hill after tripping over a picnic basket. That they themselves set down.”

“No fair! It was one time!” I snapped, flicking him on the forehead.

He yelped, flicking me back across the nose. I made an embarrassing squeak, holding my now sore nose.

It actually stung that time, bitch!

“One time too many!”

I’m going to beat the f*ck out of this Hobbit.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

You know, I should really care about how much hatred this Company seems to have for me, but I really don’t. Unlike most people, I don’t really have much of an attachment to any of them. Thorin never interested me, nor did I find him hot, and he honestly annoyed me more than anything when watching the movie.

I might be the asshole, but I just didn’t see how his trauma excused being overall rude and aggressive towards my sweet and caring Bilbo. Great king he may be, but a high status doesn’t give you a right to be a sh*tty person. All he’s going to do is insult Bilbo’s worth and make his life miserable, just because dark and brooding is his personality at this point. It makes me mad to think that Bilbo has to tackle a f*cking Orc to get this man child to start treating him like a person.

That goes for the dwarves in general as well.

Their hatred of Elves is going to make life harder for Bilbo, yet I doubt that I’ll be able to win over centuries of hatred. They hate me for the sole crime of existing near them and I’ve been through that too many times to care. Besides, it’s not my responsibility to fix the feud between the races, so I’m not even going to bother on that one.

I had zero to no interest in making the Dwarves like me any more than needed. My only interest was Bilbo and his comfort on this quest, and if it meant that I’d become a glorified pack mule, then so be it. I didn’t really care how impractical some of the items that I shoved in Bilbo’s pack were. He was going to miss these small comforts, so I’m bringing them with us.

He was unprepared in the original timeline, but not today.

His handkerchiefs, a few extra sets of clothes (mostly underwear since I refuse to let him wear the same pair for 15 months), some snacks, hairbrushes, a bar or two of soap, a blanket and a raincoat were just some of the items I managed to squeeze into our largest traveling pack. I also brought along a decent sized purse full of money, just in case of emergencies.

My pack was less impressive.

Similarly, I brought along clothes and blankets and most essentials, along with a small pillow. Water skins were at the top, which I’ll fill in the morning. A first aid kit was sitting at the bottom, though this was mostly for me since I didn’t have much hope of this Company helping me if I were to get injured on the road. In the spare room I had, I brought along my charcoal pencils, three blank sketchbooks and my currently full one (just so I can have something to look through), some ink and quills, and some loose sheets of paper.

Something to keep me occupied while they inevitably ignored my presence.

Thinking about it one more time, I snuck back into the kitchen to grab a box of Bilbo’s favorite spices, along with one of Bilbo’s favorite books from his father’s study. Comfort food does wonders for the soul, as does entertainment.

I shoved both packs near the door of my room. Thankfully, neither were heavy. Small Hobbits mean small things, which means less weight. Thank you for being so damn tiny, you curly haired bastard.

Ok, now for the most important part. Making sure that our house doesn’t get robbed by Bilbo’s family.

I sat down on my bed, using one of my spare sketchbooks as a surface, and began to pen a letter to my only other ally.

“Dear Parsley,

Due to unforeseen circ*mstances, I will be leaving the Shire temporarily. I’ll be taking Bilbo with me, since that man needs to see the world before his old bones kick the bucket, which I fear may be soon with how much his knees crackle when they walk. I’ll try to bring you back something from my travels. Perhaps some fabric?

Anyways, please make sure that no one tries to rob us while we are gone. I wouldn’t put it past some of these Hobbits to pretend we’re dead so they can steal Bilbo’s furniture. We should only be gone for about 2 years, give or take. I’m not sure how long that will feel for a Hobbit, so I apologize in advance.

Make sure Thyme and Hilde keep up with the Spanish lessons. I left the books in my drawers, so feel free to come in and grab them. I’m serious about beating him with a loaf of bread if he can’t answer me when I get back.

Yours truly,

Glírae (insert heart here) ”

There. I’ll get Gandalf to drop this off in the morning with Bilbo’s letters.

Now, time for bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo had gone mad.

It was the only explanation as to why he had signed that cursed contract under Gandalf’s watchful eye. That Wizard had surely put him under a spell, no doubt! That flutter in his chest was merely an after effect from it! He was not excited at the thought of a journey outside the Shire, but a victim in the manipulations of an old meddler!

Penning letters of notice to the Thain and his relatives, gathering his things only to find them already packed, and ignoring the Dwarves as they tried to welcome him (he was still very angry at them, even if their sudden jolly attitude made it easier to relax) flew right by him. Everything came right after the other, and the stress of it all was almost enough to make him want to take a page out of the elf's book and start crying.

The dwarves singing that surprisingly depressing song did nothing but make him grow more irritated. As beautiful as their voices were, he would always prefer the other voice in the house. At the very least, they cleaned up after themselves, so that was one less thing for him to do.

Before he knew it, it was nearly midnight, and he was very tired. He swayed where he stood, his eyes burning and with the urge to simply pass out until next week.

Glírae had gone to bed already, with an offering to share their room that night. Bilbo gladly took up on that offer, after instructing the Dwarves on where they could sleep and what rooms they were to avoid. Not that it did him any good, as they simply laid wherever they pleased without one regard for him! Their grumpy King walked right past him into his last spare room, along with four others, and took the bed without a word. The rest were scattered in chairs, sofas and one on the floor by the fireplace. They had also taken it upon themselves to use Bilbo's blankets without asking, yet he was so tired he had forgotten to be offended.

Truly, he was done for the night.

He huffed, waving goodnight to Gandalf, who was already on his way out to deliver the letters, and marched his way over to the only person he could stand at the moment. The elf was sitting on the bed, still awake with a candle on his dresser, waiting for Bilbo. The sight made him smile and he took a deep breath to let his anger go before stepping inside, shutting the door behind him.

Glírae didn’t say anything when he walked into the dim room, only scooted over to let Bilbo onto the bed. He practically bounced into his friend's warm embrace, trying not to cry tears of frustration and anger. Glírae turned off the candle and the darkness in the room was a relief to his burning eyes and growing headache.

“Want me to sing to you?” Glírae asked, gently rubbing circles on his back.

Bilbo nodded and buried himself further into the warmth. Glírae held him tighter, though he was as gentle as always.

“ A dream is a wish your heart makes...”

The song lulled Bilbo into the deepest sleep of his life.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Kili was in love, and he had no idea what to do about it.

His heart was stolen away by the Elf that lived in Mr. Boggin’s home. He was tall, thin and fair, nothing like the Dams back home that had fought for his attention that he could never seem to muster.

Ha had always known that he wasn’t very fond of what was expected of him to like. He was had never liked the broad shoulders, or the sturdy figures, or even the braided beards of Dwarven men and women (a true scandal if it were to ever get out). His mother had told him not to worry, that he was young and would grow into attraction once his majority was reached. Yet, it never did even when he reached an age suitable for marriage.

He was beginning to think there was something very wrong with him.

He had longed for a connection and had feelings of desire, yet attraction was beyond his reach. At least, it was until he had seen the holy creature of light in a very unlikely place.

The elf was terribly frightened and very timid, soft in all ways that Dwarves were not. He was unlike Dwarrow or Dams, who were more often than not crude and brash and loud, and instead docile and mild and lamblike. Everything about him, from his features to his mannerisms to his voice was soft and sweet. A being that soft would never survive in the wild or in hard labor.

He would need someone to protect him and care for him.

Kili knew he would be able to. As a Prince of a future prosperous kingdom, he would be able to give him the life of comfort and luxury that he would deserve. He would want for nothing and would never see a day of work, minus his chosen craft. They would live their lives in peace and passion and bliss, even if he had to knock the few heads he knew would oppose.

The grip of fear in his heart at the very thought of wanting an Elf, something his uncle would surely forbid and rage about, did little to stop it from fluttering and compressing. His loss of breath went unnoticed by everyone, though his brother did give him a look.

When his love had cowered away from their hateful looks, a part of Kili wanted to take him into his arms and comfort him until his tears had vanished. When his uncle had insulted him, Kili had been surprised to feel a surge of protective anger encase his heart and cause his fists to curl.

Had he really been close to clocking his uncle?

He didn’t take his eyes off of the Elf, even though the private conversation he was having with the Halfling he had honestly forgotten was there. He blinked at the sudden spike of hot jealousy when the Elf touched their burglar.

How close was he to his beauty to be so free with contact? He didn’t want to fight another for his heart, and they didn’t seem to be romantically involved, yet part of him burned at the thought of another touching him. Jealousy turned to more rage when the Elf flinched back from him, as if he feared being struck.

“We will stay the night.” His uncle’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Give the burglar the contract. We’ll have to put up with the sprite for the journey if we wish to reclaim our homeland.”

Kili’s heart leapt for joy.

He had made up his mind at that moment.

The Dragon would be dead by the end of this quest.

He would stop at nothing.

He would do anything to be able to court that Elf.

Just as he pulled himself from his fantasies and looked from his uncle to his newfound reason for living, their burglar began screaming and he was suddenly led out by his precious diamond.

He tried not to look crushed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are you angry?” Fili had asked later that night, after pulling his brother from the room with the excuse of going to the bathroom. “You have been off all night.”

Kili made sure the door was fully shut and that no one was near before answering.

“I am in love with the Elf.” His brother said, plain and simple.

“You are not.” Filianswered almost immediately. “You cannot be. You haven’t spoken a word to him and has yet to look at you.”

Kili grimaced and looked away.

“I felt it in my soul. There was a connection that I have never felt before, either in Dwarrow or Dam. When I first laid eyes on him, I felt whole. Complete. Never before has something stirred my heart so...”

Fili rolled his eyes and was unimpressed.

“That’s called lust and is normal. There’s a very easy way to get rid of that.”

Fili watched the heat rise to Kili’s face.

“I am not lusting! This is love and I know that I feel it. While the thought of lying with him is very present, I don’t wish for a simple night in bed. I wish to court him, Fili. I wish to make love to him, not just f*ck. I wish to make him mine.”

“And you’re angry because...?”

Kili paused for a few moments, suddenly very shameful.

“I am jealous.” He nearly whispered. “He invited the burglar to share his room with him and I cannot bear it. I wish it were me he sought after tonight. Even though I’m aware that it’s simply to give us more room, the idea of him sharing a bed with another shreds my heart.”

Fili placed a hand on Kili’s shoulders, squeezing him tight.

“Uncle will never approve, and I doubt that the Elf would either. They’re much too prideful to look at simple dwarves like us, much less pursue marriage. Once you talk to him and see that he’s as arrogant as the rest of his kin, that ‘love’ will die out.” Fili said, firm but gentle. “No more of this. Let’s go back to bed.”

Kili made no sound of protest as he was led back the way they came from. His uncle and Dwalin were still fast asleep and remained as such even as they climbed in next to them. Fili patted his brother’s shoulder once more, turning around and wrapping the blankets over them.

In the dark of the night, he tried not to think about how he too began to burn at the thought of the Elf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thorin awoke enraged that morning.

He was fuming as he began to dress again, barking at his Company to hurry with breakfast and to gather their things. It was dawn outside, with barely enough light to travel through, but Thorin had decided to go outside anyways until he calmed himself. It took close to an hour, along with various branches broken in his hands and under his feet, for him to settle himself enough to return inside.

He almost lost it again when he saw the very thing that had driven him into such a rage, blinking innocently at him with those doe-like eyes of his. It was a test of pure willpower to not go and knock him to the ground or against the wall.

Thorin shuddered as he remembered the nightmare.

In the haze of a soft white bed surrounded by a mess of crumpled sheets, Thorin had never felt this type of pleasure. The being underneath him writhed and squirmed at his touch, moving along to his motions in a desperate attempt to increase the friction between them. He was flushed and heated and sporting beautiful marks across his skin, from his kiss-stained lips to sucked on neck.

His skin was the softest thing he had ever felt, so smooth and warm as he ran his calloused hands over it. Everything was soft, from his lips to his hair to his chest and his most intimate areas. The skin on his thighs was particularly wonderful and he let himself indulge in it as he squeezed and parted them open.

“Please.”

His voice made Thorin shiver. It was soft and musical, like all elves, yet it shook and whimpered in a way that he knew no other would get to hear. These noises were only for him.

Just for him.

He was his. The pinnacle of beauty and grace was the greatest thing he could ever have, his to make scream and shudder while he indulged in everything he could offer. It was only he who could make the elf whose name he had yet to learn submit like this.

“Please.”

His voice dripping with need, the elf rose while pulling on the irritating fabric that kept them separated. He needed him and Thorin wasn’t going to deny him.

He needed him.

He wanted him.

Thorin wanted him.

Thorin wanted-

He had woken up hot and hard and in a cold sweat. Dwalin had nearly taken the brunt of his initial anger, had it not been for Thorin gaining enough sense to run to douse his face in the cold water the halfling left in the bathroom.

Seeing him once again, dressed in ridiculous halfling clothing and with a large pack on his back, was a mine of salt in the wounds of his mind. The biggest insult, however, was the stir of his stomach at his sight and the intrusive, horrible thought of how soft those lips of his felt.

He could barely stomach his eggs and ham.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, um...

Things were really awkward at breakfast.

We ate the last of the food in the pantry, after taking a bit to pack the rest of the non-perishables into what little space we had left. Breakfast consisted of mostly eggs and meats, which I helped Bombur prepare (even though he kept giving me the stick eye every time I did anything). Everyone was still ignoring me, but it was different now.

I didn’t like it.

Instead of glaring at me or making side comments or even kicking me out of chairs like I thought they would, each one was avoiding my gaze. Not a single one would look me in the eye and shuffled away the moment I stepped close to them.

Nori had turned an interesting shade of red when I bumped into him by mistake and had run for the hills to hide behind his brother. Not that Dori was any better, as he turned away from me too to stare at our wall.

Weird.

Bilbo had noticed it too. We gave each other confused looks every time one of them sputtered away or ran into furniture.

Bofur had tripped over a chair so hard trying to look up that he twisted himself into the legs, all because I bent down to get a spoon he dropped.

I handed Ori a napkin and had to watch the boy open and close his mouth like a fish when I accidentally brushed his hand.

Even Gloin was acting weird. I handed him a plate and it dropped right out of his hands (thankfully it was a wooden one). That wouldn’t have been so bad, but that man didn’t react in the slightest and was frozen with his hand still grasping at air.

What the f*ck is going on?

They’re acting like they had a wet dream about me or something.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

I forced Bilbo to wash the dishes while I dried and put stuff away. The Dwarves weren’t as helpful as they were last night, as they were all still in La-La Land and too busy staring at me like I was going to sprout wings and start Salsa dancing.

Seriously, what is up with them? I know they don’t like Elves, but do they have to stare at me? It’s getting creepy.

Gandalf came back not too long after wecleaned breakfast up. If he noticed the awkwardness in the room, he didn’t show it or comment about it. He just walked in, stuffed a handful of scones into the pockets of his robes, and poured himself the last of the steamed milk.

Rude as f*ck. I was going to drink that.

“The letters have been delivered and I have taken the liberty to allow the Gamgees to be named temporary guardians while you are gone.” He said, feeling no shame as he sat down in the largest chair.

Rude as f*ck. I was going to sit there.

“However, as we have acquired one extra member, we’ll need an additional horse. I don’t think a pony will be enough, given the height of Glíraehere. Meaning, we shall have to make a stop by Bree for it and extra supplies.” He said, propping his feet up on the chair Bofur knocked down.

Rude as f*ck! At least pick it up before using it!

He then turned to me with a weird look on his face. He looked at me up and down, as if studying me.

“It would be beneficial for you to gather some better fitting clothing as well.”

Uh, bitch?

What’s wrong with my clothes? I think they’re neat and they fit really well. Say what you will about how I look, but I will not tolerate Parsley slander in this household! She worked her ass off to make me these and I’ll fight you before you take them from me!

“My clothes?”

Gandalf nodded as if it were obvious.

“It’s best not to draw too much attention to ourselves, and with your clothing, they will be the first thing to stick out. Elves and Men don’t dress in that manner, and you’ll rarely find them without a few more layers of fabric. It’d be for the best if we get you in some proper garments.”

You want me to wear some heavy ass fabric right as summer is going to start? You want me to perish is what I’m hearing. That’s a big no. I don’t do heavy fabric, even during the damn winter. Just ask and Bilbo will tell you how he has to tackle and wrestle a coat onto me while it’s snowing.

Look my guy, I don’t actually like how Elves dress and I’d would rather eat my own boots before I let you stuff me in an ugly tunic.

I am built for cottage core, not high fantasy lords, ladies and jewelry bullsh*t. Leave that stuff to my sister.

“Of course, finding Elven garments will be almost impossible in Bree, so we’ll have to settle for some Manish clothing in a similar style. We’ll buy you some boots suited for the road. Your hair can be worked with, and we can cover your other features with a cloak if need be.”

My what?

“Now come along. We’re burning daylight as it is. The ponies are at the stables near the Green Dragon and I doubt they’d want to hold onto them for long.”

Wait, at least wash your dishes, old man!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo was taking to this surprisingly well. Or at least, better than I had expected a middle aged, grumpy stick-up-the-ass havingHobbit like him to fare. I was proud of this little guy. Even his panic attack when he was shoved onto his pony wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.

It took four days to get to Bree.

Four days of pure walking, though only for me really.

I was the only one without a pony and no one wanted to share (well, Bilbo did but I wasn’t going to put that strain on Myrtle). Not that I was expecting them to, so I followed along at Bilbo’s side like a shadow. His pony seemed to like me at least, though it was probably the apple I snuck to her when no one was looking.

People never mention just how much of these journeys are just walking in silence or in your own little conversations. I spent most of my time towards the back of the group with Bilbo, talking as normal or bickering about random stuff.

We had a very interesting conversation about the relationship between his cousins and whether or not they would marry anytime soon.

By the end of the first day (after close to 14 hours of walking), as we rolled out sleeping bags out, my feet burned so bad they were vibrating. I collapsed onto the floor, ready to eat whatever Bombur was starting to cook and pass out.

But I was content with Bilbo sitting there with me, even if the bastard was nagging at me.

“You should have let me buy you those new shoes last month. These are going to fall apart by the time we get to Bree.” He said, like a nag.

I rolled my eyes, not even looking at him as I doodled an anime girl in my sketchbook. The shoes in question were on mybag and were indeed looking a little rough.

“I told you, I don’t like it when you spend money on me. It makes me feel gross.”

Bilbo huffed and shifted uncomfortably. He cursed softly as he reached around and pulled a random twig out from under his sleeping bag.

“Your feet will certainly feel worse once we get to Bree, if they don’t fall apart before then!”

I raised an eyebrow.

“My feet will fall apart?”

The bastard smacked my arm, nearly causing me to smear the charcoal, and laid back down on the ground, right onto a small rock by his head. I’ll pretend I didn’t see his eye twitch.

“Oh, you know I meant your shoes!”

Do you see what I have to live with?

Dinner was brought to us soon after by Kili. It was surprising that I got the same amount as everyone else, seeing as they really hated me. I was half expecting to just get the leftovers or not as much, so it was a pleasant surprise.

Guess I wasn’t as hated as I thought. Though Kili did kind of just shove the bowl of stew into my arms and ran away when we accidentally brushed his arm. It seems he really does hate me after all.

Oh well. Not my problem. At least the food is decent.

“Elf!”

I looked up from my half empty bowl, the spoon still in my mouth,to see Thorin glaring at me from the other side of the camp, holding everyone’s dirty silverware and plates. He set them down in a pile and threw a rag on top of them.

“Since you decided to join our Company, you will be responsible for putting in the labor needed. You’ll clean and do menial work in exchange for eating our food, sharing our fire, and having our protection. If you have any objections, the Shire is close enough to walk back. Now finish that quickly and get to work.”

And boy, when I tell you that I had to restrain Bilbo from actually jumping the King. I had to hold that bitch down on his bedroll to stop him from ripping Thorin’s balls off or saying something he would regret later.

Thankfully, Gandalf and the Dwarves ignored me pinning the Hobbit down as he clawed for their King.

“Bilbo, calm down! It’s fine!” I said, pushing his head firmly against the ground.

“You’re not a servant! They cannot order you around like that! You owe them nothing!” He said, calmer but still hot with rage.

I let him up, though I kept my hand on his shoulder just in case he went for Thorin again.

“I know that, but he has a point. Everyone else pulls their weight, so I have to too. Cleaning isn’t going to kill me.” I said. “It’s not like they’re asking much. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Bilbo huffed and stood up, grabbing his own empty bowl.

“Of course, it won’t take you long. I’m helping you with it. If you pull your weight, so will I. We’re under the same contract, so we do the same work, my friend. Now eat so we can start and go to bed.”

I chuckled and chugged the rest of the stew. Thorin couldn’t even get a word of protest without Bilbo going on a tangent, now complete with some very creative insults and a threat to the Dwarf’s family jewels. In the end, he gave up and just let us clean their bowls in peace.

The next three days were the same as the first. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn, excessive walking that turned my legs into jelly, eating throughout the day, cleaning up after the Dwarves, more walking, then more eating, cleaning, and finally bed.

Rinse and repeat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time we got to the gates of Bree, I was already over this mess.

We were all tired and ready for a chance to sleep in a real bed at an Inn, so being stopped by Gandalf and pulled aside was annoying and just plain rude.

“Now, before we go in, we need to establish some rules.” He said, his voice grave and serious.

Uh huh. Yeah sure, man. Whatever you say, as long as it gets me a bed at the end. And some food that isn’t stew.

“Speak to no one about the reason you are here and keep all answers to a minimum. You never know who might be listening. Stay together and don’t stray too far. As for some of you, take it light on the ale. Loose tongues are not good for a mission that requires stealth or care such as this one.:

Thorin nodded and urged him to continue forward.

However, just as we were going to, Gandalf put his hand up to stop me. I froze, tensing as he put a hand on my shoulder.

Bad touch. Bad touch. Bad touch! Please, don’t touch me!

Bilbo stopped beside me, placing a hand on my wrist to calm me down while glaring daggers at Gandalf. The wizard ignored him, staring deep into my eyes with a grim face.

“Glírae, this is important for you especially. The Men of Bree are honorable folk, but even they can fall victims to beauty and charms. You possess both as an Elf and will no doubt receive much attention while you are in there. Whatever you do, do not feed into it. Do not accept gifts, start conversations, or take compliments. In order to stay safe, stay as close to us as possible or stay in your room until we come to get you. I suggest sleeping with a knife under your pillow tonight, just in case.”

Well, that’s certainly not creepy or weird. He’s making a big deal of the possibility of me getting hit on. I mean, I guess it would be really bad for us, but I doubt I’d get as much attention as he thinks I would. Sure, I’m pretty in this form, but I’m not all that interesting once I start speaking.

I nodded, moving my shoulder to shake his hand off but he remained firm.

“Good. Stay as close to me as possible. Bilbo, you’ll be in the same room with us tonight.”

With that, he turned around and walked off. Bilbo and I gave each other looks, mine in confusion and his in concern, as we followed along.

I wonder what that was about.

A few cheers rang out through the company as the gates of Bree came into view. I almost joined them but was too tired to do much more than stumble towards it.

I almost cried in relief when Gandalf announced our arrival, knocking on the door to be let in, even if it was past midnight when we got there.

“We’re on our way to the Prancing Pony. We’re just a simple band of merchants traveling on the road seeking shelter for the night.” He lied shamelessly to the doorman.

A real bed, here I come.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Bree was creepier in real life than in the movies. The people walking the streets were looking a little sus as they inspected our group, though they all stayed away from us. They were looking at me in particular and they weren’t very subtle about it. Even the passing sheep were looking at me.

I’m going to pretend it’s just the fact that my white hair made it easier to see me in the dark.

The Inn was farther away than what the movie portrayed. Peter Jackson was a damn liar for making you think they only had to walk like 10 minutes. Walking to the inn took nearly an hour since we had to cut through their agricultural land and some residential homes. My shoes were practically melted to my feet with the heat of walking so much by the time we made it to the busy Inn.

It was past midnight, closer to 1am if my internal clock is accurate, and I was ready to collapse and use Bilbo as a teddy bear until someone pried my body from the bed. With a spatula since I’m not getting up unless they drag me.

Walking in was a blast of noise, warmth and the bitter smell of alcohol. I flinched, shoving my hand over my nose and holding my breath. The sudden screams and drunken rambles made my ears ring and the warmth, which was closer to sweat and steam than to anything pleasant, made my skin start to crawl. Goosebumps shot up my back at the sound of men heaving on the ground or burping in each other’s faces.

f*ck, this wasn’t at all like what people think taverns would be like. This place reeks of men and manly things, like not bathing and starting fights.f*ck you, fantasy nerds and your idealization of everything.

Gandalf walked up to the front desk and the sweatiest man was there to greet him like an old friend. He was large, round and his clothes were stained with days’ worth of working in a kitchen. He was red and flushed from running around, though his smile was bright and cheery, and he went in for a hug (to Gandalf’s immediate repulsion).

Must be the owner.

“Barney Butterbur!”

“Hello again, Gandalf!”

I let them have their little moment and reached down to grab Bilbo’s arm. He placed his free hand on my arm and squeezed, moving closer to me and away from the blast of noise. It must have been as gross to him as it was to me, though he didn’t bother to hide his displeasure like I did.

“Rooms for all of ya? Well, I have extra rooms available, though there might be a bit of a squeeze to get you all in. Some might have to take our smaller rooms or share some beds, if that’s alright.” The man began to write down the numbers into his notebook.

“How many are staying the night?” He asked and began to count everyone off.

“13 Dwarves, 1 Hobbit and 1 Elf. Though the Hobbit and the Elf are rooming with me tonight. It’s quite alright if you give us a single bed for that one.” Gandalf said.

A single? Uh, no offense, my guy, but I’m only comfortable sharing a bed with Bilbo. I have no shame in making you sleep on the floor tonight if we end up in a single. Old bones and crackling joints be damned. I will throw hands for that bed and I will have no regrets in punching you.

The owner nodded and looked up, then froze completely. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, his face flushed even harder than it was before, and he dropped his quill. Is... Is he drooling? I saw his eyes glaze over and quickly glanced behind me to see if anyone else was coming in.

Nothing.

The door was still closed, and we were the last ones in. I looked down at Bilbo, who was also looking back in confusion. I wonder what he saw to give him such a-

Wait. Wait a f*cking minute. No. Don’t tell me.

Is this motherf*cker staring at me? Oh no, he is! You gotta be f*cking kidding me. What in the f*cking fanfiction cliché is happening? Did I just charm a man by simply being an elf? Is this how Men react to seeing Elves in this universe?

Damn, that’s going to be annoying to deal with.

“Um...hello?” I said, giving him a halfhearted wave.

The man blushed harder, closing his mouth to swallow. He shook his head in greeting and bent down to pick up his quill.

I looked around the Company to see the Dwarves looking annoyed and exasperated, with some glaring at me like I did something. Rude as f*ck. You think I enjoy being ogled, you judgmental bitches?

Gandalf cleared his throat and stepped in front of me.

“How many rooms would that be?”

The owner blinked rapidly and shook his head, focusing back on Gandalf. The blush was still on his face, but his eyes were cleared up now that he was focusing on Gandalf’s old man face instead of mine.

“Yes, um...I have 10 rooms left for the night. 3 of them are smaller rooms, meant for visiting Hobbits, so the beds are a bit on the small side for Dwarves. Do you still want those or just the bigger ones?”

“We’ll take the bigger rooms and split them amongst us.” Thorin said before Gandalf could answer. “How much would it be for the rooms and supper for everyone?”

The owner listed the prices for the rooms individually and everyone lines up to pay for their share. They split the rooms amongst each other, with family members rooming with each other and leaving one room for us (which I made sure was a double). Gandalf brought no money at all, and I ended up paying for his share of the room and his dinner, along with the last two stays that he never paid for (Apparently, he had snuck out the window last time just as they came to collect his bill).

This freeloading son of a bitch owes me money now. Damn these Wizards. Thank God I had the sense to bring a pouch of money for me as well.

I’ll pretend I didn’t see the way the owner’s hands shook as I thanked him and handed him the coins, nor the way his server girl ran into the counter trying to get a look at me.

Have these people ever seen an Elf before? Probably not, by their reactions.

Great. This is going to be a fun night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo knew that Glírae was probably the most beautiful thing to have ever walked in the Shire, but the reaction he was getting from the folk of Bree was extreme. While he was known to turn heads in the Shire whenever he went somewhere, it was mostly out of curiosity or simply being new, and even that had stopped after a year or two.

After all, weren’t all Elves fair like he was?

In this very dirty pub, however, conversations stopped dead and heads were snapped at him so hard Bilbo was sure he heard some cracks. His friend gripped his arm just a bit tighter, pulling him along to a table far in the back where they would be out of the way. It didn’t help, as the men’s eyes followed them to it.

All around them, men were stopping their conversations to gaze and stare at his companion. Their eyes were hungry and cloudy with emotions that made Bilbo shudder in disgust. Faces were turning flushed, and he was sure alcohol wasn’t the reason this time. The boy sitting nearest to them even choked on his bread when Glírae apologized for bumping into his chair.

They had barely sat down before the barmaid had rushed over to them, food hot and messy in her hands, and set the plates down while fluttering her eyelashes and swinging her hips. She had even stroked his shoulder with a promise of sneaking him a refill on soup should he still be hungry.It was a pathetic attempt at seduction and thankfully Glírae seemed none the wiser to it, simply pushing her hand off and insisting he was fine.

She had left red in the face, holding the hand he had touched to her chest while giggling giddily to the kitchens.

“It seems the Elf has some admirers.” The dwarf Dwalin had muttered into his soup, which broke the tension of the room as people scrambled to look away or to call for the maids to come serve them.

“Does that happen often?” Bilbo asked his friend, who was shrinking away and pushing his bread around his soup.

Glírae was uncomfortable and scared, which answered his question. The elf shook his head, shoving the bread into his mouthand chewing quickly. Bilbo understood the message and scrambled to clean his plate. The sooner they were in bed, the better for his friend.

He had barely gone through three spoonfuls of the thick soup when a barmaid had stopped at the table. In her arms were many drinks of ale, some small half pints while some full glasses the size of a Big Person’s head.

“We didn’t order any-” Thorin started but was cut off by her placing down each mug in front of Glírae.

The Elf looked horrified as the alcohol was placed in front of him, flinching as each cup was set down. Another maid had come halfway through, also carrying multiple mugs to set down. In the end, Bilbo counted 24 mugs of ale and various other liquor.

“From our patrons who wished to buy you drinks.” The first maid, an older woman with a kind smile, said as she gestured to the staring men. “A few have messages attached, but there were so many I have forgotten them, or they were far too distasteful to say out loud.”

She nodded to him, then bent down to whisper. Bilbo felt his heart drop to his stomach as he registered her words.

“I have added nothing to them, though two men have requested that I did. I’m having the barkeep watch over them just in case they try anything, but I would not let these out of your sight. Lock your doors, Master Elf. These halls are not safe for you tonight.”

With that, she walked away.

Bilbo suddenly felt sick as the Dwarves and Gandalf began to help themselves to the free beer. The sickness only increased when he saw that Glírae didn’t even look surprised at her words and continued to eat.

They would need to have a talk soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m not too shocked that someone tried to drug me.

Wouldn’t be the first time I had to watch my drink when going out or had some weirdos try to follow me home. I basically had it beaten into me not to accept drinks from strangers or leave my own drink unattended. I don’t drink anyways, so it wasn’t a problem for me.

I grew up as a tiny woman in the US in a crime filled area, surrounded by bars and a wet campus. Drunken men were common enough in my life that I learned how to not show fear around them. The only difference here is that I have 14 male companions with me, so I wasn’t as worried as I would have been back home.

Gandalf may be an annoying Maia trapped as an old geezer, but he was still powerful enough to overpower one drunk man. I’m not leaving his sight tonight, so I was fine. I’m going to bed soon, so this whole drunk fest wasn’t going to affect me after this.

I just need to finish this food and leave.

“So, you’re an Elf.” A voice slurred out and a drunk man, a boy really, plopped himself right on our table.

He was young, younger than 20 at least, with blond hair that was far too neat for how far gone he was. He was a farmer’s kid, from the looks of his clothes and the dirt under his fingernails, as well as the tan on his skin. He wasn’t ugly per se, but I always found drunk men to be hard to look at. They were even grosser to smell, and he reeked of ale.

Something about him wasn’t right.

“Um...yes. I am. Can I help you?”

He smiled, placing his cheek on his hand to be seductive, but slipped and righted himself back up in shock.

“Depends...I heard Elves are fair...but they...they don’t like us common folk. They think we’re dirty and ugly...but now I get it. You’re so beautiful...Your hair looks so soft...” The kid slurred out, taking one of my ales and chugging it down.

Um, is anyone going to cut this kid off? He looks past the point of being safe. How common is alcohol poisoning in these parts for people to ignore this?

I reached over and put my hand on his before he could take another sip. He looked up at me, confused and dazed when he found that he couldn’t lift his hand anymore.

“I think you’ve had enough.” I said, taking the mug away and leaving him grasping at air. “Too much can be terrible for you. It may even cause illness or damage to your brain. How much water have you drank and how much have you eaten? I can buy you dinner if you need to eat something.”

He blinked slowly, still grasping at the air but now looking at me directly in the eyes. I didn’t know why, but a sudden shiver went down my spine.

“I want to eat something besides dinner.” He said, leaning across the table. “You would be delicious...”

What?

Eyo, what the f*ck?! Is this bitch flirting with me?! What in the Wattpad was that line?

“No thank you.” I said automatically, patting Bilbo’s back as he began to choke on his soup. “I don’t do one-night stands nor am I attracted to you. I’m sorry.”

A sudden bout of laughter sprang out through the pub at the rejection. The kid looked absolutely crushed as he turned to glare at everyone. Were they all watching?

“Nice job, Wiglaf!” A man shouted from the other side of the pub.

“He really thought he could seduce an Elf?”

“He’s too skinny and young. The Elf would want a real man, like me!” A burly guy with huge muscles and a dark beard said. “What do you say, Master Elf? Am I better suited for you?”

“No thank you.” I said, my voice starting to waver as the tension in the room took a turn downwards.

Something wasn’t right.

The tingle of nerves in my chest exploded into full blown, crushing anxiety. As if someone was sitting on my chest and stomping at my lungs with every breath. The atmosphere plummeted and froze until the earlier heat was replaced with a bitter chill. Was this place always this dark?

What was going on?

“No?! Why not? I’m fit and experienced! I would have you howling in pleasure you have never seen before!” He shouted, only to be pulled back by his companions.

It wasn’t a friendly pull.

As if the room grew dark, the pressure increased and flickered until it hung over everything. Playful laughs had died, cheers had turned to sneers, and gentle ribbing became taunts and insults. More screams and propositions were thrown at me, each one rejected until Gandalf had pulled me up from the seat and began to lead me away.

“You’d go with an old man instead of me?!” A man shouted and threw a chair.

The chair hit another square in the back and all hell broke loose.

In an instant, as the man turned to punch another, the pub exploded with screams and cried of anger and pain. Punches were flying, people were being tackled, those on the ground were being kicked, and hair was being torn from heads. Mugs were thrown, tables upturned and staff trying to break it up were beaten until they ran to hide.

I screamed as a man was hit hard enough to break his nose just a foot away from me, his blood barely missing me. Gandalf grabbed my wrist, using his staff as a beating stick to push people out of the way while he made his way to the rooms. We were halfway there when someone grabbed onto my ankle, making me scream once again.

Bilbo behind me was quick to respond, stepping on the man’s wrist until he let go. The man howled in pain, but it didn’t stop him from trying to grab me once again. Bilbo kicked him away once more.

I gasped, choking on the smell of alcohol, vomit and blood. I tried to breathe in, but my chest was so tight that no air was coming to my lungs. Every breath was excruciating and shallow, becoming more rapid by the second. The smell turned into taste, and I bit my lip to keep my dinner from coming back up again.

A man, bruised and bloodied, fell towards me and only by Gandalf’s quick reflexes stopped him from landing on me. He didn’t seem to notice the wizard, instead trying to push past him to grab onto me.

“You’re so beautiful.” A man slurred, reaching to touch my hair but ended up stumbling when Gandalf pushed him away.

“Begone with you all!” Gandalf shouted, grabbing onto my wrist hard enough to hurt and pulling me away.

I stumbled and slipped but didn’t protest as I was led out of the chaos and into a room at the far side of the Inn. The door slammed shut the moment we were inside, and I was met with sweet silence.

I burst into tears before I could even sit.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

I couldn’t breathe.

The room was hot. It was too hot. I was too hot. Fire was present everywhere. In my face, in my chest, in my arms, legs, feet, f*ck! It was hot and I was sweaty and sweaty and hot. Why was it so hot?

I couldn’t breathe.

Yet in the f*cking heat, goosebumps shot up my sides. Then the rest of me. I was shaking, shaking from arms and down my tight chest and kept spreading and growing and wouldn’t stop and wouldn’t quit. My legs were trembling, and I had to kneel before I could fall over. I was going to collapse.

I did collapse.

And I still couldn’t breathe.

A strangle whimper left me as a sharp pain shot up my chest, but I could barely hear it over my own blood pumping through my ears. A constant, painful thump, thump, thump that pounded the sides of my head. The awful, raid beats that matched the sounds of my rapid, short gasps for air.

Air that wouldn’t reach me since I couldn’t f*cking breathe!

Thump, Thump, Thump, THUMP!

I’m going to die. I’m going to f*cking die. If I couldn’t get some oxygen soon, I was going to die. I didn’t want to die. I can’t die.

My vision blurred, but I wasn’t focused on anything anyways. I shut my eyes, tight and hard enough to see stars and colors. It made me dizzy.

I was so dizzy.

I wheezed once more, stuttering when I tasted the bitter bile that began to fill my mouth. I tried to grip onto something, anything, but my hands were numb and filled with pins. It hurt, hurt almost as much as my chest.

Don’t vomit. Don’t vomit. Don’t you f*cking vomit!

I screamed and shrunk away when something touched my shoulder. Something large and calloused and male! What was touching me? Who was touching me?! Stop touching me!

Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!

“Don’t touch him!”

The hand went away, but I could still feel it gripping me. Touching me. Violating my space. Spreading across my shoulder and down and f*ck.

I gripped my shoulder, my nails digging into the flesh. Trying to scratch the feeling off. Trying to scratch the violation off. Trying to take the tainted skin off before it spreads anymore.

It spread anyways.

It spread far down to my arms and chest and waist, burning across them. It spread to my neck, where the hands were choking me to keep me from getting air. Air I haven’t gotten yet.

“Glírae! Glírae! Stop! You’ll make yourself bleed again!”

More contact on my hands. It was smaller, gentler and warm, but f*ck. It was male. Still f*cking male. Leave me alone. Stop touching me.

Stop touching me!

WHY CAN’T I f*ckING BREATHE?!

I don’t remember passing out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was quiet. It was a heavy silence, only broken by the soft breathing of Glírae as he lay asleep on the floor.

“Why did you do that?” Bilbo asked, watching as Gandalf pull his staff back from his friend.

Gandalf shook his head, bending down and, with a surprising strength for his old appearance, lifted the elf up to carry him to one of the beds. Glírae didn’t so much as stir as he was set down, nor when Gandalf arranged him into a more comfortable position.

“He was injuring himself. It was for the best.” Gandalf said, in the most serious voice Bilbo had ever heard from him. “He’ll awaken in the morning. Hopefully with a calmer state of mind. For now, we’ll just treat these and let him sleep.”

Gandalf ran a gentle finger down the bleeding lines across Glírae’s arms, shallow and small, as well as the nail marks across his palms. Bilbo winced yet nodded as he went for the first aid kit that Glírae kept in his bag.

They were small and easy to treat, not nearly the worse injury his roommate had given himself amid one of his ordeals. He didn’t want to think about the knife incident from 4 years ago. He slapped on some ointment and carefully bandaged his arms, securing them tight.

“I will place a barricade on the doors tonight and keep watch until the madness settles. You should rest as well. Will you be taking the other bed?”

Bilbo shook his head and, without another word, shed his coat and pack to climb onto the bed by his friend. It was difficult to shimmy the blankets down with him laying on them, but Glírae was sleeping so deeply that he didn’t need to worry about disturbing him. He draped the blankets over the elf and pushed himself under the sheets as well.

Gandalf sat on the other bed, holding his staff tightly, even as he blew out the candles. He had taken the chairs in the room and had used them to block the doors. Bilbo tried not to be worried about their flimsy protection.

They would certainly hold if a man or two tried to break it down, but with the army down the hall practically foaming at the mouth to get to them...

He shivered at the indecent things he heard and tried to push back the thought of them happening. Gandalf may have been a mad old man, but he was still a Wizard. Even if the only magic he had seen were fireworks and sleep spells, that should be enough to drive back some drunk men.

He hoped.

He kept his distance that night on the other side of the bed. Glírae made it clear that he didn’t want to be touched and he was going to respect that.

If only those awful men could as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waking up after crying is annoying.

My head was buzzing, my eyes felt fuzzy, my throat hurt, and my mouth was dry. At the very least it wasn’t a migraine. Those tend to suck a lot worse than this, even though this was still pretty sucky.

I blinked a few times, but the fuzz behind my eyes stayed. It would stay for a few more hours at best, which was lovely. My vision cleared away a few seconds later and I finally saw where I was and who I was with. It took a bit to see what was around me, as it was barely morning, but I managed to adjust easy enough.

Thank you, elf eyes.

It was a small room with no décor or furniture in sight beside the beds and a single rug on the floor. There was no fireplace like you’d expect from any fantasy inn, instead having just a few candle holders on a small desk. The two chairs in the room were against the door, one being used to hold the doorknob in place. The other was on the other side of the door and I don’t know the reason for that one.

There were two beds like I asked for, both so close to each other that they might as well have just made this a one-bed room. In one, Gandalf was asleep on top of the blankets. His staff was on the floor, and he was still dressed in his sh*tty ass robes, so he must have fallen asleep as soon as he collapsed there.

Not that I blame him. It’s been a rough few days and last night didn’t help.

Last night...

Strange. I don’t remember getting into this bed last night, nor do I remember falling asleep. I remember crying like a little bitch over the sh*t show that was that pub, but I didn’t think it was that bad for me to pass out. I know I would have remembered getting into bed at least. Weird.

Bilbo was in bed with me, though he was farther away on the other side entirely, by my feet with his own pillow. That was even weirder. He always snuggled up next to me during the times we shared a bed, or at the very least kept some form of physical contact with me since we’re both two touch starved bitches. Why was he on the other side?

Did I do something to make him mad? I really hope not...

I swallowed hard but pushed myself up so I could reach him. Taking a deep breath, I shook him gently, waking him almost instantly. He shot up, tense as if he were expecting something to attack him. I pulled back, to which he jumped at.

“Glírae.” He said sleepily, a statement more than a question. “You’re awake. Are you feeling better?”

I nodded, scooting over just a bit. Just in case he wanted to get closer, which he didn’t. I’ll pretend that it didn’t hurt.

“That’s good. You had me worried when you started scratching yourself again. We treated them already, so you won’t have to worry about infections.”

I blinked, looking down at the bandages that I just now noticed on my arms. I ran my fingers over them, pressing down on the red spots, only to confirm it through the sharp but small burn of pain. Damn, I really was panicking.

“Thank you.” I whispered, pulling the sleeves of my shirt down to cover them. “Are you angry at me from last night?”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows in alarm.

“Angry? Why on earth would I be angry with you?”

“I panicked really bad. I scratched myself up again. I must have said something too. It must have been annoying to deal with and I’m really sorr-”

Bilbo put his hand up, propping himself onto his knees. He shook his head, his worried look turning firm. I shut up, feeling a slight buzz in my chest. f*ck, I said something wrong again...

“No. Stop. Stop apologizing every time you feel frightened or cry. It’s not your fault and you have nothing to be sorry for. You say it was annoying for me, but it was worse for you. You are my friend and I’m here for you whenever you are scared, like you are for me. You’ve seen me cry too.”

I swallowed, feeling my face heat up. I broke eye contact with him for a second but forced myself to look back. Bilbo didn’t seem to notice it or just didn’t care.

“That’s different. Your nightmares are about traumatic events like the Fell Winter. I haven’t had stuff that bad happen to me-”

Bilbo launched himself at me to take my hand. I flinched back but offered no resistance when he pulled me forward. He wasn’t going to hurt me. His grip was gentle, if not firm.

“Glírae, your mother threw salt in your eyes. Your father made you sleep outside in the rain. You may not have suffered what I have, but you have suffered as well. My hurt does not diminish your hurt. It is not different.”

It is different though, my guy. Yeah, that sh*t sucked, but I was fine. There wasn’t any lasting damage to me like it was to you. Salt only burns for like an hour and it was summer, so the rain wasn’t that bad. It’s not like I got sick or anything.

You didn’t do anything to deserve it and I basically provoked my parents. I was a difficult child. I don’t blame them for snapping sometimes, even if their punishments were unorthodox.

“But you lost your parents. Mine are still alive.”

“Unfortunately.” He huffed as he pushed himself closer and snuggled up against my side.

“Bilbo!” I gasped.

“What? I don’t care if they raised you. They are not good people.” He grumbled as he made himself more comfortable under the sheets.

“They’re my parents.” I argued, playfully shoving him. “They weren’t all bad. They just had some bad days. I still love them.”

“I know you do. And that’s why I’m worried.”

I didn't say anything after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gandalf dragged us to the market the next morning, after a quick breakfast of fruit and oatmeal in our room. It was bright and early, but late enough for the sun to be out, when the Company and I were pushed forwards towards the stalls of the Bree market.

The Dwarves looked a little worse for wear, with bruises and a few cuts across their faces and arms. They must have joined the brawl last night in the pub. I felt bad for getting them dragged into this, but one look from Thorin kept me from apologizing.

I was walking behind Gandalf with Bilbo at my side, blocking me as much as possible from the outside world. It didn’t work in the slightest and I was instantly met with a wave of silence as everyone turned to look at me.

I stepped a bit closer to Gandalf, who was gripping his staff in case anyone tried to get close. Thankfully, no one did and looked away the moment I was out of their line of sight. I guess no one wanted to come near a group of dwarves. Especially those that were visibly annoyed.

“We came here for simple provisions. Clothes, extra food, boots for Glírae, and a horse. Anything else will be added weight, so refrain from purchasing luxury goods.” Gandalf had ordered, to which Thorin had agreed.

It must be killing them to not be able to look at the craftsmanship of items around here. I can see Bofur twitching from having to walk past a stand selling wood carvings and the tools for it. Me too, bro. Me too.

Gandalf eventually let them all disperse once we reached the cobbler shop, and they all scattered to buy more stuff. Guess Dwarves really do anything to own pretty sh*t. I couldn’t even be mad since I would do the same thing if I had unlimited access to money. Well, I sort of do, but it’s Bilbo’s, so I felt icky spending it on myself.

Walking into a cobbler shop, which was more a booth with a tent behind them, was an experience. Especially when my mere presence made the guy stop mid hammer, as well as what I assumed was his wife dropping all the leather she was holding on the floor. They both looked at me like I had just blessed their crops, cleared their skin and paid off their student debts.

“Good morning.” Gandalf started cheerfully, stepping in front of me to block their view. “We would like to purchase a good pair of boots for traveling. Already made, if you have any.”

The man nodded but said nothing, his eyes too glazed over to really hear what he just said. His wife was better, though.

“For you, I presume?” She asked Gandalf.

“Oh no. Not me. For my companion here.” He tapped my shoulder, and I nodded in greeting. “How much for those boots right here? They seem like a good fit.”

The boots in question were simple, with no fancy straps of buckles. They were basic work boots, sturdy and with thick soles for the fields. Maybe not the best for 15 months, but better than what I have currently. I’ll take it.

“Free.” The man said instantly, and I froze.

“Pardon?” Bilbo asked, hands frozen inside his money bag. “I think you were mistaken.”

“Free. I’ll give them to him for free.” The cobbler swallowed and set down his hammer. “I don’t want money for them. They are cheap shoes, hardly worth more than a few coins.”

Am I the only one that heard the emphasis on money?

“What would you like for them, then?” I asked.

He seemed to melt at my voice, giving me a smile so dream-like that I was sure this guy was drunk. Drunk off me, but still drunk.

Is this really how people see Elves? This wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the books or the movies, goddamn! Are Elves really that rare that one attracts attention everywhere?

“I want you to marry my daughter.”

“What?” Bilbo and I both said.

Gandalf face palmed.

“I want you to marry my daughter. I will give you anything for her bridal gift. My store, my lands, my animals and any fortune I have. She is young, is decent at housework and cooking, and very good at the craft. She can make you better shoes than those. Please consider joining our family!”

Nope. I’m out of here.

“Gandalf, help.” Bilbo said, pushing me behind him as if he was going to do anything.

Gandalf nodded and stepped up to the booth. He grabbed the boots from the counter, set them down, and began to list out prices that were not my hand in marriage. The spell slowly started to break as he started listing prices back.

Eventually, Bilbo joined in, as he was the one carrying the money. It didn’t take long for me to grow bored, so I started to look around at the surrounding booths.

There were a lot at Bree. It was like being at a Ren Faire, except with less deep-fried food and more fabrics from outside trade. I forgot Bree was a major trade center. None of them quite caught my attention though, except for one with an old lady.

The older lady at the booth didn’t look too strange.

She was just as unkempt and unwashed as the rest of the farmers in Bree. She wore a simple farming dress, kept her brown hair up in a bun hidden behind a rag to block out the sun, and wore some simple shoes. She didn’t stand out at all, yet for some reason, I was attracted to that stand more than the others.

Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t selling food or textiles, but items like daggers, clothes and tools. Maybe it was because she was the only one without a line present at her little booth. Maybe it was the fact that she was pointing at me and gesturing to me to come over.

Either way, I did walk over there, like a dumb bitch that really should have seen the signs. I left Bilbo and Gandalf behind to haggle with the man for the new boots. It seemed to be getting really heated and I wasn’t going to contribute to that drama, especially since he still brought up selling myself to his daughter. I’ll leave that for the boys to deal with.

Besides, it was only like 10 feet away.

“Greetings, Master Elf. I heard you are in need of some protection.” And woah, did her voice not match the body she was in.

Her voice was smooth, musical and deep, nothing like I’d expect a grandmother to sound like. She gave me a small wink and pushed one of the daggers on her stand into my hand.

“You have a long journey ahead of you, little Canary. A songbird like yourself is a prize most sought after. It’s best to have some protection for when those wandering eyes become hands and those hands become iron bars.”

Um, what? What the f*ck is happening? What in the RPG adventure game is going on? Am I meeting the f*cking merchant at the start of a quest? Is anyone else hearing this?

I looked around and nope. Not a single person was even looking at this place. Even the eyes that were following me in the crowd were gone, the men shaking themselves off and going back to their days. Eyo, was this shop enchanted?

“Um, excuse me? What do you mean?”

I was so lost.

She chuckled and handed me another dagger, along with two sheaths. They were decorative at the hilts with swirls that looked like vines yet didn’t have any gemstones. The sheaths were simple, plain leather. A knife that was meant for practicality instead of for show.

“You will also need clothes to hide yourself, to avoid those eyes before they are locked on you. Perhaps a cloak or a tunic of elvish make. I have just the thing for you, if you would like to change into them.”

And hello! Was the tent always there? No way that sh*t just appeared when I was standing right here? What in the cliché fantasy magic is this sh*t?

I didn’t get a chance to say anything before I was grabbed and dragged inside. I turned around to protest, only to be hit in the face by a bundle of clothes.

“I’ll give you 3 minutes to change. Then I’ll come back in and discuss everything with you. Let me know if you need help. 3 minutes.”

Um, ok...

It took 3 minutes just to figure out how to put on this sh*t.

God, I really hate elven clothes. I hate the fabric and the layers and the designs. I prefer simple clothes like the Hobbits wore, not these fancy schmancy sleeves with more buttons than this thing needed. I had to call her back in to have her tie the belt for me.

It wasn’t as fancy as Elrond’s clothes or anything. It was a simple brown tunic, of similar design to Elves, yet more restricted and not nearly as long so I could still walk. The fabric was heavy and hot, not at all light and flowy like most fanfictions described. The buttons were weird, as they were more like hooks made of gold rather than actual buttons.

Elves just have to be bouji, I guess.

It’s just weird how perfectly they fit.

She hummed in approval before taking both daggers and securing them to the sides of my belt. They barely weighed anything, but they were weird to carry. I wasn’t used to carrying a weapon other than pepper spray.

“And now, a cloak to hide your face.” She said, draping the dark green fabric over my shoulders and securing it in the front with a golden pin. “There. This will protect you from lustful eyes. You may take these.”

Alright, this was getting weird.

“Ok lady. What’s going on? You're talking some weird sh*t and you seem to know a lot about me. Were you sent by someone to give me this stuff or are you one of the Valar?"

She laughed. A hearty, rumbling laugh that in no way answered my question. She laughed for a while, enough for it to be awkward just to stand there and watch. She laughed until she was red in the face and crying.

“Oh, oh Canary! Thank you for making me laugh! It has been quite a while.” She said, still not answering my question. “Come. You pay nothing for these trinkets. Allow them to be used for your protection, as the road ahead will be far too dangerous without them.”

Wait a f*cking minute! Who the f*ck are you? You can’t just tell me it’s going to be dangerous and not elaborate!

“Why are you calling me that?”

Once again, no answer other than a lopsided smile. Rude as f*ck, divine lady.

I followed her out of the tent, huffing as I knew I wasn’t going to get an answer out of her. Her table was gone when we got out, along with all her stuff, but I didn’t have it in me to care anymore. Just one more fantasy trope I was playing into.

“Thank you for the stuff, ma’am.” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want anything for this? I have coins and Bilbo’s recipe for pumpkin pie.”

She shook her head.

“I require nothing from you. You have given too much to be here, Canary. However, I only request that you heed my warning.”

And now some prophecy sh*t? Who am I, Harry Potter? Well, probably, with how much I’m getting stared at.

“May you be safe in your travels, young one. Trust no one and keep alert, for you wear a face that can start wars.” She paused, then reached behind herself and pulled out a thick book from out of nowhere. “Here, you will need this if you wish to survive.”

That wasn’t ominous as f*ck.

I nodded, accepting it, and turned around to go back to Bilbo, who was proudly displaying the new boots for me. When I looked back, she was gone.

I looked down at the book in my hands. It was a thick journal, bound by leather and a single string, and looked handwritten. Then again, every book in Middle Earth is written by hand.

Laws and Customs Among the Eldar and Avari: A Complete Guide for Travelers.

You gotta be f*cking kidding me, lady.

Chapter 12: Not a chapter. Fanart

Chapter Text

"Not a person, but a decoration..."

Chapter 13: Chapter 12

Chapter Text

I chose to ignore the fantasy bullsh*t trope and get on with my day. Something tells me that she will be back, but probably not as an old lady. That’s how it usually goes, anyways.

“Glírae, where did you get the clothes?” Bilbo asked the moment I got back. “And the book?”

I shrugged, taking my bag back from him and shoving the old journal inside.

“I stopped by one of the shops while you guys were trying not to marry me off for boots. A lady gave them to me, but she stole my old clothes and said some weird stuff, so I decided to hike out of there. She’s gone though, so I’m stuck in these for a while.”

Bilbo looked scandalized as he looked me up and down. Same bro, I don’t like these either. Not my style and not comfortable like Parsley, Queen of all tailors, would have made them.

“She stole your clothes?”

“Pretty much. She was gone when I turned around and my clothes were nowhere to be found, so I’m assuming that this was just a very strange mugging. I’ll just live with it though and buy some more clothes from Parsley when we go back.” I said. “Did you get the boots? Am I being married to a random girl?”

Bilbo nodded, proudly holding up the pair of boots. Gandalf was still in the background, arguing with the man and his wife about who knows what. I think I heard my name there somewhere, but I really didn’t care as long as there was no wedding.

“Thankfully, we got these down to normal price. I’ve already paid for them. They’re still trying to get you to become their son and Gandalf is trying to fight them off. They called their daughter out. They want to introduce you to her and are refusing to take no for an answer.”

I looked over to the stand and saw a young girl standing there, short and small and looking not much older than my little sister. This kid was like 15, probably even younger. They want me to marry a literal child. She was giving me those heart eyes you would see in a bad Disney show and it felt all types of wrong.

Gross. Absolutely not.

I almost had a heart attack when Mercedes had her first boyfriend at that age. I can barely imagine the thought of marriage and everything that it entails. What type of backwards society do we live in?

“Well, they’re going to have to. I’m not going anywhere, and I refuse to get married, especially to a baby. I’m going to remain single for the rest of my life.”

I took a seat on an empty crate by another stand. The two owners of the booth it belonged to only nodded at me, also wide eyed and flushed, but said nothing to kick me off. Bilbo handed me the boots and I made quick work of removing my old shoes.

Rip little friends. You had a good five years.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. You always hated the thought of marriage.” Bilbo said, playfully rolling his eyes. “And any form of intimacy.”

The boots were harder to lace, as they had thicker laces and were not as flexible, but they were comforting and sturdy in a way that all new boots were, even if they were a little big. Nothing a good tighter knot wouldn’t hold though.

“I just don’t like being touched. It feels icky and gross and kind of pointless. You and Parsley are the exceptions. I actually like you two.”

I stood up, tapping my feet against the floor to make sure the boots were snug. Oh yeah, these are going to be hell to break in.

“Well, thank you. I’m glad I meet your standards.” Bilbo said, dramatically happy.

I messed his hair up as I stood up, earning a squawk of offense. He responded by hitting me lightly across the side. Rude as f*ck.

“Come on. Let’s go rescue Gandalf and see what else we need to buy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am convinced that Gandalf hates me.

“You want me to ride on that?” I asked, looking at the massive beast in front of me.

Now, I was never a horse person. That was my roommate and my little brother that were into horses. They were the ones that watched horse movies, dreamed about owning ranches, and dragged my ass from my bed to go to pumpkin patches simply because they have horses. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that horses terrified me. They were just so big and so strong, yet they needed so much care. Care I cannot provide.

I think I’d rather stick with caring for betta fish.

This horse was so large that I couldn’t even see myself climbing on him without a step stool and someone pushing me up. That, and he was glaring at me, pulling at the reins in the Stablemaster’s hands, and was trying to force his way through the fence. I’m pretty sure he bit the Stablemaster when he brought him out.

Gandalf actually hates me if he wants me to buy that.

“It’s a marvelous horse for this journey. He’s strong and young and has already sired some other horses of high breeding. The best horse that you will find outside of Rohan, Master Elf.” The stablemaster said, patting the horse on his side. “He’s perfect for carrying heavy loads and riding long distances. Though, I must warn you. He’s as temperamental as it gets, but nothing an Elf such as yourself can’t manage.”

Hard pass on that one, my man. I’ve never even seen a horse before, much less have ridden one, but I can see that everything you are saying is absolute bullsh*t. Absolutely not.

“Do you have any other horses?” Gandalf, who I guess didn’t hate me, asked. “Ones that are gentler and for less experienced riders? Preferably a mare or a gelding?”

The stablemaster, a man who was at least into his late 50s, tilted his head in confusion. He pulled his hand away once again as the devil horse made another attempt to bite.

“I thought Elves were masters at horses, like the people of Rohan. Every Elf that has passed through here has had a way with my horses, even the temperamental ones like him.”

Gandalf shook his head, looking just as scared as I was as he surveyed the demon in horse form.

“I’m afraid that’s not the case for our friend here. This will be his first horse, I believe, so it’s best to start with the gentle breeds. This will only be for a month’s journey, as we’ll get him a new horse in Rivendell. Now, if you would, a gentle horse.”

I’m getting another horse? What is it with this old ass Wizard and making decisions for me? At least run them by me first, God dammit.

The stablemaster seemed less than pleased when he went to put the stallion away. The stallion practically sprinted back, nearly knocking the man over. Once he left, I turned back to Gandalf.

“I’m getting another horse?” I asked.

“Of course you are. The horses in Imladris are the finest breeds and we’ll need them for this journey to succeed. I’m sure I can convince Lord Elrond to spare one or two.”

I don’t think I have to worry too much about that, if we’re going to be sneaking out of Rivendell. The horses are just going to get lost on the mountain pass if we do take them, so this horse will hopefully be my last. I just hope it doesn’t get killed by Wargs or something, if we are in the movie timeframe like I suspect we are.

“We’re going to Rivendell?” Bilbo asked, trying to hide the excitement in his voice. “We’re going to see the Elves?”

We sure are, hun-

Wait. Wait a minute.

sh*t. I didn’t think about that. Rivendell is full of Elves. Of course it is, it’s an Elven settlement! How did I completely gloss over the fact that we’re going to go see real Elves? Elves that will think that I’m an Elf too, because I look like one in this damn body.

sh*t sh*t sh*t.

f*ck.

Oh no, I’m in trouble. I’m in so much sh*t. I’m not an Elf, never have been, so I don’t know anything about being one. What if I’m weird to them? What if they suspect that something’s up with me and they kick me out? They would kick me out, wouldn’t they? I’m not like them. I’m not pretty or perfect or poised or wise.

This body may be, but I’m certainly not. What if they try to talk to me and they realize that I’m basically a dumbass compared to them? I don’t have all those years of life that will give me the experience to be all seeing and smart. Hell, I barely finished my third year of college when I was dragged into this sh*thole.

f*ck, what are they going to think of me? I look like a male elf, but I still act like a human lady from the 21st century. I never tried to hide my mannerism or speech from anyone, since the Hobbits didn’t care in the long run as long as you were polite, but I can’t say the same thing for the Elves.

I don’t speak in flowery language or talk circles around others. I’m not good at reciting long prose or have complete mastery over a craft. I doubt sewing stuffed animals counts and my art is mediocre at best. And it’s hard to focus on one hobby at a time, so all I really have to show are a bunch of half-finished anime drawings. I’m boring and plain and useless on most days.

They’re judge-y as f*ck. They’re going to take one look at me and start singing “Not One of US”, then kick me out. Say goodbye to my dignity, since they’re going to tear it to shreds since I’m not a f*cking Elf.

Is it hot out here? Or is it just the sun?

“Glírae, are you alright?” Bilbo asked, concerned.

Oh yeah, my guy. I’m fine. I’m just going through a small crisis since I'm going to destroy our future by just showing up.

I have a month, right? That’s how long it takes to get to Rivendell from here, doesn’t it? That means I have a month to learn as much as I can about Elves and their customs, so I don’t make a complete fool of myself. Conforming to the norm of other places shouldn't be too bad. No biggie. I’ve done it before.

I really need to read that book.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glírae had bonded well with an old and gentle mare named Starlight, a name apparently given by the Stablemaster’s small granddaughter to match her white coat. The mare had taken an instant liking to the elf, even more so when Glírae had presented her with an apple as a welcome gift.

It was worth the rest of their money going towards her and the equipment to see his friend that content. Bilbo still wasn’t quite sure what caused him to panic earlier, but he had a very strong guess as to what it was.

In the five years that he had known him, Glírae never mentioned other Elves except in brief passing, other than his parents and his siblings on occasion. Any attempt at asking caused him to quickly change the conversation to something regarding Hobbits or anything that he could think of.

That alone told him more than enough, even more so with his horrific nightmares and light comments throughout the day that painted a picture of a horrendous upbringing.

He still remembered the first time he had joked about his mother beating him so hard he wasn’t able to sit for a week. Or saying that the sounds of belts snapping reminded him of his father. Or the comments he would make insulting himself, as if he was stating facts. Every incident that he laughed about, as if it were normal.

It probably was to him, and it made his blood boil.

He had always heard that Elves cherished their children above all else, but Glírae and the stories he had heard from him, both of himself and in the history of Elves (such as the deeds of the House of Fëanor and the attempted murder of Maeglin) told him that that was not always the truth.

While he doubted that the Elves of Rivendell would harm them and he was sure they’d be just as horrified as he was, he could guess with almost certainty that Glírae would be very uncomfortable there. It was quite possible that his friend would be terrified of them, even if that possibility was a bit extreme.

Bilbo sighed and mounted his pony, pulling Mrytle to ride next to Starlight so they could remain close. Glírae smiled at him yet didn’t say much as he went back to his obsessive, almost desperate, reading of the new book he had bought. Why he was so enamored with a book about spices and herbs was beyond him, but Bilbo figured that boredom finally set in.

A smart choice to bring stuff to pass the time. He was thankful that they brought along some entertainment, like the Dwarves had brought. Bilbo himself was busying himself with a ball of yarn and a crochet hook, figuring this was the perfect time to learn once more. Glírae had to help him start it off, but he was fine with the repetitive movements.

It kept his hands busy while his mind wandered to the elf and his predicament.

He wasn’t sure what was going to happen in a month’s time, but he was more than ready to protect his closest friend if need be. He wasn’t going to stand by and let him be hurt more than he already was, even if it meant lashing out at an Elf or Dwarf. Glírae didn’t deserve anything but good things in the world.

Bilbo was ready to fight to the death for him.

Chapter 14: Chapter 13

Chapter Text

I disliked Elves.

Well, maybe that’s a bit harsh. I didn’t so much as dislike them, but more that I was indifferent to them as a whole. Sure, I liked certain Elf characters, but the race itself wasn’t all that interesting.

They were never my favorite race in Middle Earth, even though the fanbase went rabid for them, as well as the Dwarves. I honestly preferred Men and Hobbits to them, even if that made me a little weird. That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the characters or their scenes, as that would be blasphemous even for me, but I wouldn’t mind it if there was more focus on the other races as well.

Being in the Shire made me appreciate Hobbits all the more. Their way of life, peaceful and gentle and full of nature, was all that I ever wanted out of life. I am perfectly content with a simple life, one where I don’t have to juggle childcare of my younger siblings or do assignments at work in between breaks or have to worry about pissing off my parents for coming home late. It was one where I could just vibe in peace and do simple hobbies without timing myself or stopping to go to work.

No grand adventures or blooming romances with random Lords or fighting in a war with a badass weapon that I managed to learn in a few months on the road. I stand by my opinion that adventures were dirty and stressful. I never fantasized about tagging along with characters or becoming a hero. Hell, I never even made my own OC to insert into the story.

I never wanted to show up here. I’m only here for Bilbo. I would do anything for Bilbo, even if it meant putting my own ass on the line. I don’t think he’s prepared with how far I’m willing to go for his comfort. My boundaries for that man are non-existent at this point.

But back to my original point.

Elves are so damn weird.

Tolkien didn’t give us a whole lot on their social structures or intimate customs outside of the lives of a few Elves (most specifically, a certain bloodline of High Elves and their society). Not so much Middle Earth elves that have never seen Valinor and how they have taken their influences in the “modern” day. LACE wasn’t as helpful to read as many would think if you found yourself displaced into the body of an elf outside the First Age. If I went off my limited knowledge and fanon theories, I would embarrass myself so fast and so hard that I’d end up drowning myself in the waterfall.

Thank God for the weird old lady and this convenient book.

This book had everything I needed to survive the two weeks we’re going to be in Rivendell. At least, just enough for me not to make a complete fool of myself while I avoid them like the plague. It started with just the history of Elves, which I glossed over as I already knew most of this from my deep dives into Tolkien lore and moved into modern day customs.

It was small things, like common gestures and basic etiquette that they were expected to follow depending on status, to larger things, like how marriages worked and how to go about courting someone.

Not that I was ever courting someone. I would rather die than commit myself to an elf or anyone else for eternity. The day I marry is the day that I sell myself to be at the mercy of another person and I would never do that to myself.

Speaking of marriage, why is it so emphasized in Elven culture? Like, a good portion of LACE was just discussing the double marriage of Finwë and it was hard to find much else afterwards. Marriage in general was almost idolized in Elf culture, which I guess makes sense since they do tend to live forever, and it would get lonely.

The book when into greater detail with it, including some stuff I didn’t even want to know. I don’t want to read about Elf sex and what they considered taboo in the bedroom, weird booth lady. I’ll just gloss over those sections. They don’t seem important.

“Lunch time. They bought a few rabbits from the butchers and are cooking them up right now.” Bilbo nudged me, snapping me out of the book. “Want me to eat your portion?”

I grimaced as the smell hit me.

I was sitting on the ground near the road while the Dwarves were nearby, each gathered around Bombur as he showed each of them what cuts he had purchased and how to best cook each one. He was very wrong in what he was saying, but everyone seemed to be intrigued.

I was not a fan of rabbit and have never been, no matter how many dishes Bilbo has had me try. It was one of the foods I will gladly give away to the first Hobbit that can stomach it. How Bilbo loved it is beyond me, but I’m not one to judge his sh*tty tastes.

Tastes like chicken my ass. It was drier than chicken and had almost no fat on it, which was already awful on my sensory issues, which was made even worse since the dwarves were just barely cooking it on their skillets with nothing else except a heap of spices. Like, I’m all for measuring with the heart, but that’s more basil than rabbit at this point.

It’s a good thing I wasn’t hungry, even if my stomach was pinching.

“You can have it. I’m fine for right now. I can eat the snacks I brought if I get hungry.” I said, going back to the book. “Good luck eating that.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes and reached into the bag on his lap. He pulled out a loaf of bread and some cheese wrapped in a cloth. The bread was still fresh, if only a little stiff, and the cheese was as new as when I wrapped it. Hobbit magic goes mostly to keep food fresh, a fact I will thank the gods for.

“I knew you were going to say that, so I brought the food with me. Put the book down and eat something.” Bilbo said, shoving the loaf of bread and cheese into my hands.

I closed the book before crumbs could get on the pages.

“But I’m not hungry.”

Bilbo shoved them more firmly into my hands and gave me a stern look that caused me to shrink. It was a large piece of cheese, and the bread was thick, so thick that it wouldn’t all fit into my hand. This is a lot of food, bro.

“No. You haven’t eaten nearly as much as you should have and I’m not letting you skip lunch. I know how you get and those days where you don’t eat are not happening on this journey. If I let you have your way, you’d be reading that book until bedtime and through dinner. So, eat and pass that book over.”

“Bilbo, I’m fine-”

“No. I mean it. You can say you’re not hungry, but I know you well enough to know your eating patterns. You need food and I will not let you starve yourself. You never think you’re hungry, so I’m in charge of getting you fed regardless, even if it’s just a few bites. The book.”

His tone made me wince.

What a bossy Hobbit. He sounds just like my mother. If I still had a therapist, I would complain to her about him. I handed the book over with a heavy sigh.

Just a few bites? Whatever, I know what people mean when they say stuff like that.

I really didn’t want to eat right now, especially this. Food sounded awful right now and the thought of it, especially since I was in the middle of reading, was sickening.

Still, I didn’t want to make Bilbo mad, so I forced myself to take a few bites of the food, even if it was hard to swallow. Food was hard to eat when I wasn’t hungry, even if it did calm down the swirling in my stomach. I had to force it down while trying not to choke, chewing excessively and drinking most of my water just to get it down.

I barely tasted it. The cheese was like Styrofoam and the bread was like cardboard to chew, both of which stuck to my teeth and made my tongue numb. I made it halfway through before my stomach was full, even as I kept eating.

It was gross and disgusting, which must have shown if Bilbo’s concerned looks were anything to go by. Still, he didn’t tell me to stop, so I kept forcing myself to take more bites of both, even if it was growing unbearable. Every swallow hurt my throat and chest and made my stomach hurt more.

Bilbo watched as I ate every bite, judging me with those Hobbit eyes of his like a nag until I had finished all of it. On the bright side, I only coughed twice and didn’t vomit right afterwards, so I considered this a win. Even if that win resulted in a tightness across my chest that was starting to burn.

Bilbo had gotten both of our portions during my struggle, to which he had waited until I was done to start eating. Kili gave him a weird look when he dumped the contents into one bowl but said nothing.

“There. I ate something.”

“Good job. I’m proud of you.” He said, patting my arm. “You know you didn’t have to force yourself to eat all of it. Half would have been enough.”

Well, that would have been nice to know beforehand, you jackass. How was I supposed to know that you wanted me to stop? All I know is that you wanted me to eat, so I did. You never told me there was a limit.

“But you told me to eat it. You didn’t tell me to stop, so I assumed you wanted me to finish it.”

Bilbo gave me a look that I didn’t recognize on him. Something like anger mixed in with pity. It didn’t suit him, and I instantly felt bad for having caused whatever problem he had.

“I wanted you to eat something, not force yourself to eat until you felt sick or eat that fast. If you’re full, you can stop eating. You shouldn’t have to wait until someone tells you to stop if you start feeling sick. It wasn’t a punishment.”

It sure felt like it, but ok.

I felt full after the first bite, so I’m not sure what you wanted from me. If you’re monitoring my food intake, you get the final say of what I eat and how much. My mother wouldn’t let me leave until I ate everything and would just add more food on for every ten minutes I sat there. Vomiting was just a natural consequence for being dramatic.

That’s how it works for picky eaters.

“If you’re full or feel sick, stop. I won’t get mad at you if you stop.” Bilbo said, gripping my arm. “I only wanted you to eat so that you don’t go hungry again. You don’t have to eat everything I give you at once.”

Now you’re just confusing me, my guy. Do you want me to eat or not? First you tell me that I have to eat no matter what and now you’re saying that I can choose the amount? It made no sense. You are sending me a lot of mixed signals here and I don’t know if I can keep up with them.

“Can I just have my book back, please?”

Bilbo handed me the book and we didn’t speak after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Don’t ask me how we got to the conversation of marriage and sex that night.

I wasn’t sure either, though I’m pretty sure that Glóin was the one that started it. I think it started with Bilbo asking about his family or something and it devolved into the discussion of marriage between cultures.

“How many children do Hobbits tend to have?” Ori asked, taking notes as we went along. “More or less than the usual two or three?”

“Two?” Bilbo laughed in alarm, throwing another clean bowl into the growing pile. “It’s unusual for a Hobbit lass to have less than 6 herself! Why, the largest family in the Shire raised 22 faunts by the time they were done!”

The gasps of shock were hilarious, and I had to stifle a laugh. It came out as a snort when Fili attempted to count 22 on his fingers.

It was the first time that we were included in the group discussion or even allowed this close to the fire, though I blamed the ale that they were drinking for that one. Dwarves are lightweights for how much they claim to love ale.

“And they all survive to adulthood?” Thorin asked, no humor in his voice but not rough sounding either.

“Of course they do. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t.” Bilbo said, also slightly tipsy from his own ale that Ori had shared with him in exchange for answering questions. “We have no dangers for faunts, like war or sickness, and food is in abundance. Hobbits are as fertile as the lands they grow you know?”

Ain’t that the truth. I had so many Hobbit children piled on me that I stopped trying to remember them all halfway through. That’s not even counting the parents and all the family trees that they memorized. And I thought having 5 siblings was hard.

“They must be very busy!” Bofur barked out a laugh, spitting ale onto the grass. “No wonder people compare Hobbits to rabbits! It’s not just the soft looks!”

Bilbo looked scandalized yet was too buzzed from the ale to be fully offended. I chuckled at his reaction, though swallowed in discomfort at the blatant sexual reference.

“With how many women you have, it must be easy for you to find a good lay. Ey, Mister Boggins?” Kili winked at Bilbo, who blushed even harder. “Or do you prefer the company of men?”

Bilbo tried to sputter out some defense for Hobbits, but it died out as soon as he realized that they were joking. Sure, it was crass humor and honestly quite sexist, but they were still joking. They reminded me of my brother's friends that I beat with a shoe that one summer.

“So, have you ever, Mister Baggins?” Fili asked, smirking as Bilbo turned even more red. “Don’t tell me you’re still as dry as when you were born?”

Bilbo simply huffed in frustration and took another chug of ale. I tapped his back in sympathy but said nothing. He needed to learn to loosen up a little, even if I wasn’t a fan of him drinking.

“What does that mean?” Ori asked, his quill stopping.

The Dwarves gave one loud laugh at his innocence, with Dwalin giving him one hard tap across the back.

“They mean that with how many children they have, that Hobbits f*ck a lot. How else would they get so many?”

Ori gave a small ‘oh’ and then joined along in the laughter.

“I’ll have you know that Hobbit lasses are respectable and... and...” He tried but couldn’t say much once he realized they were right.

It was the highlight of my night seeing how red Bilbo could go. What a champ to be able to imitate one of his prized tomatoes.

“What about you, Elf?” Glóin asked. “How many children do Elves have?”

I blinked.

This was the first time in the week I’ve been traveling with them that they addressed me other than shouting orders at me. They still haven’t bothered to learn my name, but I didn’t take that personally. I wouldn’t bother to learn their names either if I didn’t know them all already.

I know this was just a ploy to make a joke about how sex-dry Elves were, but I was going to treat this as a normal question. Sex wasn’t really my thing, and neither was the humor. Leave that to my brothers.

“We...” I trailed off slightly as I tried to figure out how to phrase this. “We don’t have many children. It’s hard for Elves to conceive and couples tend to have one child at a time, or they have twins. Our largest known family had seven sons, but we don’t talk about them. They aren’t well liked in our history.”

That was an answer, right? I didn’t just f*ck that up? Gandalf wasn’t giving me weird looks, so I think I’m safe.

“But you live for so long!” Ori said. “Do you have any children?”

I almost choked on air at the question. My look of horror must have shocked the rest of the company into silence since the laughter immediately died.

Bro, I’m a virgin for life. I don’t even have or want a partner to make children with. I would rather shoot myself in the foot before even thinking of pushing something like that out of me. Childbirth was its own brand of hell for me and was never going to happen.

“I’m not married.” I said, looking away as soon as I started to blush.

“Children can come out of wedlock.” Balin said, which did not help.

“Not for Elves.” Gandalf finally said something. “Elves take upon one spouse for life and seldom ever remarry. Any Elf child born has been within the bounds of marriage.”

I nodded, trying to keep the heat from my cheeks and ears. I failed miserably.

“So, they’re prudish and boring until they marry? No casual partners in their youth? Do they even have a drive for pleasure?” I wasn’t sure who asked that question this time. “Maybe hobbits are better company!”

Another great laugh poured through the camp, though this one was short and died down shortly after. They looked at me, as if expecting my rebuttal. Not that I was going to give them one.

“If they aren’t attracted to each other, then what are they attracted to? Don’t tell me they really are drawn to plants like that? Have they no clue how to appreciate a lovely woman?”

Rude as f*ck. That seems kind of racist, bro.

“Bet he’s never warmed a bed before.”

Ok, you sound a little too drunk even if you’re right. Maybe drink some water.

I was just about to answer with a no, that sex and marriage are the same thing to Elves and that me being single should point to my virgin status, when I was interrupted by the wizard again.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bofur. They are like any other person in Middle Earth. They have different customs when it comes to intimacy, but even Elves have been known to take pleasure with others even outside of their youth.” Gandalf grumbled, chewing on his pipe. “They aren’t that different from Dwarves or Men in that regard, though you are determined to separate yourselves from them. If anything, it’s Dwarves that I have found to have more rules for sexual intimacy.”

Wait? What? What the f*ck?

That doesn’t seem right. That’s not LACE compliant, my dude! What the f*ck are you on about? That’s not what the fandom has taught me! What are you even saying right now?

Oh sh*t. The fandom was wrong. Tolkien wasn’t accurate about something. That wasn’t supposed to be the answer, so why are you saying that? Is everything that I think I know a lie?!

I’m in so much sh*t, oh my god...

“Elves are more accepting of sexual intimacy?” Ori asked me, suddenly looking a little too interested. “Is there anything that is considered taboo for Elves like there is for Men and Dwarves?”

I shook my head slowly, taking a deep breath to calm myself.

“Um, I’m not too sure.” I said, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t even know what’s taboo for anyone, so I can’t really answer that. I never had any interest in the topic. I would ask an elf who has had it-”

“And have you?” Thorin interrupted.

The camp froze once more, all eyes suddenly on me. Not the reaction that I thought was going to happen, but I’ll take it? I guess? I don’t know why everyone looks so interested in this, but ok? I have no shame in my lack of sexual history or drive, so...

“I have not.“

I expected another bout of laughter at my expense, so it was surprising when all that happened was a few sighs and some relieved chuckles. Weird. Guess they were glad that I wasn’t a whor*? Maybe I am surrounded by virgins that are happy they weren’t alone. Like the frat boys my roommate used to chill with in college.

“Haven’t found the right lad or lass yet?” Bofur asked, suddenly leaning forward with wide eyes. “Which do you prefer?”

Oh yeah. They’re really hammered.

I shook my head, pretending not to see how Kili nudged Fili with a wide smile on his face. Rude as hell. If you’re going to make fun of me, at least wait until I can’t see you to do it.

“I’m not interested in either. It sounds gross.”

Back to the awkward silence. Eyo, why does everyone suddenly look so worried? Don’t tell me they’ve never heard of an Ace person before.

“Gross!?” Glóin exclaimed and dropped his flask. “Why lad! There is nothing gross about making love to a person! It’s a gift and one of the greatest experiences that a person could have!”

Yeah no. I don’t think so.

I don’t see how getting something shoved in you for 2 minutes and being left with a mess to clean up while they fall asleep is considered fun. You may like it, but I’d find better entertainment with literally anything else. You say that it’s great, but you don’t have to be the one that lies there and takes it until they finish or have to rely on excuses to get out of it.

Bilbo understood my aversion to sex, but I don’t think he even understood just how much I loathed the very thought.

“For you, maybe.” I said, pushing away all the bowls and rags. “I am not interested in anything resembling sex or marriage. I would rather die than be forced into someone’s bed.”

I repositioned myself on the ground to sit more comfortably, using the last clean rag to wipe off my hands. I’ll have to wash everything tomorrow. Hopefully there was a stream nearby or some body of water that I could use to heat up and scrub. I’m pretty sure they brought a little washing board for the road.

“Laddie...” Balin said, his voice suddenly soft and sad.

Eyo, what is that about? Weren’t you all just laughing a little bit ago? Did I bring down the mood with my virginity reveal? I thought you would be laughing at me for proving that Elves were prudes, not this weird somber mood sh*t.

I didn’t offend anyone, did I? Even Bilbo is looking at me weird.

“Sex is never forced. No one should ever force you into their beds. Sex is an act of love and to force someone isn’t love.”

Oh that. That was my fault. I worded that poorly.

I’m perfectly aware that forced sex doesn’t exist and that it’s just rape. And I know that someone who loves me wouldn’t do something like that. No means no and stop means to stop, even if I said yes beforehand. I know this. Logically, that’s how it works.

That’s not what I meant though.

“I’m aware. I’m not saying force in the literal sense. I’m just not attracted to anyone and the only way I’d sleep with someone is if I have to. That’s why I’m not getting married or starting a relationship or anything like that. I’m staying single until the day I die.”

Aaaand I said something wrong again. The mood dropped considerably afterwards and even Gandalf was looking at me with a strange expression. I’m just digging a hole for myself, aren’t I?

“You never have to. If you don’t want to lie with anyone, you don’t have to. Even if they are your partner or spouse.” Bilbo said, sobering up faster than I’ve ever seen him do. “You don’t owe anyone that part of yourself.”

See, people say that, but that’s honestly such a black and white way of thinking of things.

Sex is more important in relationships than people like to admit. I’ve seen relationships break apart and shatter because of the lack of sex, my parents included. The less sex that a person has with their partner, the more distant they become, and then they get angrier with each other, and it ends with an ER visit because your father threw a skillet at your mother’s head.

Maybe that’s an extreme example, but it still happens like that.

Not having sex with your partner is like, the ultimate insult for them. It’s rejecting intimacy and making them feel unattractive and unwanted. It breaks love and respect and builds resentment so deep that cheating is really the only logical step afterwards. It’s the core of issues in a relationship and the thing people suggest fixing to save it.

Then you feel selfish and gross about yourself for ever making your partner feel that way, even though you’re the one being difficult by not trying hard enough.

It doesn’t take much or much time at all. I would just need to let them do whatever for a while and just really lie there. Sure, they’d probably want more out of me, most of which I can do if I really push myself. It would hopefully feel good for me, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I put in some effort a few times a month. Much like how you need to work to make money, you need to have sex at some point to keep a relationship happy. It’s logical and how humans work. Sex is a need, despite what people want to admit.

I just didn’t want to. I’d make a terrible partner for it, so I’m just not going to date.

Rejecting sex sounds good on paper and is great for fighting for the rights to our bodies as a whole, but the actual consequences of it are too much for me to handle. I remember my mother giving me a lecture about sometimes we have to do some things we don’t want to if we want to make your partner feel appreciated, whether it meant cooking your husband a nice dinner after work or giving him a blowj*b once in a while, then called me cruel and manipulative when I said I would never.

I guess I am in some ways. I have no sex drive or desires, so my relationships are doomed to fail. It’s better for everyone if I just stayed out of it.

“It’s not about owing someone. It’s about putting in the work to keep a relationship going. It’s not fair to your partner if you deny them all the time. Letting them f*ck you is just part of a relationship. Eventually, they’ll get sick of you saying no and look for love elsewhere, so I’m just going to avoid that outcome.”

Bilbo’s eyes went wide and he paled, giving me a look of pure sickness and disgust.

I shut my mouth and gritted my teeth as a pinch of pure anxiety started to rush up my chest. f*ck, I really did say something wrong that time. I don’t know what, since everything I said was just explanations on my celibacy, but something about that was wrong.

“Glírae, sex doesn’t mean love.” Bilbo choked out after another bout of silence. “You don’t need to lie with someone just to prove you love them.”

I know that. Sex shouldn’t be the only thing, but that was part of the relationship. 10% of the relationship when it’s there, but 90% of the problem when it isn’t.

“But isn’t it unfair to expect someone to cater to your needs all the time? Relationships are about compromise, so why is sex any different? Isn’t it your job to make your partner happy, even if it’s uncomfortable for a few minutes?”

I think I heard someone vomit in the background, but Bilbo kept talking.

“No. No, that’s wrong. Whoever told you that was wrong in every possible way. Sex isn’t about compromise, it’s about consent. If you don’t wish to do anything, then there is no consent. You never have to let someone have their way with you just because they want to.”

See, now that just made no sense. I would technically be consenting if I let someone f*ck me, wouldn’t I? I mean, I wouldn’t try to stop them if a partner wanted sex, so I just won’t have a partner to get to that point. What are you not getting here?

“I’m not saying that I’ll just let someone f*ck me. I’m just saying that I’m avoiding the chance of having sex since I don’t want to. I’m not going to let anyone sleep with me, Bilbo, so you don’t have to worry about that. It’s fine.”

“It is not fine! Sex does not mean love and they are not interchangeable! I won’t let you even entertain the possibility of allowing a person free access to your body simply because you feel they’re entitled to you based on relationship status!”

I know this! You are not understanding what I’m saying! I don’t plan on having sex ever, so I don’t need you lecturing me about it! Geez, you’re like my father and his talks about boys. I know how relationships really work and I'm avoiding that fate for myself. If anything, you should feel happy that I’m preventing this.

Even if sex didn’t mean love, love meant sex.

Love means marriage and marriage means sex and I just can’t do that. I would rather die than let someone stick themselves in me or the other way around. Just the thought of seeing someone naked outside of an artistic sense (or in general, when it came to men) was enough to make me want to stick my head in the garbage disposal and turn it on.

Maybe it’s the Catholic upbringing or maybe it’s the asexual part of me, but that’s a big no from me. Arousal didn’t hit me like it does to most people and thinking of sex only disgusted me and filled me with dread. No shame but pure fear. I can’t even read smut without gagging and skipping through it and catching my roommate watching p*rn made me panic in our closet. The biggest act of love and trust my ass.

I’ll trust someone when I’m sure they won’t put their hands one me or ask me to sleep with them after dating them. Or marriage. Or ever. I prefer if they never touch me ever. We can hug or some sh*t like that sometimes, but anything below the waist or my chest is prohibited for life.

Ridiculous, isn’t it? What man or woman is going to accept life without sex? What kind of person will be fine with my lack of wanting to touch?What bitch is just going to waltz into a relationship knowing they’re going to end up feeling unwanted and ugly because of my own issues?

Even the thoughts of being hugged around the waist from behind, kissing someone on my way out, holding their head in my lap while they vent, or heaven forbid, being playfully smacked across the ass as a joke sounded like hell. I felt sick at the thought of having to let someone touch me without having a say. Call me a selfish bitch, but I just can’t.

That’s just cruel for me to do that to someone, but it would be just as bad for me to force myself to endure that just to make them happy. I mean, I would suck it up and deal with it if I had to, but it wouldn’t be a fair situation.

I’m not going to be accused or smacked for withholding something that was never theirs to have in the first place. I’ve seen it with my mother, and I refuse to have that for myself.

That’s not even getting into the romantic side of things.

I have no emotional availably to love someone romantically. My stamina for people is sh*t and I can’t picture myself living with a person that wants my attention and love constantly. I can barely handle my sister’s dog for longer than an hour without getting burnt out by the attention.

Bilbo and Parsley were my only exceptions and that’s because they were adults that did their own thing.

Parsley had children to take care of and we mostly just vibed in silence while working on our projects. There was no physical contact involved with either of us and we only really made small talk during our visits. Parsley’s husband only nodded at me or asked me for simple tasks, like getting stuff off the top shelves. Yeah, her children were touchy, but they were simple taps, shoves or pats for my attention. Never any lasting contact that would drain my energy. They didn’t mind me pushing them off either.

Bilbo was a different matter all on his own.

I was more comfortable with him than anyone else, including my own siblings or parents. He didn’t try to push it on me, nor did he try to prolong it longer than was comfortable. He himself wasn’t comfortable with touching me until months after we grew into a routine and even then, waiting until I initiated on most occasions.

When we slept in the same bed, he kept his hands to himself. He didn’t try to sneak them lower or cup a feel at my chest or grope at my ass as a joke. He didn’t get mad at me the few times I flinched away and pulled off the moment he sensed that I was uncomfortable. He knew my limits and respected every boundary I had, even those that should have seemed dramatic or stupid.

I in turn respected his boundaries and limits, even though it was harder to tell sometimes when he wanted me to stop without him telling me. I knew how he liked to have his hair played with, but how his feet, ears and legs were off limits. I knew the non-verbal cues of when he needed a hug or just to lay on someone’s lap. He was the best roommate a human woman turn male elf could have.

I love that Hobbit. Not to be dramatic, but I would die for him. No hesitation.

But he doesn’t count since he’s purely platonic. He had no attraction towards me either, so the possibility of having a relationship is no chance.

Gandalf was an old Maia and the Dwarves were...Dwarves, so there was no chance that they were attracted to me either.

That would just be weird.

“Bilbo-”

“I believe that’s enough of this discussion for tonight.” Gandalf interrupted.

He also looked pale and shaky, though I’m not sure why since he didn’t drink any ale as far as I saw. He stood up from his rock, moving over to us. He took Bilbo’s flask, capping it and shoving it into his pockets.

“I suggest we all head to bed. We can discuss this another time, when our minds are clearer, and we are...more prepared for it.” He sighed, then motioned for me to stand up. “Glírae, why don’t you sleep near me tonight. I believe Bilbo here has a bit to think about tonight.”

I looked over to Bilbo, who had such a disturbed look on his face that it made me shiver. He shook his head when I was about to ask what was wrong and motioned me to go with the Wizard.

I tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt as I rolled out my sleeping bag that night.

What did I do now?

Chapter 15: Chapter 14

Chapter Text

They were treating me weird, and I don’t like it.

Maybe last night’sdebate had gone to their heads because now they won’t stop looking at me with pity or some other emotion that I couldn’t place. I couldn’t figure out why though. Maybe they were salty that I was the only one with a different opinion to them, but that’s not my fault. They still haven’t told me what I said wrong, and Gandalf kept nipping every conversation about it before it even began.

I didn’t really care how the Dwarves were treating me, minus Kili who seemed to be inching closer to me every hour, as it was only Bilbo that I cared for. Bilbo had been giving me those looks again. They were the same looks he would give me after every flinch, every panic attack, every crying session and just throughout the day even when I hadn’t done anything.

I wasn’t going to lie and say it didn’t sting, even though I brought that upon myself. He must think I’m weak or pathetic with how much I break down. I would be annoyed too if I had to live with and have to take care of someone like me. I really have to stop putting that must stress on him all the time. It’s not fair to have him worry about my mental health all day when he should be worried about his own.

Anyways, they were acting super weird. Weirder than normal.

Thorin, who only ever barked orders at me or would snap at me to hurry and keep up, had nodded at me in greeting, even though it ended with him saying that I would be washing all their clothes in

Like I said, Kili was getting all up in my space, claiming to want to help me load my horse, but had turned red and ran back to his own pony when I brushed his hand. Except he kept coming back and trying to start a conversation with me, which was weird all on its own.

Like bro, I’ve been traveling with you guys for 6 days already. Why are you talking to me now? I thought you guys hated Elves?

“So, Master Elf...” Kili started off, riding on the opposite side of me that Bilbo was. “If we’re going to be traveling with each other, we should get to know more about each other. I’ve never met an elf before, and I am rather curious to know more about...lighter topics.”

He squeaked out the last part as he looked past me. I glanced over, only to see Gandal glaring daggers at Kili and motioning him to shut up. Kili gave him a sheepish smile and turned back over to me. Gandalf nodded at me, but I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to agree with there.

See what I mean by weird? They’ve been like this all morning and avoiding the topic, not to mention Gandalf keeping an eye on me and pushing off any Dwarf that has gotten near me. I don’t know why, since they were fine talking about sex last night until I killed the conversation and Gandalf doesn’t seem like the overprotective type. Bilbo just seemed surprised and suspicious at the sudden change in attitude, if his looks towards Kili are anything to go by.

They seemed to lighten up more than the past week, after that one night of rest in Bree (if you exclude the bar fight), so I guess the tensions were finally starting to die down from the adrenaline and stress of getting supplies and finishing quest preparations. Or they were finally getting used to me being there. Kili certainly was (though I wasn’t going to put away the thought of Thorin sending him to spy on me, that rude bitch).

“What would you like to know?” I asked, putting my book down.

I had read as much as I could and I was starting to give myself motion sickness, so I shoved it back in my bag next to my sketchbooks. I should really start drawing more on this quest, now that I have the time and the energy. I just have to make sure they don’t see any of my edgy drawings. That would be embarrassing.

“I know very little other than your name, which must be the same for you. I should like to know as much as you are willing to tell, and I should like to speak of myself to you. If I ask you a question, you may ask me one in return?”

Ok, so a game of twenty questions. Not my favorite party game, but it would be good to pass the time. I may not like the Dwarves all that much, but it would be easier to travel with them if I’m at least on speaking terms with them. Kili seemed to be the friendliest so far.

“Why not? What’s your first question?” I asked.

Kili’s eyes lit up and I felt a shiver go down my spine. It was the same smile my little sister had when she was planning something.

“I’ll start with something simple. What’s your favorite color?”

Oh, so we’re going with the basic of the basic. At least it was an easy question and not something completely off the walls or personal.

“I like any shade of pink. It’s calming and pretty. Though I do prefer lighter pinks to the darker ones. My entire room would be pink, if only the fabric and paint were available. What about yours?”

Kili seemed to be thinking and troubled by this, which I don’t understand since it’s just a color. Do my color choices offend you now, my guy? Are you one of those lunatics that think that favorite colors and star signs dictate your personality?

“I suppose I prefer dark blues or reds, but it depends on what color fabric is available. I never looked for many colors elsewhere, nor have I given pink much of a thought, but I just might if you adore it so much.”

Well, I wouldn’t say “adore”. I just love that color and have built my entire wardrobe in my last life around it, along with my aesthetic preferences and even my stuffed animal collection. I am a hoarder of everything pink and was so sad when I found that the Hobbits barely had any, even flowers.

Bilbo had been sweet about trying to get me as much pink fabric as possible, even going so far as to commission Parsley on occasion to dye it herself, but it was never the shades I wanted. They were too dark or muted, which wasn’t her fault, and I was happy about it regardless.

“What about your favorite gemstone? Or favorite types of metals?” He asked, suddenly perking up more.

That seemed like a weird question, but I wasn’t one to judge the tastes of Dwarves. Stones and metals are important to them, so maybe this was their version of asking what your favorite song is.

“If we’re counting crystals and non-gems, I like Rose Quartzes and Pearls, though Sapphires are pretty too. As for metals, I’m not a fan of any of them, even if they’re molded into trinkets. I prefer woodcarvings to metal objects, as strange as that is. They feel warmer in a sense.”

Now Kili looked absolutely crushed, despite me once again not saying anything remotely offensive. I know damn well I didn’t say anything wrong that time, since he just asked me my opinion. It wasn’t like I insulted his craft anyways, if metal working was his craft, so I don’t get why he looks so sad.

“You admire woodworking?” Bofur spoke up from behind me, startling all of us (including Bilbo, who almost dropped his monstrosity that he called crochet). “What type of trinkets do you like?”

Oh jeez, man. Where did you even come from? I thought you were busy talking to your family, not eavesdropping on our conversation. Not that I blame you since we were talking in the open and I am also a nosey bitch, but a little warning next time would be lovely.

“Um, I like children’s toys made from wood. Stuff like carved animals and objects, but I also like wooden boxes with patterns burned into them. I’m not a big fan of jewelry or ornaments, since I would never wear them, but I think those are nice to look at too. You’re a woodcarver, aren’t you, Master Bofur?”

Bofur turned a bit pink for some reason and smiled wide.

“Why yes, I am! It’s very kind of you to remember my name and craft, Master Elf.” Bofur beamed.

It’s not that big of a deal to know your name, my guy. You stuck out the most to me in the movies, so I could point you out more easily. You had more than one line and at least part of a personality, even if it was just showing you stating the obvious.

If only you would stop with that title. It made me feel weird and not in a good way.

“You can just call me Glírae. You don’t have to put a title in front of it. I’m not a master of any craft, nor am I a member of high society.” I waved him off. “It just sounds weird with my name.”

None of the Hobbits in the Shire had bothered with any titles for me after the first month, since I was around so much and have taken care of so many kids. Plus, I’m pretty sure that Elves don’t use titles for each other outside of their Lords and Royals, which I am not, according to that book. With my luck, I’m pretty sure I’m at the bottom of society. Barely a peasant.

You would think I’d be annoyed at that, but I actually find it quite comforting. I don’t have any social responsibilities, nor do I have to be worried about leading people. I know most OCs would want to be an Elven lady or from a good, noble family because the life of luxury is easier, but I’m content with where I am.

“I’ll remember that for next time then.” He said, excitedly bouncing on his pony’s seat. “You say you’re not a master yet, but do you have a craft? I’ve heard that Elves are known for their forging and skills in almost any craft they wish. Surely you must be good at crafting something!”

Well, not really, unless you count my sketches and my sewing. That is technically a family craft, since I learned them from my abuela and mother, but they’re only good enough for compliments at craft fairs and from friends that want me to make stuff for them. My embroidery was pretty good, I guess, but I never enjoyed doing it. My sketches weren’t the best and even less so in Middle Earth, since I don’t think they’d appreciate anime girls with unrealistic body types of cat features.

(Leave me alone. I like drawing women. It makes me happy)

I guess I’m not up to standard on crafts, but that was fine. I lived with Hobbits who appreciated what I did, and it wasn’t like I was going to need to make anything in the future to sell. If I really need something for the future, I’ll ask Parsley to teach me how to make more clothes. I’m a fast learner and already know more than the basics when it comes to stitches and fabric types.

I couldn’t respond before Bilbo interrupted us.

“He’s great at embroidery, sewing, cooking and cleaning. From what I've seen him draw, he is decent at that as well. Though I think his best talent is singing and storytelling.”

I looked back to see Bilbo, who was struggling with that knotted mess that in no way resembled anything you can make with yarn, smiling at me, though his eyes told me to keep my mouth shut before I put myself down again. Damn this Hobbit and his ability to guess my next move.

I wouldn’t say that singing is my best talent. I sing all the time, yeah, but that’s mostly to keep my ADHD from taking over and it’s a bit from home that I can bring here. I don’t have my headphones or my music that I can just play every time I get overwhelmed, so this is the best alternative.

The six years of vocal lessons my father put me in helped, not going to lie. I was a better singer than the average person, especially when it came to belting and growling, but I wasn’t the best by any means. Sure, I could control my voice, but I’m betting that the average Elf can do that too. Those guys are rumored to be the best musicians in the world, singing songs of masterpieces on the daily, so they wouldn’t be too impressed with my bedroom singing of “Monster by KIRA”.

Bilbo is a sweetheart, but he overestimates my talents. I think it’s because he doesn’t have any creative talent, so he automatically assumes that whatever I do is good. It’s kind of like when a parent compliments their kid’s drawing because love blinds them too much to see how sh*tty the scribbles are.

“You sing?” Ori asked, also joining the conversation. “Can you sing something for us? It’s rather dull traveling without song or poem to entertain.”

Uh, when did everyone start talking to me? I thought you guys were avoiding me after last night. It’sreally weird to suddenly be the center of attention after being ignored for a good week. I’ll pretend that spike of anxiety didn’t hit me when I heard the request.

Before I could deny singing, another annoying voice interrupted.

“So, the elf has the talents of a common servant.” Thorin muttered, though not really since it was heard by everyone. “Is that why you live with the halfling?”

What? You got a problem against servants, dude? I knew you were a judgmental piece of work, but I didn’t take you for one who was classist. They’re people just like the rest of us, and I can’t stand how they’re mistreated in this time period. I’ve read the horror stories in history articles and seen documentaries of the Middle Ages. I refuse to be part of a system that is ok with hitting a person as punishment, even if it probably isn’t as common here.

I’m not a servant, though. I may clean Bilbo’s house and sew his torn clothes, but I refuse to be considered a servant. I’m not going to devote my life to serving another person. That may be what my grandmother and mother chose, but I refuse. I refused to serve a husband, the church and a low paying job that will run me to the ground.

“He is not my servant! He is my friend, and you will do well to remember that!” Bilbo snapped. “He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. Including singing for us!”

I wasn’t going to anyways. I’m not comfortable with that much attention yet and my taste in music might be too depressing at the moment. I have “Numb Little Bug” stuck in my head and that might be inappropriate.

“Will you not sing for us?” Ori asked again. “I would love to hear elvish songs. They are said to be the most beautiful things one has ever heard.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know any elvish songs, sorry. I’m not a minstrel, so I was never trained in or learned any of them. Most of the songs I sing are pretty...strange, and none of them are conventional.” Ori frowned sadly, which made my chest tighten. “B-But I can recite poetry pretty easily. Would you like to hear one?”

Ori smiled proudly and I swallowed hard at what I just got myself into. In truth, I only really memorized like three poems for my speech class and one of those was a poem for children. I gulped again when I saw everyone looking at me, even Bilbo (though his was only of concern). I took a deep breath, looked ahead, and started speaking.

“"Will you walk into my parlor?" said a spider to a fly;
" 'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They found the poem disturbing, but Ori had liked it enough to have me repeat it several times for him to write it down. They liked the message of not trusting strangers just because they seduce you with words and Gandalf even compared it to Sauron’s seduction of Celebrimbor, so I consider this a win.

By dinner time, everything had gotten a lot less tense than yesterday. Thorin had still made us clean everything and had made side comments about how slow I was for a servant, for which I had to grip onto Bilbo before he could tackle a bitch. Balin had given me my dinner this time, since Kili was busy talking with Fili about plans for a gift or something. Must have been someone’s birthday.

We had eaten surprisingly early, and it didn’t take long to clean all the dishes. It was still light enough outside to see by the time we were done. I was just going to assume that we were taking a break, but then I was handed a large mound of clothes and rags, along with a small sewing kit, by an annoyed Thorin.

“There is a stream nearby. Wash these and bring them back. I want them clean and dry by tomorrow morning with minimal stains. Sew together any rips and tears and don’t add any new ones. I’ll send someone out with you to keep watch. Go now.”

I could barely nod before he turned and walked away. Bilbo sputtered in outrage behind me, but I ignored it and started walking towards the sound of rushing water. The hobbit pushed himself up, grabbed the washing board and kettle pot, and ran after me to assist. I could practically hear the steam coming out of his ears and his heart rate going up.

Loosen up, my guy. He was just giving me instructions. It’s not like he was rude about it, even if he was a bit direct, so I don’t see the point of getting mad. I have to pull my weight here somehow if I wanted to be here.

Besides, laundry was fun for me. It was repetitive and calming, something I knew how to do, and I could just sing my way through it to entertain myself. Bilbo had no problem with me doing all the laundry myself at home, so I don’t see why he’s so upset here.

The stream was only like 10 feet away, behind a few trees and in a clearing. It was really pretty, even if the water was full of leaves from the nearby trees. But the water was clear and warm, even in the spring air, so I didn’t have to worry about my hands freezing off.

“Bilbo, it’s fine. Don’t say anything to him. I’m already going to wash clothes. It’s not worth it to just make him mad.” I said, finding a clearing to start a fire with Bofur’s, who was apparently our escort, help.

Bofur was quick to get the fire going and collect water from the stream. He didn’t say much, but he was very helpful in filling the pot. It was too small to wash all the clothes at once, but I had all night, so I wasn’t that big of a deal.

“You cannot just let him order you around like that. You are not his servant nor are you his to command. If you want to wash clothes, it’s fine, but don’t do it just because he tells you to.”

I shook my head, smiling and ruffling his hair.

“They need to be washed regardless. Rough as he is, he is right about cleaning them for the journey. You may not like it, but I’m not bothered by chores. Sure, he can be nicer about it, but it’s not the end of the world. You don’t have to help me if you don’t want to.”

Bilbo huffed and rolled up his sleeves.

“I’m helping you with this. I meant it when I said that we are under the same contract. Now, hand me that bar of soap. I can prepare the water to soak the clothes in.” Bilbo nodded. “But I request that you sing. You know my favorites.”

I laughed and threw the clump of soap at him. He caught it, only to have it slip out of his hands and into the pot. Bilbo flushed in embarrassment and looked away, glaring at Bofur for snickering.

“What song do you want first, Bilbo?” I asked.

“Anything in Spanish. It’s a beautiful language to hear.” He replied.

I nodded and knelt down by the pile of clothes to sort them out

“Dos oruguitas enamoradas
Pasan sus noches y madrugadas...”

I sang for three hours, switching from English to Spanish and back. Bilbo requested song after song, sometimes singing along to them with me. Bofur looked completely amazed at most of them and had even started crying at “What Else Can I Do?”, so we had to wait for him to stop before continuing.

The clothes were done by the time the sun went down. It was hard work, but satisfying and fun and I was smiling brightly by the time I hung up the last of the rags to dry. Bilbo and I were soaking wet, covered in soap and sweaty, but I loved every second of it.

It was refreshing and perfect, to see the fruits of my labor in front of me. It was my favorite part of chores. Seeing the end results of my hard work, to see everything clean when it was so dirty before. Now all I had to do was wait for them to dry tomorrow to sew them back up. Then I can be extra happy again.

If only my joy wasn’t ruined by my nightmare that night.

Chapter 16: Chapter 15

Chapter Text

One of the most common symptoms of PTSD were vivid nightmares, which were also my least favorite part. Not that I had a favorite to begin with.

PTSD flashbacks are different from normal nightmares and they’re just as annoying as you’d expect them to be. Rather than scary images and the absurd situations that nightmares happen, most of which are of certain events such as getting chased by a serial killer of finding yourself buried underground, these types of nightmares are...calmer, in a sense. This one was no different and I knew it was going to be bad by how normal it started.

There were no loud noises, or sudden death music, or even a sudden feeling of impending doom. There was no monster or killer, or life or death situation that I had to survive or battle I had to fight. There was no fire or public nudity or failing a test or whatever people dream of that makes them scared. Those nightmares scared you for a day or two, then you woke up, drank some tea or water, cried for a few minutes, then you slowly forgot about it.

There were no serious injuries here. No confinement or imprisonment. No screaming or pleading. No explosions. This was much, much worse.

My nightmare started with the smell of arroz con leche cooking on a winter morning.

My mother was a small woman, barely taller than my own pathetic 5’3 stature, who liked to dress up even in the comfort of her own home. Today, she was wearing a white and blue floral dress with her favorite sandals. Her long, brown hair was in a bun high on her head and her makeup was done, even though I was sure we had no plans today.

I’ll pretend I didn’t see the devil horns growing out of her head or the fact that she was floating above the ground instead of walking on it.

She was singing along to one of her songs from the speaker on the counter, belting the words with the singer and dancing along to the beat. She used a wooden spoon as her microphone, occasionally tapping it on the counter when the chorus appeared. I couldn’t make out what the song was, nor the words she sang, nor the instruments, even though my mother’s voice was clear.

My siblings were nowhere to be found, which was odd since Marisol liked to be the first one at the table in order to get the most amount of food, if Miguel didn’t beat her to it. Mercedes almost never joined us for breakfast, so I wasn’t too concerned, but even Luis should have been down here by now. My father was also gone, but I never saw him in the mornings.

“Mamá, where are the kids?” I asked, appearing next to her and helping her stir the rice.

My voice was high, and female once again, as was the rest of my body. I was back in my original form, back to poor eyesight and non-straight teeth and marked skin, except not exactly. I had never left this body. Not yet at least.

This was from before.

She gave a small shrug, and she kept singing, not looking at me yet as she was too focused on finishing the last notes of her song without blowing her voice out on the grito.

“Can you do the dishes while I get the table ready, mija? They should be down in a few minutes.” She said and started to portion out the rice pudding.

Suddenly, I was washing dishes, even though I didn’t remember turning on the sink or grabbing any soap. My mother was next to me, helping me dry them off as she continued to sing and dance to the cheesy love songs. I hummed along as I went, washing dish after dish that kept appearing.

“Aria, mija, let me see your face for a moment.”

I felt a hand on my cheek, warm and soft, and turned to look at my mother. She was smiling at me, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, as she inspected my face. I didn’t react and let her move my head from side to side.

“Dios mio, have you seen yourself?! You really need to get those eyebrows done the next time you go to the mall. You’re basically Frida Kahlo at this point!” She explained, ending it with a sharp grimace. “I don’t want you to spend money, so I’ll pay for it. Just tell me how much it is.”

She rubbed my forehead, right where my eyebrows were, pushing my glasses out of the way to see me better. I swallowed down the growing pinch of nerves in my stomach the more displeased she looked.

“Have you been taking care of yourself at all? Your face is practically a pizza with that much acne and your teeth are as yellow as a damn lemon. Do you even own a mirror?” She tutted and let go of my face. “You can’t even say it’s the makeup breaking you out like your sister since you don’t even wear any. Honestly, what’s wrong with you? It hurts me seeing that you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“But madre,” I started to argue, even though her gaze made me shrink back. “I have been taking care of myself. I just stopped using the products you gave me since they were making my skin oily and making my teeth hurt-”

“Your skin is oily and your teeth hurt because of all the crap you eat. I saw a pizza box in your room the last time I went to visit, so don’t even try to lie to me. You shouldn’t put all that grease into your body unless you want to get fat and ugly. No man is going to want to talk to you if you don’t try to look your best. You already look like a boy since you cut your beautiful hair off, not that you brushed it anyways.”

I barely contained myself from running a hand through my hair. I was going to say something to my defense, when she shook her head at my expression. I shut my mouth and looked down at the dishes, scrubbing away even harder.

“But whatever, I tried so hard to instill good habits into my children and this is what they do with it. You’re an adult now in college and I can’t say anything to you without you getting angry. You don’t need your mother anymore unless it’s to cry for her to help you with something.”

I caught myself before I could feel the family rise of anger and annoyance. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to pretend that my eyes didn’t sting.

“Look up when I’m talking to you, Aria. You know it’s rude to not engage with someone.” She demanded, causing me to freeze.

I forced myself to look over at her, even though I really didn’t want to. She clicked her tongue in annoyance and rolled her eyes.

“Ay, what are you crying for? We’re just having a discussion here, so start acting like an adult. No one yelled at you or hit you, so there’s no need for you to do that.”

I nodded, blinking a few times until she was satisfied.

“Honestly, you should have never moved into those dorms with that girl. It was just a big waste of money and the only thing that’s happening is that you’re poor and sensitive and... ugh.” She sighed heavily and leaned onto the counter, suddenly looking very tired. “Look, I may seem harsh, but I’m saying this because I love you. You’re my first baby and I love you. I only want what’s best for you.”

“I love you too, madre.” I responded out of instinct, even though the urge to cry was still there.

“Not as much as I love you.” She kissed my forehead. “How about, after breakfast, I can show you how to apply some makeup. It’s never too late to learn and I’m sure Mercedes won’t mind us using her stuff. You would look so much prettier with some eyeshadow here and there.”

She hugged me and went back to singing.

My nightmares didn’t stop at one, most of the time. They happened in a sequence and very rarely did they give me any time to adjust to the whiplash of things. The nightmares that came immediately afterwards started in the middle or, with a sudden wave of pure, cold terror.

My mother was the most loving and caring person that I have ever known, but if there was one thing that we knew, it’s that her anger was violent and explosive at times. I never knew what could set her off and it was never the same thing on any day. Walking on eggshells was never fun, even if it became second nature at some point. Most of the time they went unharmed, but sometimes I would f*ck up big time.

The shards of glass across the floor were my broken eggshells today. My siblings had run the moment the glass of orange juice hit the ground, some to get my mother and the others, the twins, had run to hide under their bed or in their closet.

“¿Y ahora qué hiciste, pendeja?” My mother screamed, materializing in front of me.

She wore nothing but a bathrobe today, along with a towel on her head. Well, what was the head of a boar in place ofher normal head.

I couldn’t say anything before she slapped me across the face, her nails raking across my skin and splitting it open. It must have been a day where she was extremely angry because she didn’t hold back. The pain made me almost cry on the spot.

“Look at the f*cking mess you made! What are you, five? Look at this and tell me that this is something someone your age would do.”

She sounded like my mother, even though her tone was vibrating as if it were mixed in with a hive of bees.

I didn’t answer. Speaking would just make it worse and get you hit again, and it was best to just stay quiet while she got everything out of her system. I’m not my sister. I don’t like making my mother angrier than she already is.

“Why the f*ck are you just sitting there? Clean it up before it gets sticky and attracts flies!” She yelled, then put her hand up to stop me. “No. You know what? Stay right there. I’ll just clean it up. I already do everything in this damn house! Might as well clean up your messes too since you’re too lazy to do anything without someone having to tell you!”

A mop appeared in her hand, along with a bucket.

“B-But I can clean it-” My voice was soft, and it shook, which only made her mad.

“Why? So you can break the mop too? Just go off and be stupid somewhere else. Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up before you bleed all over my floor!”

I looked down, finally registering the burning in my hands from the shards of glass I had started to pick up. I guess I was so scared that I didn’t even notice. I pushed myself up, wincing at the sharp pain in my palms, which caused my mother to snort.

“f*cking useless.” I heard her mutter as I ran for the bathroom.

Another nightmare came next, this one with no words.

I was in the corner of a bedroom, crying hysterically as I watched my father, a large bear of a man whose face was never shown yet I instantly recognized,take a belt to my 6 year old brother’s back while my sister screamed in my mother’s arms. There was no context for this one and it could have been a fake memory, but the screams of the twins were horrific. My father only hit him six times, but it was enough to leave marks.

I treated those marks later that night.

Yet another nightmare came afterwards, this one jumbled and mixed up so bad that I barely recognized what was happening. All I recognized was my mother screaming and pleading for my father to stop. I didn’t want to know why.

The final one was the worst, even if it was the shortest.

My mother pulled my hair harder, shaking me around even as I was screaming for her to stop. She slammed me to the floor, knocking the wind out of me. The floor cracked underneath me, yet the shards only fell into who knows where.

“I should break your f*cking face for that sh*t you just pulled!” She yelled so close to my face that I could smell the tequila on her breath. “You think this sh*t was funny? That it was cute? How can I even call you my daughter after this?”

I covered my ears, curling up just in case she tried to slap me again.

“But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted everyone to think that you’re a whor*?!”

“I’m not a whor*.” I whimpered out.

“Yes, you are! You’ll end up on the f*cking street, sucking dick for pocket change! You’re nothing but a slu*t and a bitch, prostituting yourself out there while your siblings make good money and get good grades. But knowing you, you love it!” She stomped her foot next to my head. ”Because you’re a whor*!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Nothing but a zorra that I f*cked up in raising.”

I woke up crying with Bilbo above me, terrified and shaking me awake. I barely had time to gasp before I grabbed him and pulled him to my chest. I didn’t scream, didn’t struggle, nor did I make a sound as he held me.

I don’t know how long I stared at the sky before panic started to set in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmares were unfortunately common for Glírae. It was only a matter of time before they would rear their ugly heads again, ready to break his friend down for the night. However, he didn’t expect one so soon.

He knew something was off when Glírae started stirring and mumbling, something he never did unless something was distressing him. He was always so calm and still when sleeping, to the point of scaring him sometimes when it appeared he had stopped breathing entirely. When he started saying the word for mother in his native tongue, Bilbo had shot out of bed.

He had scared Nori, who was on watch, half to death and had woken up a few others in his struggle to get to the elf, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Glírae was trembling and gripping his head and beginning to cry in his sleep. It was a miracle that he had woken him up when he did, one that ended without him getting hit this time, even if it did end with a crushing hug.

He let himself be held onto, trying to soothe the panicking elf. Glírae’s heart was thumping rapidly against his chest, and he was shaking like mad. When his breath began to speed up instead of slowing down, Bilbo felt his chest constrict. Oh mercy, he was going to start panicking again soon.

Before he could say anything, he was pushed off onto the ground. Glírae shot up, throwing the blankets off and taking off towards the trees, even at his and the Companies protest.

Gandalf ran after him, followed closely by Bilbo himself. Bilbo screamed out his name, but the only response he got was the sound of a terrified cry. Bilbo ran faster, faster than even Gandalf, and stumbled into the clearing where they had done the laundry earlier that day.

There, hunched over the bushes, Glírae was gripping onto a tree for support and heaving onto the floor. From the sounds of it, there wasn’t much for him to vomit as he had barely eaten his dinner that night. He was pale, trembling and disoriented, a sight that still broke Bilbo’s heart even after so many years of seeing it. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he would run again.

Gandalf took a step forward, but Bilbo grabbed his robes to pull him back.

“Go back to the camp. He doesn’t need someone he barely knows around him right now. I can handle this.” Bilbo sighed and shook his head. “I won’t be back until morning, so please put away our sleeping bags and supplies. You still owe us for the room two days ago.”

Whatever Gandalf was going to say died at Bilbo’s stern words and he promptly turned to leave.

Bilbo took and deep breath. Glírae gave him a shaky nod as he sat down at the base of the tree, then vomited once more on the ground. Bilbo stroked his back once a few minutes passed and he was coherent enough to give his consent to be touched, silently cursing the poor excuses that ever called themselves his parents.

It was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kili knew this was an awful idea.

He should have simply left it alone and just put away the supplies like Gandalf had told him too. Still, he could not help but want to get closer to his elf. After the disaster of a conversation they had that morning, where every plan for an engagement gift had been thrown down the drain.

His beloved had no love for gold or gemstones found in the mountains, so making a gift with his craft was infinitely more difficult. He knew nothing about woodcarving or textiles, and he had refused to ask Bofur for his help lest he sabotaged his proposal. He had seen the way the older Dwarves in the Company had begun to look at his elf and he refused to be waylaid by them.

This was his true love, not theirs.

Even so, he knew he should not have done what he did. He should have run after his love and comforted him from the terrible dream he had. He should have been there to embrace him and wipe his tears and promise him all the sweet riches of the world. He should have been there as a shoulder to cry on, but instead he was frozen by sleep and fear and had remained in the camp while their burglar and the wizard had gone after them instead.

When Gandalf had returned to the camp some minutes later and had asked them to pack up the supplies left behind, he had volunteered to help. And now, he was making a terrible mistake.

“What are you doing?” Fili hissed in the background, startling him so bad that he had dropped the stolen sketchbook. “You’re snooping through his bag like a filthy vagabond!”

Kili shushed his brother, picking the book back up and moving close to the light of the fire. Thankfully, the others had gone back to sleep and Gandalf was busy keeping watch on the trees for when the two returned.

“I just want a look. Nothing more than a few pages. I want to know what he likes and what would make for a good engagement present. He has no love for the stuff I am comfortable with, but there must be something that I can make him.”

His brother gave him a look of horror, even as he too sat down next to him.

“An engagement gift? Kili, you’ve known him for a week! He has spoken to you once! You’ve heard him say that he has no interest in marriage or courting and is terrified of the very thought!”

Kili shook his head, opening the book, then pausing when he realized that he had opened it upside down.

“He is wrong. You’ve heard his thoughts as I have. Surely you recognize how unhealthy they are. Whoever taught him to think that way is to blame, and he needs someone to show him that love is not like that. I want to show him how wonderful love can be.”

Kili opened the page to the right one and felt his heart stop.

“So, you stole from him and violated his privacy to show you respect him?” Fili hissed, cuffing him on the head. “What is wrong with you?”

Kili didn’t answer, far too horrified at the image he was seeing to do anything in his defense.

Drawn on the blank pages, in charcoal and ink, was a figure. Naked, bound in chains and covered by flowers. The lines drawn across were angry, precise and smeared by water stains that must have been teardrops. This was personal and something he should not have seen.

This was a mistake.

Chapter 17: Chapter 16

Chapter Text

They decided to spend the day in the clearing of the forest, both to let the ponies and horses rest and to bathe in the stream.

I wasn’t complaining, since Bilbo didn’t get much sleep last night after my pathetic little breakdown, so he needed the rest (especially after he had to help me strip, change and then wash the tunic free from my vomit stains). Luckily, the Dwarves were too busy stripping and throwing each other into the stream to notice him sneaking in that morning nap.

I stayed behind at the camp with him, along with Fili, Kili, Oin, Bombur, Ori and Gandalf. They had all bathed beforehand and were drying off in the afternoon sun. They all made a point of ignoring me once more, except for Fili and Kili, who were looking at me with an expression I couldn’t pinpoint. I’m not even going to try to figure out what that’s about.

Bilbo laid next to me, using my shadow to block out the sun while he caught up on the sleep I took from him. Not going to lie, a sleeping Bilbo is cute as f*ck. I was mending the holes in the socks and trousers that finally finished drying while reading the next few chapters of the book. I’ll bathe after I finish this, even if it’s simply rinsing off in the stream. I’d rather avoid them seeing me naked at all costs and vice versa.

This chapter of the book was different than the others, yet it was frankly boring since it just talked about the social structures and hierarchies that elves tend to have. I kind of expected them to have a hierarchy since this is basically the Middle Ages, but I still don’t like it. Family name and acts of service were seen as important, both of which I lacked and have no hope of getting anytime soon. Not that I want to get them since being in the spotlight in this place is way too stressful.

Shut up. I know damn well that I’m a hypocrite for joining this quest if I wanted to fade into the background. But in my defense, I didn’t really have much of a choice when Gandalf saw me. Even if I wasn’t here to protect Bilbo, he was going to drag me out regardless.

See, I wasn’t a fan of the Feudal System and the fact that most people here have their lives determined by what their ancestors did a few thousand years ago or be seen as a greater person due to breeding/noble blood (most of which was bound to end in incest at some point). I don’t know why they put so much emphasis on familial lines and who your parents were, since I don’t think that it’s fair to judge a child for the sins of their parents.

I know plenty of people with terrible parents who become amazing human beings. A person’s strength isn’t determined by sh*tty Middle Ages genetics, nor by which family they managed to be born into.

I am of the opinion that the reason why peasants and members of the lower class aren’t known or become great was because they never had the opportunities to grow, much like how it is in my own world. It’s hard to become a great warrior when the training was unavailable to you, much like how you cannot become a great author without being taught how to read and write. Nobles and the rich have the advantage, like always, and I didn’t like it.

Even if the Nobility and Royalty we see in the books and movies seem too noble true, I highly doubt that the rest of them are like that. When you give someone power over another, something in them snaps and changes and they become cruel, uncaring and see those under them as less than human. I’ve taken enough Psychology and Criminal Justice classes to not trust anyone, even if they appear nice and kind.

Power be damned. I don’t trust it.

Frankly, I don’t give much of a sh*t about it if you’re an ass, which most people who grew up with money turn out to be. Main characters of the books be damned. Those are biased accounts by the author to get the audience to root for their victory.

We can’t exactly root for the King to win if we see him smacking the sh*t out of a servant or ordering the burning of villages. If they do happen, it’s because the victims were evil and did something horrible to deserve it. Their reigns are peaceful and just and they have never done anything wrong afterwards, only living to make their people happy.

What a load of bullsh*t.

I do not trust anyone in a position of power. Power corrupts and these ancient times didn’t have the checks and balances that people needed to keep themselves from growing all loco. Sure, power is distributed by the King to the Lords and their vassals, but they can lose that favor and be stripped easily. Plus, the King isn’t always there to check and see if the Nobles are keeping their people happy or taxing them into starvation.

That’s not even getting started in the times of war. Those are the most terrifying times for me. Men and boys being ordered to go to the front lines and die for their King, even if they have never touched a sword or bow before. They could be sent on suicide missions to buy time for the King and the only person that would remember them is their families that would in turn get nothing for their deaths.

It may be necessary, but I don’t like the idea of dying for someone that wouldn’t even look at you in their normal life. There has never been a King out there that did everything for their people. Not once in human history, even the great kings and rulers we are taught to admire.

Queen Elizabeth the First was temperamental and abusive towards her staff and family and approved of torture. King Henry the 8th executed so many people and was an awful husband. Bloody Mary burned people alive. Alexander the Great and the enslavement of his enemies. Monarchs who hoarded wealth and let their people die in the streets. The US government and their atrocities towards minority communities. And much, much more.

People aren’t meant to be in charge by themselves, because they go mad with wealth. Even normal people change when they inherit some money or go into a position of power. My roommate running for Student Senate, for example.

It’s terrifying and no one should have that much power.

But I’m rambling.

According to this book and the highlighted sections that I assume the weird old lady noted, I’m at the bottom of the social pyramid, so my social expectations are different. I have no titles, land or wealth outside of what the Shire has given me, as well as no formal education or recognized skills.

This limited the jobs that I could have in the future, unless I could convince a Master to take me on as an apprentice without knowing my family history. None of the crafts that Elves favored seemed like my thing, like blacksmithing or scribe work. Even simpler, more necessary jobs like farmers and tailors, required at least some form of training in said field, which I didn’t have a family connection to. The most I could be in my current situation is a common servant while trying to learn a trade on the side, which I would rather not.

I don’t want to stay in an elven city if it meant leaving Bilbo, nor do I want to go back to working for someone else. I was basically a servant at my old job, only without the possibility of being hit every time I spilled or broke something. Here would just be worse off, since I doubt they have labor laws to protect the common people. Besides, the only person I will clean and cook for is Bilbo.

Thank God I’m a nobody here.

I was a blank slate and entirely unimportant to anything in society. I was a faceless being, neither important enough to consider or to care about. I just have to keep my head down, be respectful and do everything they tell me to do, then fade into the background where they won’t be able to hurt me since they won’t care enough.

Seems simple enough.

The rules themselves were pretty clear and simple. Be respectful, speak when spoken to, don’t make a scene, yada yada. The only part I found interesting was how to address elves based on social status and titles, more specifically my status.

Did you know that Elves had different ways of bowing to each other depending on social rank?

Friends and family of the upper class bow just slightly with their hand over their heart, with eye contact for respect. This also goes for common people greeting each other if they’re familiar or close.

Greeting a Lord and his Lady is similar, though you bow just a little lower and have your eyes to the ground if they are above you in rank.

High ranking Stewards and elves that belong to a King’s court required a bow at the waist with your hands clasped in front of you (apparently to ensure that no weapons are present) and you may only lift your eyes if they approve.

With Kings, I was required to kneel and keep my head down when addressing them and only speak when spoken to. My hands were always where someone could see them, and sudden movements were highly discouraged. Rarely would someone of my status be granted an audience with a King, so it was important that I knew my place in court. Kind of gross, but I didn’t expect anything better.

At least it was easy to remember.

I’ve seen enough anime and read enough historical fiction to at least pull off some of the fancy etiquette stuff. Plus, I’m utterly shameless and have no issues with getting on the ground or praising someone or even getting stepped on, though I hope that last one doesn’t happen. Something tells me that as much as I think noblemen are dicks, they won’t just have me lick their boots for no reason.

Thankfully, I’m boring enough to go unnoticed by them. I’ll just breeze through this quest, follow the storyline, and make my way back to the Shire to live out the rest of the time left until I can either find my way back home to my body or I inevitably perish. As long as I keep my mouth shut and stay behind this Company, I’ll be fine.

I better be fine.

This better not be some foreshadowing, or I will throw hands.

I finished with the last sock just as I finished the chapter. The next few pages were about the types of food Elves eat, which was far less interesting since I really could not give a sh*t. Food was too weird of a topic for me to care about recipes and ingredients. Proper dining procedures I could get behind reading, but I don’t need to know the 20 or so types of salad they have.

Either way, I am not too worried about the small details so long as I know them. I’m not from any of the Elven settlements, so I can always give the excuse of different customs and expectations. I already speak a language no one has ever heard of, so it won’t be too difficult to convince them. I hope it just doesn’t end up with them asking too many questions.

“Elf!” I jumped, shutting the book on instinct.

It was Thorin again, with wet hair and skin, marching his way over to me. His shout had woken Bilbo up, who was huffing with annoyance.

“Have you finished your task?” He asked, gruff and demanding as always, but without the cruelty that I was expecting.

Guess he finally learned not to piss Bilbo off.

I nodded, gesturing towards the pile of socks and trousers that I had folded and organized. He nodded back.

“Good. You may go bathe. The rest of us are done. When you return, I have a few more tasks for you.” He said, then walked away before Bilbo could fully wake up.

Bilbo pushed himself up, yawning and stretching out his back. I ignored the few pops I heard and pushed my way over to our bags where our towels and his spare clothes were. Soap and a brush were easy to find, as well as a wide toothed comb for his curly hair. Lastly, I grabbed two scrubs to clean off all the dirt buildup.

Bilbo pushed himself up, still groggy from his nap, and followed me up.

“How was your nap?”I asked, helping him fix his tangled and slightly frizzed hair. “Hopefully the sun didn’t bother you too much.”

He shook his head, shaking back another yawn.

“It was a fine nap, thank you. I guess your height is useful for something.” He joked and smacked my hand away like the rude old man that he was. “Did you grab everything?”

“I did.” I said, handing him his stuff. “We can go bathe in the clearing away from the Dwarves. They should be done by now, so we’ll have some privacy.”

“Good.” Bilbo nodded.

The clearing was surprisingly clean for being used for rowdy Dwarves that liked to throw each other in the water. Sure, it was a little muddy near the shallow areas, but that was to be expected.

Bilbo moved over to the shallow area of the pool where he could submerge himself and I moved over to the deeper end. I turned around while he stripped, and he did the same for me.

I didn’t look at myself when I was stripping, instead moving into the warm water as soon as the clothes came off. I tried not to look down, knowing the moment that I saw myself I would start scratching my impossibly clear skin again.

I hated looking at myself when bathing. I hated looking at myself in general (I threw out all the mirrors in the house for this exact reason). I hated being reminded of this awful, beautiful body with its smooth skin and wrong parts and curves in different places. Washing and bathing was my least favorite part of life so far and I would have skipped it if Bilbo wasn’t there to keep me on schedule. Sanitation be damned.

I hated this. I really hated this.

I shuddered when I ran my hands over my flat chest, shutting my eyes and dunking my head under the water. I stayed underneath it for a hot minute, getting used to the temperature and hoping it would at the very least distract me enough to get this done quickly. Otherwise, I’d start feeling myself up until it sent me into a crying fit.

I’m ok. I’m alright. One step at a time and then I can be done with this. First the hair. Just focus on the hair for now.

I didn’t open my eyes again, only once to grab the soap, as I washed away the buildup of oils and sweat from the previous week. I paid more attention to my hair than anything else, since I could at the very least pretend that it was the same as my old body (except not really, since even the texture now was different). I scrubbed until I couldn’t anymore and went back under the water, staying there until I had to come back up for air.

I’m doing fine. You’re doing fine, Aria. You can do this. Just finish fast.

Once that was cleared, I stood up to let the cool spring air shock me into another distraction. It barely worked, since this body also didn’t perceive temperature the same way. I swallowed hard and held my breath as I lathered up the scrub and ran it across my skin, scrubbing hard enough to turn it red and cause it to sting. It took most of my willpower to keep my hands from staying on my chest or my hips or from going lower.

Rinsing the soap off was the last step, one that I did as fast as I could. It had barely been 15 minutes before I was back out, crawling to the bank and grabbing the towel.

“Are you done already?” Bilbo asked, concerned. “Are you heading back now?”

I shook my head, drying off quickly. Bilbo hadn’t even started washing his hair yet, just now finishing combing through it. He was holding the bottle of soap up towards me.

“Not yet. I’ll wait for you. Do you want me to help you wash your back or hair?” I asked.

“That would be appreciated. Thank you.”

I finished drying off and changing back into my clothes before rolling up my sleeves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kili was not proud of himself.

He knew he should have left the book back where it was and confessed to his elf what he had done while begging for forgiveness. He should have let his elf take his anger out on him or state his price for his love back. What Kili shouldn’t have done, however, was wait until he had left to rummage through his bags again for the book.

“What are you doing?” Fili cried, alerting everyone to Kili’s deed.

Kili, however, ignored his brother and yanked opened the bag his elf had left on the ground. Glírae hadn’t noticed that his things weren’t in order last night or had given any indication that he knew about his privacy being invaded. This was pushing his luck and he found himself not caring at the moment. He needed to confirm something, for the sake of his beloved’s health.

He only prayed that Glírae would forgive him for this.

“Kili, put the bag down.” Balin ordered, standing up to march over to him.

Kili moved away, closer to Thorin who was glaring at him in disapproval yet not saying anything to get him to stop. If anything, he too looked interested in the sketchbook.

“No, hold on a moment. There’s something in here that I need to see.” He said.

He opened the book just as Balin and Gandalf had both had reachedhim. There was a hand on his shoulder, but it froze before it could pull him back. The footsteps stopped, along with his heart and breath. Gandalf breathed in sharply and Balin let out a horrified cry. Even Thorin behind him let out a small gasp as Kili flipped the pages with trembling hands.

He barely noticed when the others had rushed behind him as well, each fighting for a look at the book’s pages.

The images on the pages were beyond disturbing, even more so since his beloved was the one who drew them. The ink across the pages was messy and scratched in some images, and smooth and precise on others. The charcoal was smudged and rushed, as if he was not used to handling it, yet blended in with his lines. Each page, however, was water stained and crumbled, as if someone were crying while over them.

It was the content however, that turned his stomach.

A girl floating in a white space, naked and crying while a dozen hands tore apart her body, while others covered her eyes or pulled her hair. The word “whor*” was written on her chest as if carved into her skin.

Someone clutching their head and screaming, yanking harshly on their hair, their arms scratched and bleeding ink while their eyes were X-ed out.

A person kneeling and tearing out their own heart, this one with a liberal use of red ink across the chest and eyes.

A figure that was choking on and vomiting red flowers with the words “I love you” scribbled throughout the page.

And half of the pages were images of figures, both masculine and feminine, bound by chains in various positions, some resigned and delicate while others fighting for their lives. He found the ones where they looked dead and unresponsive to be the more terrifying.

Kili couldn’t make it to the end of the sketchbook and had to shut it before he made himself vomit. He was trembling by the time Gandalf snatched the book from him. The Wizard was as angry and shaken as he was, but he still took the time to smack Kili across the head with said book and scream at everyone to go back to where they were.

Kili didn’t care. He had indeed confirmed his suspicions and made them even worse.

Glírae was not alright.

He wasn’t too sure about elves, but for Dwarves, art and creations were made from the very core of their souls. Each creation, no matter if it were a small practice or a grand masterpiece, has every bit of themselves poured into it. You could tell so much about a Dwarf just from their craft alone, from their health to their personality and life experience. Even if he had never met another elf, he had seen Elven crafts and had assumed it to be the same, with how they buzzed with life and energy.

Something that dark, that disturbing, did not paint a good image on the artist.

What happened to him?Who had hurt him in such a way?

Thankfully, Glóin was the one to ask the question first.

“Those drawings...they were not normal. Something happened to him...” His voice trembled. “The lad is not normal. Surely you have noticed it by now?”

Kili found himself nodding as he joined the Dwarves and Gandalf in a large meeting circle.

“You mean how he jumps at every noise and follows the halfling like a dog waiting for orders?” Nori asked, lighting his pipe with shaking hands. “Or how he believes certain behaviors are normal?”

They all nodded. Kili took a deep breath, but the words he was going to say died before they could leave his lips.

“Something must have happened to him. Right, Mr. Gandalf?” Ori asked, trembling lightly as well.

“It is not my place to say anything, though I fear you may be right.” Gandalf said, looking into the trees with a disturbed look on his face. “Excuse me. I have much to think about and won’t cloud my judgement with this discussion. I will return shortly.”

They said nothing until he had left, disappearing into the trees with his staff and a large bag of pipeweed. He had taken the sketchbook with him.

“What do you think happened to him?” Kili asked, though he dreaded the answer. “Do you think it has anything to do with his hair?”

Every Dwarf winced, with Glóin grabbing his own braids as if they too would be taken.

“It may very well be. He may have hued his hair if something happened to him-”

“It doesn’t look as if he cut it himself.” Thorin said, his voice turned cold. “Even if he were disgraced or in grief, no elf would ever cut it so short that it could not be braided. It’s far too even as well. It was cut by someone else.”

Glóin growled in anger, and Kili was close to doing the same. Dori snapped a twig and the others paled considerably. Poor Ori was clenching how own beard to his chest.

Kili didn’t even try to suppress the feeling of pure, burning anger that was rising from his chest. The thought of anyone putting their hands on his elf, pulling at his beautiful hair and cutting it against his will was almost enough to get him to run after him and take him in his arms. It was a crime, a violation, an act of pure sadism to even consider destroying someone’s pride like that.

They would pay with their lives.

“You believe it was cut by force?” Kili asked.

“I do.” Thorin nodded. “You have seen the images. There was nothing consensual in them and they are far too passionate to be false.”

“I don’t think the boy knows what consent means.” Balin said, chewing on his pipe hard enough to leave indentations in the wood. “His views are distorted, to say the least.”

Distorted was putting it lightly. What he would give to show his elf that sex was not meant to harm a partner, but to bring them closer together and tie their souls in passion and love. It was something they would need to work on and fix, for Glírae’s own health and healing. Once he was engaged and courting him, he would show him exactly what love was supposed to feel like.

“Everything about him is distorted.” Thorin said. “The look in his eyes when he had returned from his run into the forest. I recognized it.”

Kili looked at his uncle in confusion. Sure, he had seen Glírae’s pale and dazed look, but it had seemed normal enough considering he had just awoken from an awful nightmare. It’s what Fili had looked like when he dreamed of his bed eating him as a child. Glírae was back to normal within the hour, so he didn’t think much of it.

“Many of those that had survived the Dragon, Moria, and the years that followed bare that look.” Balin explained to the confused Dwarves. “Where they are here, yet their minds are not. So lost in the memories they are, that the world itself melts away until they can find their way back. It is as if they were back in those terrible years.”

Thorin nodded, then stood to full authority.

“I will not speculate on what happened to him and neither will the rest of you. We will forget we have ever seen those pages and you will say nothing to him about it. Understood?”

Kili nodded, though he knew that those images were burned into his heart forever.

As he moved back to his area to pack up his belongings, he knew what he had to do.

He was going to win his elf's heart, it only to make his suffering go away. He was sure of it.

Chapter 18: Chapter 17

Chapter Text

The next few days were repetitive, yet not quite dull.

Bree stretched out far and we passed a few outward villages, though we didn’t stop in them unless it was to buy more food to cook, or for the Dwarves to sell off the trinkets they made in exchange for more materials to use for the road. Gandalf never let me go with them and stayed with me while we watched the horses, but if it meant avoiding the stares of people, then I was all for that. Bilbo brought me back more yarn and charcoal, so at least that was nice.

Gandalf made a good waiting buddy. He spoke a lot about his travels, though most of his stories were about how he managed to get out of paying for the services that he used. He told me in detail about how he managed to escape the Prancing Pony by climbing out a window and using the sheets, like in a cartoon or some sh*t. He left money for a replacement blanket, but not to cover the cost of living he had used that night.

I don’t know why he was admitting his crimes to me, but I wasn’t judging. I guess being a wizard meant that he didn’t get a steady flow of income, even for his fireworks. I don’t know why the Prancing Pony keeps letting him back in, but I’ll take his word for it that it’s the only entertainment that they have all year.

Hopefully this won’t come back to bite him in the ass at some point.

When he wasn’t telling me about all his adventures (which included even more crimes, like trespassing and a few cases of theft), he was asking things about me, some questions personal and some general. Some questions reminded me of things my therapist used to ask, so that was a bit sus.

Thankfully, he never pressed when I refused to answer.

Everything else went along normally on the road, only this time, they were all loudly telling stories and singing upbeat songs to help the time go along. I mostly stayed in the back and listened while I took notes from the book, but I had the occasional question thrown at me. Most of them weren’t personal or they would ask me to share stories with them, which I only did just to get the spotlight back off me afterwards.

I haven’t made much progress in the book, since that much information at once was hard to process and even harder to incorporate into my behavior. It was even harder now since the Dwarves decided to stop ignoring me and pull me into more conversations. Even Bilbo was confused by this sudden shift in behavior, but like the mother he was, he kept making me put my book down to socialize.

What a loser.

So far, I’ve only filled a few pages in one of the blank books with notes over things to remember for when I’m in Rivendell (which I have written in Spanish, just in case one of them decided to be nosy and snoop through my stuff). Most of it just consisted of things I shouldn’t do, which was easy since I plan to avoid everyone until we had to leave. I just had to keep my head down and avoid attention, which should be pretty simple. I’m sure it’ll be easier to blend in around other elves.

Regardless, I’m taking a break from the book. I still have at least 3 weeks left, I think, so I can study later. I can feel my brain frying with the overload of information.

I put my book away and pulled out my smaller sketchbook, along with a stick of charcoal. This one was encased in wood, similar to a pencil, to prevent smudging my hands. It was my favorite art supply, even though my heart still yearned for graphite pencils.

Kili jumped next to me, which made me tense and look into the woods nearby. There was nothing there, or at least nothing that I saw, but the anxiety that suddenly spiked in my chest didn’t go away. None of the other Dwarves jumped, but they all looked tense, even as they avoided my gaze.

Weird. Did I do something I wasn’t aware of?

I looked over to Bilbo, who was trying to detangle his crochet project with his teeth since the knots were too tight to undo with his fingers. He didn’t seem to notice anything wrong, and neither did Gandalf. Either it was just an animal or I’m just hallucinating.

The anxiety didn’t go away even as I drew cute mushrooms across the pages.

Something did happen in the next town, but I wasn't sure if it was enough to warrant that anxiety burst. Bilbo did come back angry, and Kili was wiping tears from his face. Thorin had stomped back into camp and ordered everyone back on their ponies. Something told me I didn’t want to know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo knew something was wrong with the Company the moment he had returned from their bath yet didn’t have the opportunity to ask what was wrong. He didn’t know what it was, yet he felt the subtle burn of anger as he started putting the pieces together. They were small signs, yet he noticed them all the same.

First, it was Kili’s increasingly guilty looks that he kept giving Glírae’s travel bag and his fidgeting every time the elf looked at him. Something told him that it was more than his little crush on his friend that got him that flustered.

Then, it was the looks of pity from everyone, even the old wizard. Those were followed by attempts at small talk, mostly focusing on his friend, with questions that were deliberately asked to start a conversation about one’s past.

Bilbo had been in the Shire long enough to know when someone was trying to pry without breaking the rules of politeness. It was practically engrained in his family.

The behavior only continued the further they went along the travel road, with the Dwarves making more and more attempts to sneak their way closer to his friend. Glírae, to his credit (or not), remained fixated on his book and had yet to notice the strange things happening around him. He answered every question he was asked in the same vague and direct way that he had always had.

“So, where are you from, lad?” Balin had asked.

“I’m not from anywhere near here. I’m not sure the same of it in the common tongue, but it’s a beautiful place surrounded by deserts in the East.” Glírae shrugged yet did not elaborate.

That was more than Bilbo had ever gotten, but he had never really asked before.

“Do you have any siblings?” Fili had asked one day after pushing Kili off his horse for breathing in his general direction.

“Yes. I’m the oldest of 6.” Glírae responded, and then went silent as he furiously took notes from his herb book without even volunteering their names.

Every question was answered similarly, yet the Dwarves hadn’t stopped fishing for information. Why were they so interested in him? Bilbo was going to find out.

The final nail in the coffin was watching Gandalf sneak Glírae’s prized sketchbook into his bag when he was asleep. Bilbo had felt his stomach burn in unfiltered rage.

It was on their final trip into the last town they would see for a while when Bilbo finally brought the group to a halt, just out of earshot from Glírae and Gandalf. The group had frozen when Bilbo had grabbed hold of Fili’s tunic and pulled him back.

“Alright, all of you. Out with it.” He had said firmly, praying that his nerves didn’t make him sound pathetic. “You went through his stuff, didn’t you? What are you trying to gain from him?”

No one answered and half of the group went pale. Ori even choked on the fresh bread that he was eating. After a tense silence that did nothing to calm Bilbo’s anxiety, Thorin sighed deeply.

“We saw the pages of his sketchbook. My nephew,” He made an angry gesture towards Kili, who wilted with guilt. “Decided to look into it while you were bathing. We all saw his sketches.”

Bilbo sucked in a breath of anger at the violation of privacy, but before he could say something he would surely regret, he was interrupted by Ori, who was close to tears.

“If you had only seen them yourself!” He cried, thoroughly shaken. “I have never seen art that disturbed.”

“They were horrifying, Master Baggins.” Glóinsaid as he wiped his eyes. “If you have seen them, you would understand why we could not say anything. We didn’t want to bring attention to something that has hurt him so much! Whatever happened to him was horrific enough to leave deep scars and we’ve seen the outcome. Surely you understand that the boy is not-”

Bilbo let out an exhausted cry that broke Glóin’s train of thought. He let go of Fili to rub at the headache beginning to form on the back of his eyes.

“Of course I know Glírae’s not alright! I have lived with him for 5 years now. I’m more surprised that it took violating his privacy to figure that out.” He huffed. “That is not the point I’m making here. I’m not asking what you thought and it is not your business as to what happened to him. I’m asking why you decided to go through his things in the first place. I understand that you don’t care for him, but he deserves respect just as much as I!”

“Not care for him?” Kili cried in horror and offense. “I care for him very much! He’s the love of my life and the one I wish to marry! I was only looking for something to make him-”

Something snapped in Bilbo’s chest.

“Absolutely not!” Bilbo interrupted with a small shout. “First, you do not get to say that, Kili. You do not rummage and disrespect a person that you claim to love, nor do you hide it from them once you did. And second, Glírae will not marry you and you will not engage in any sort of courting with him!”

Kili took a step back from the sudden fury of the hobbit and Bilbo felt a smidge of guilt when he saw his eyes begin to tear up. None of the other Dwarves said anything, not even Thorin. Fili made a point to look away from his brother’s pleading eyes.

“You know nothing about him and Glírae is in no state to even consider marriage. He is terrified of any form of emotional connection and has stated numerous times to me and once to you that he would never seek out a romantic relationship. You would be ignoring his consent should you chose to pursue him, and I do not trust him enough to say no to you.”

Kili stood to tower over the halfling, but Bilbo stood his ground and further proved it by poking him on the chest. Thorin moved over to push Bilbo off, but one sharp look stopped him in his tracks.

“No. You don’t get to defend yourself here. What you did was selfish and lacked all awareness. You claim to love him yet won’t even admit your wrongdoings to him. All of you should be ashamed!” Bilbo huffed. “Any dreams you’ve had of carrying him off to marry in your mountain need to stop right now. He isn’t just a pretty face for you to fantasize about, not will I let him commit to something he is not ready for.”

Kili was then pushed back behind Thorin, who looked positively murderous. Bilbo would have been intimidated, but his rage had yet to die down.

“You would scold my nephew?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes and frowned even harder at the so-called king.

“Clearly, since you don’t do it nearly enough if he ended up like this. Keep him away from my friend and I won’t have to.”

With that, Bilbo took off towards the camp in a huff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Surprisingly, I wasn’t the one with the nightmare a few nights later. It was frustrating and awful and completely avoidable.

It started when we set up camp for the night in a clearing outside the thick forests, one with mostly plains and stone. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to rest, but I wasn’t going to complain if it meant rest. I had been sent to gather firewood, since Thorin and Bilbo weren’t on speaking terms at the moment for whatever reason.

The sky had gotten dark, and the fire was roaring when it happened. It was after we had cleaned up dinner and were in the process of getting ready for bed (with Bilbo spoiling our pony and horse) when the howls of something awful roared in the distance.

Bilbo immediately flinched, tense and pale and terrified. I sat up, ready to go catch him if he started to wobble.

He must have thought they were wolves.

“W-What was that?” He stuttered out and moved closer towards me.

The Dwarves around us perked up, though none of them moved. They were relaxed and calm, just a bit more alert than before.

“Orcs.” Kili responded, smirking in more than just a joking way.

A sudden spike of annoyance and anger hit me. I knew this scene and no f*cking way was I letting this happen to him.

“Orcs?” Bilbo shook and moved closer, dropping himself down next to me.

I placed my hand over his, which he held tight to. Those f*cking jackasses. Can’t they see that he’s legitimately afraid of those things? This man survived the Fell Winter. Of course he’s terrified of what’s on the outside. The outside killed his parents and devastated his community.

Have some f*cking sympathy.

“Throat cutters. They’ll be dozens of them out there.” Fili joined in. “The lone lands are crawling with them.”

Stop it. This isn’t funny. This is beyond dick-ish behavior and downright cruel.

“They strike in the wee small hours while everyone is asleep. Quick and quiet. No screams. Just lots of blood.” Kili said, then chuckled when Bilbo turned pale and flung himself at me.

Oh f*ck no.

Thorin got up, but I was there first.

“Stop.” I said and then everything went silent, but I was too angry to care. “You think this is funny? How immature can you get to laugh at someone’s expense? It’s cruel, so stop. You both are just awful.”

I got up and moved towards the other side of the camp, dragging Bilbo along. Hearing Thorin’s tragic backstory be damned. Bilbo followed me without complaint and didn’t say anything for the rest of the night, though he kept looking out in the distance. My reassurances that nothing was going to get us didn’t seem to register and he buried himself into my chest.

I wasn’t surprised when Bilbo woke up later that night, gasping and sweating and terrified. I was ready for it, as I hadn’t gone to sleep, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Unlike me, who hated contact of any kind when I was in the after-panic state, Bilbo craved it. He needed it and he needed it right away, otherwise his thoughts would spiral and spiral of all the Hobbits that were no longer with him and how he would wake up cold and alone in his home. He buried himself into my chest, clawing and gripping at my clothes until I hugged him enough to keep him grounded.

I didn’t even care that the Dwarves woke up.

I ran my fingers through his hair, gently rocking and focusing on the spots he liked the most. Slowly, very slowly, he began to calm and relax. It didn’t take much to calm him like it did me, but I could at least do one thing he couldn’t.

“Want me to sing to you?” I asked.

He nodded and relaxed but didn’t let go. I kept messing with his hair and holding him upright, clearing my throat to sing my favorite lullaby.

“ You're okay, you're alright

I'll never, ever leave your side

I will stay, I will fight

With you... ”

I hummed along to the vocals in the middle, feeling for his heartbeat to make sure that it was slowing down. He shivered at the touch but didn’t push me away.

“ You're okay, you're alright

I'll stay here through the darkest night

All the way, I will fight

With you... ”

I held him for the rest of the night, singing the lullaby over and over again until my voice gave out on me.

Chapter 19: Chapter 18

Chapter Text

I didn’t sleep that night, but I didn’t mind it much. I don’t think Bilbo slept much either, but he at least got an hour or two before sunrise. Not that I cared, since I would gladly stay up every night for him, even if the results made me a little cranky.

The only reason I haven’t gone off onanyone was purely because Bilbo was still on edge, and I didn’t want to fuel that anxiety. If he wasn’t there, Fili and Kili would have gotten an earful from me when they handed us our breakfast that morning.

I didn’t look at them when they handed me a loaf of bread for us to share. Bilbo was packing up our stuff while I did my usual chores of cleaning up the camp site and making sure Starlight and Mrytle were fed and comfortably saddled. They were harder to get ready this time, since being out in the open after a night of wolf howls didn’t make their sleep any easier, but I eventually wiggled them into the reins.

Guess we weren’t the only ones affected by last night. They would be fussy to deal with today.

The sight of the dwarven brothers made my stomach knot, though I wasn’t sure if it was with anger or with nerves. I grimaced and Kili flinched, looking down in shame.

Good.

“Master Glírae-” Kili started, but one look at him shut him up.

“If you’re here to apologize, I’m not the person you should apologize to and you shouldn’t if you don’t mean it.” I said, my voice calm and leveled as if speaking to one of my younger siblings. “You really scared him last night for no reason. It might have been a joke to you, but it wasn’t funny for him. So, if it’s an empty apology that you are here to give him, you’re wasting your time and ought to leave.”

Fili sucked in a breath but let it out slowly instead of screaming back like I was expecting. He handed me the bread, which I took, and straightened up.

“It’s not a false apology like you claim. We are very sorry for what our words did last night and were hoping that you and Master Baggins would name a price for your forgiveness.” He said formally and bowed at the waist, though it was too emotionless to do much for me.

Kili followed suit, though he was clumsier about it and kept his eyes fixed on me as if I was going to hit him. I felt a bit of pity for it, since it’s the same look my siblings and I had before our mother smacked the sh*t out of us.

Something I learned a few days ago on the road is that Dwarves tend to deal with offenses like they would with debts. When they committed a wrong against a person, they would compensate them with either money or labor and sometimes with other unsavory methods. For example, Bofur carried Nori’s pack and did his chores for 3 days when they got into an argument that Bofur accidentally started (over something stupid, like making a jab at the color of his hair). I wanted nothing to do with it, since it felt all kind of icky to have someone owe me.

Hard pass on that one.

“I accept your apology.” Bilbo said, walking up to us with a tired look. “All I ask is for you to mind your words in the future. They hurt far more than you think they do, and some might not take too kindly to them. The same thing with certain actions.”

I looked at Bilbo in surprise.

That’s it? I know he forgives easily like I do, but typically he would have me at least think about it before forgiving someone. That wasn’t just stealing a carrot from his yard, it was actual bullying what happened last night. Shouldn’t they at least get their asses chewed out?

“However-” Bilbo said, just as the princes were beginning to relax. “Don’t think for a moment that I have forgiven you for everything else and my acceptance doesn’t mean that Glírae is required to forgive you for what you’ve done. I don’t want anything from you, but it’s his choice if he does.”

Wait, me? What did they do to me that they have to apologize for? The joke last night was directly solely at Bilbo, and I only got involved in defending him. I don’t think they’ve done anything on the journey either, besides ignore me and order me around a bit. Hardly a reason to apologize, much less have me name a price.

Did they do something I wasn’t aware of? They couldn’t have though. I was there the whole time and hadn’t noticed anything off. Surely Gandalf or Bilbo would have said something if I was supposed to be offended.

Before I could ask what he meant, Bilbo had walked off and left me with the two princes, taking the loaf of bread out of my hands before he did so.

Rude as f*ck. That’s my breakfast too.

I turned back to the two, but just as they opened their mouths to say something, a fat raindrop hit Kili in the eye.

“Get your rain coats out. A storm has started and we cannot linger here.” Thorin called out from the other side of camp.

The rain started falling immediately afterwards, picking up speed fast. I was going to get soaked if I didn’t get my raincoat on in a few minutes, maybe even less. Thank goodness our packs are mostly water resistant, otherwise my books would be doomed. I’m still going to wrap them in my dirty clothes for good measure though.

“Excuse me.” I said to the princes, and walked away, leaving whatever they were going to apologize for to die.

Oh well. If it was important, they would have told me already.

The storm was pouring by the time I managed to button myself into the waterproof Elven cloak. Why are these things so hard to put on?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the day was spent in an uncomfortable silence that made even Bilbo nervous. The mood was the worst it had been, even worse than the days Thorin spent angry after their argument outside of the town, with everyone grumbling and brooding in the rain (though the rain was hardly bad and was closer to a light shower than heavy downpour like the Dwarves had said). It was suffocating and stifling, which must have been worse for Glírae, who was always sensitive to negative emotion.

He was hiding it surprisingly well, like he always did, but the ticks were there if you knew what to look for. The way his hands were grasped so tightly onto Starlight's reins that they were white and shaking the way he kept his gaze down yet stared at nothing (his eyes were surely glazed over with particularly unpleasant thoughts), how tense he was as if any movement would cause something bad to happen, and how he had yet to say a word since they had left.

Bilbo sighed but knew there was nothing he could do in that moment. Glírae had gone deep into his mind, to that place where nothing outside of himself existedand only he could decide when he was coming back. It had been terrifying to see the first few times, but now it was such a common sight that Bilbo had forgotten to worry on most days.

Trying to cheer him up wouldn’t be very helpful until the mood itself lifted, and who knows how long that would be until. Once the rain had stopped and they had turned in for the night, he would speak with him and get him to tell him a story or sing. Making him feel useful was one of the better ways of lifting his mood.

For now, it was best to make conversation to make the time go by faster. Balin was next to him this time and the old Dwarf was in as cheerful of a mood as he could be, so speaking with him was a pleasant time. This time, he had been asked about what had occurred the night prior, when Bilbo had been frightened by the princes.

He glanced over at Glírae one last time, who didn’t even react to his own name being uttered, before turning back to Balin.

“I would also like to apologize for the actions of the princes last night, though it is not mine to give. They are young and inexperienced to the outside world, though it doesn’t make what they said any less cruel.” Balin said, using his hand to wipe the water from his eyes. “They saw it as a joke, a simple game to get a reaction out of you and to test your character, though they did not realize the damage they were inflicting. Be assured that they received a rather firm tongue lashing from Thorin and myself, though I heard your elf did that as well this morning.”

Bilbo smiled as he remembered Glírae’s protective anger with pride. It was difficult for the elf to say anything to his own defense, but Bilbo had always come first when defending. It wasn’t often that he needed to be, and it was a reward to see Glírae stand his ground for once rather than let things happen to him without complaint. Now if only he would do the same for himself.

“Yes, he has. Glírae was far angrier at their action than I was, and he made it known. I say that that was far more of a punishment than anything I could have asked from them.” Bilbo chuckled. “Kili looked absolutely crushed when Glírae brushed him off.”

Balin laughed along with him, though it trailed off into a more somber mood.

“Yes. The boy is convinced that he can win Master Glírae over and claim his hand. I fear he will end up with his heart torn out if he continues.” Balin grimaced and looked over to the elf. “I worry that he will take this as a challenge to get back into his favor and do something far more reckless than search through his things.”

Bilbo shook his head, flicking water everywhere. A small pool of heat grew in his chest at the very thought.

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Glírae does not want to marry and that should be respected. He fears it and I doubt that Kili would be able to win him over, no matter how hard he tries.”

Balin nodded, though he still looked troubled by it. He spoke again after a bout of uncomfortable silence.

“Can he hear us?” Balin asked, his voice so hushed Bilbo had to strain to hear it.

“Not at the moment.” Bilbo shook his head. “His mind is not present right now. The only way he’ll hear us is if something startles him. But if you wish for me to tell you his secrets, that’s something you must ask him yourself.”

Balin didn’t seem to like that answer but didn’t protest it. Bilbo almost rode away, but Balin broke the silence again before the tension could grow again.

“Would you like to hear a story?” Balin asked. “There’s a reason why Thorin was angry and the hatred for Orcs is deep. You feared the story the princes told you, but it would be a disservice to you if you didn’t know what lies out there.”

Bilbo barely got a chance to nod before Balin launched into an explanation about the War between Orcs and Dwarves, down to the graphic details that made his stomach twist. It was far worse than what he had ever hoped for, yet it was captivating in a war that made him want to finish the story to the end.

Bilbo was so deep in his thoughts that he barely noticed how Glírae started shaking as the story continued, nor Ori approaching Glírae until he saw the elf jump in his seat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was not in the movie, like I originally thought.

How did I know, you might ask? I’ll tell you how and then you’ll realize why I’m on the verge of a panic attack right now.

One of the main things that the Hobbit movie got wrong was the way that Thorin’s grandfather died and the events that led up to that. The way the movies did it, the story made no sense in relation to the rest of history and messed up everything to give Thorin a terrible backstory. Granted, his story in general is not a happy one, but they messed up in a lot of ways.

Thrór did die in Moria, but he didn’t die in the Battle for it against the Orcs. His death was the start of the War between Orcs and Dwarves, not the end of it. Azog killed him when he went into Moria along, against the advice of his friend Nár, and his severed head was thrown out along with a bag of pocket change for extra mockery. The battle for Moria happened 3 years later, and Azog was beheaded by Dáin at the end of it.

That was the story that Balin told Bilbo later that day (to which I had tuned in the moment Balin started), not the bullsh*t one the movie created. He went into details in history that fit more with the book narrative and the history created afterwards by Tolkien. Azog was as dead as dead can be, and none of the bs chase scenes from the movie were going to happen.

You would think I’d be relieved that this was going to be an overall easier journey and I wouldn’t have to worry about potentially dying before even getting to the mountain, but this was just giving me a heart attack more than anything. So far, this journey has followed the movie’s dialogue and events, minus the few in-betweens that I figured just didn’t make it into the movie because of time. Apparently, that wasn't the case?

Is this a mix between the two? You gotta be f*cking sh*tting me, dude. How am I supposed to know what’s going to happen next if I don’t know what version of the story I’m in? They’re both two very different renditions, even if the general idea is the same.

f*ck. f*ck f*ck f*ck.

Ok. Ok, Aria. You can do this. Just think and think long and hard about this. What events stayed the same and what can you predict with the information you have now? What happens next that you can control?

The Trolls, right? That scene was around the same in both renditions, even if it’s not exact. The words and actions didn’t matter, as long as you know what the outcome will be if you don’t interfere. The trolls were a close call in both, solong as I stay out of the way and not change anything, the outcome should be the same and Bilbo will be safe.

I’m doing this for Bilbo. Only Bilbo and the Ring mattered in the long run, so changing anything to be a hero is just bad news. I’m fine without glory or the heat of battle if it meant keeping my friend alive and healthy.

How long until we reach the Trollshaws again?

“Good day, Master Elf.”

I jumped, my heart spiking in my chest as something made contact with my elbow. Starlight flinched under me as well, nearly slipping in the wet mud and almost knocking us both over. I righted her by pure instinct, holding my breath while I tried to calm my heart back down.

The Company froze in their steps, the ponies moving back from the startled Starlight. Everyone looked towards us, which did not help my rapidly beating heart. Ori backed away, horrified by my reaction. Heat rushed to my face in sheer embarrassment, even as everyone relaxed at the lack of a threat.

f*ck, how could I be so f*cking stupid? I should have been paying more attention, but no. Here I was being a f*cking space cadet and scaring poor Starlight because of my lack of awareness. Dumbass!

I was just about to explain myself, to make up some excuse for reacting the way I did, when someone else did it for me.

“Spooked horse.” Thorin said, then turned back. “Move along!”

In a snap, everyone returned to their original positions, grumpy faces and all. All except Ori and Bilbo, who were looking at me in concern. Bilbo nodded to me, and I nodded back to ensure that I was alright. Ori, on the other hand, shook himself off and guided his pony back over to me.

I blinked a few times to get my head back together.

“Master Elf, can you sing a song or recite for us?” Ori requested, though it was forced calmness. “Perhaps something cheerful that is easy to learn and sing along with? Bofur said your songs are beautiful and we could use some cheer in this weather.”

He did? When did he hear me-

Oh right. The clearing with the laundry. I almost forgot Bofur was a part of that. I’m not sure why they sent him of all Dwarves since he was hardly a fighter or a scout, but if it made them feel better. I guess last night’s lullaby also counted as hearing me sing.

Something cheerful? I don’t listen to music that isn’t emotional a lot, but I must have something...

I know!

“Um...I can sing you something, sure.” I said, swallowing the last bit of nerves down. “Would a sea shanty work? I’m afraid I have no poems that are cheerful.”

Ori’s eyes lit up and some of the other Dwarves looked over at the conversation. Even Bilbo sat up straighter, obviously recognizing where this was going and getting ready to sing along. Good. Singing with another person was easier than on my own, even if he didn’t know much more than the chorus.

“I would love to hear it! How does it go?”

“It’s easier if you have a beat that goes with it. Do you mind handing me a bowl and a spoon, since we don’t have drums?”

It didn’t take long to gather the utensils, which were passed to Bilbo and me. He started the beat before I did, eager to hear me again after so long. I nearly blushed at his enthusiasm.

“There once was a ship that put to sea

The name of that ship was the Billy o' Tea

The winds blew hard, her bow dipped down

Blow, me bully boys, blow...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky cleared up after two days on the road, which wasn’t all that bad. It didn’t rain again afterwards, though it did take a good while afterwards to get the bags dry enough to be able to change into new clothes. Thankfully, wrapping my sketchbooks in clothes worked and the edges were only very slightly damped when I pulled them out, so no harm done. All it took was to spend a day drying our stuff in the sun to get us back to normal again.

Thorin had started assigning me more chores in the following weeks, to the dismay of Bilbo. I’ve taken up the duty of gathering wood for the fire, feeding all the ponies and keeping them entertained during the periods of rest, along with my usual cleaning and laundry whenever we came across a river we could use. Not that I minded much, since it gave me something to do without going insane from boredom.

No one ever mentions in those fics how boring traveling gets when you’re on the road for a month. I can only draw so many things or read a manual so many times before I want to tear my own hair out just to have something interesting to do.

Bilbo didn’t understand why I didn’t fight Thorin on the adding of chores or why I seemed to enjoy them so much, but Bilbo didn’t have unmedicated ADHD, so he didn’t have to feel the constant pressure on his chest of pure energy that was just begging to be released, but with no outlet. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to finish the rest of this journey without something to do. I’m thinking of starting a new hobby on the road, just so I don’t use up all the pages in my sketchbook.

Maybe I should try carving wood? Nah, I don’t trust myself with a knife. Intrusive thoughts would end up winning that fight after a while. At least yarn is harder to hurt someone with, even if the knitting needles would make a good shank.

We made it to the Trollshaws after a little over a month of traveling, right as summer was beginning. I had taken to wearing the cloak on me with the hood up, just to keep the bright ass sun out of my eyes. Stupid elf eyes and their stupid amplified senses that pick up light better than the rest of my companions. I don’t know what it is about this place, but the sun here is brighter than it has ever been in the Shire.

I blame Gandalf for no other reason than that he’s the one that made us come here.

It was three days into the Trollshaws that a scene I recognized had begun to play out, once again from the movie rather than the book. It started with the remains of an old farmhouse, followed by a screaming match. Thorin had stopped us at an open clearing, right by the collapsed building, surrounded by stones and wild grass.

It would have been a beautiful sight, if it didn’t make me feel like someone punched me in the gut.

“We’ll camp here for the night.” Thorin declared and dismounted his horse. “Elf, go collect wood for the fire.”

I nodded, dismounting Starlight and handing her reins over to Kili, ignoring the way he was looking at me like I offended his mother by simply existing. I ignored the rest of Thorin’s orders, making my way over to the torn down farmhouse to collect the splintered wood.

What? I didn’t feel like walking very far. My legs are tired and the wood from the house is better than finding random twigs on the forest ground. Besides, it’s not like the farmhouse is being used anymore (Rest in Peace, Farmer dude. Your death also made me sad).

However, I ran into Gandalf right before I could make my way over. He grabbed my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks and shaking his head at me. He didn’t let my shoulder go, even though he turned to talk to Thorin.

“I think it would be wiser to move on.” Gandalf said, squeezing me even as I was trying to not so subtly push him off. “We could make for the Hidden Valley.”

Um, dude. This is not a conversation that I want to be a part of, especially with a well-known elf hater. Please get your old ass hands off me and just let me collect the wood we need to eat dinner.

“I told you. I will not go near that place.” Thorin growled, glaring at me as if I were the one who suggested it.

Like, bitch? I also want nothing to do with the elves here, so I don’t see why I’m getting the brunt of the anger here. I have never once suggested going to Rivendell, so stop looking at me like that. Please, it’s making me so uncomfortable.

“Why not?” Gandalf said, letting go of my shoulder but grabbing my forearm instead to pull me along.

Excuse me, bitch? Why am I part of this now? I didn’t know I was yours to man handle! Where the f*ck are wegoing? Gandalf, you son of a bitch!

“The Elves could help us! We could get food, rest, advice!” Gandalf argued.

Yeah, that’s nice and all, but how do I fit into this equation? Gandalf didn’t budge, even though I was pulling on my arm to get myself free to no avail. What the f*ck, man? His grip wasn’t even that strong, so why can’t I move? How weak am I?

“I do not need their advice.”

Sure, you do, but that’s not the point. I get that you dislike me, Thorin, but be a pal here and pry his wrinkly hands off me before I chew off my own arm.

“We have a map we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us.” Gandalf said, then pulled me forwards. “And with Glírae here, we’ll have enough cause to upgrade some of our equipment, which would make the journey much easier on the Company. Dislike Elves all you want, but their supplies would last us longer and be far sturdier than the ones you have bought from the villages of Men.”

Thorin turned murderous, which only made my struggle to get free all the more important. Seriously, how are they ignoring me squirming this much? How are they having a normal conversation here?

“Help?” Thorin glared harder, which looked painful on his face. “A dragon attacks Erebor? What help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls. The Elves looked on and did nothing. And you ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather? Who betrayed my father? It’s already bad enough that you forced one of them into my Company, and now you wish to involve them all!”

I give up! This bastard isn't going to let me go, so I give up. Thorin’s whole speech really bummed me out, and while I agree at some parts, I really don’t have the energy right now to fully sympathize with this brooding motherf*cker who likes to blame everyone. Yes, none of what happened was his fault and he’s a brave Dwarf for getting up every day to make life easier for his people and fight for his home back, but the attitude on a personal level was grating to hear about.

Plus, insulting me for something like that is kind of a dick move, my guy.

“You are neither of them. This is the very reason why I did not give you the map and the key. You hold onto the past and blame those that have nothing to do with it!”

“I did not know they were yours to keep.” Thorin practically snarled, eyeing the pocket that the key was in.

Gandalf said nothing and turned around, pulling me with him. I stumbled as he did so but followed obediently just for the sake of not tripping. We marched past the camp, and I shot Bilbo a confused and pleading look.

“It’s best you come with me for a time, Glírae.” Gandalf said once I caught up to his pace. “I fear the anger here might be directed at you tonight and wish to spare you that.”

That’s nice, my guy. I just wish you would have warned me before I became your personal ragdoll. I don’t know if you know this, but you don’t usually drag people away against their will. That’s called kidnapping and frowned upon in most societies.

“Everything all right?” Bilbo squeaked as he finished tending to Mrytle. “Gandalf where are you going? Where are you taking Glírae?!”

“To seek the company of the only one around who’s got any sense!” He called back, marching away with an angry huff.

I turned around and waved to Bilbo, who gave me an even more confused look than before. I shrugged and titled my head to show that I didn’t know either. Bilbo didn’t follow after me, which was probably for the best since I really needed him to stay there if the events were going to play out how I needed them to.

“And who’s that?” He called.

None of the Dwarves even acknowledged that I was basically being kidnapped in broad daylight.

“Myself, Mr. Baggins!” He snapped. “I’ve had enough of Dwarves for one day. Come along, Glírae.”

“Yes sir.” I responded automatically and picked up the pace to keep up with him.

I wonder where we were going.

Chapter 20: Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Bilbo was left alone with the Dwarves for the first time since the start of the quest, minus the shopping trips that did not count for much. It was frankly unnerving, as he had yet to really get to know most of them farther than name, and even then, he had some trouble telling the matching names apart. On the average day, he’d have a polite conversation with a Dwarf or two but would always gravitate back towards Glírae.

Now, Glírae had been taken away by the Wizard and there was no telling when he would return him. It wasn’t that he was worried. It was quite the opposite, in fact. Glírae was far safer with the Wizard than the Company’s sour and angry mood. Especially Thorin, who had been in such a wretched mood since his fight with Gandalf and had been cursing everything elvish. Bilbo would have argued that, but Thorin had been angry enough that Bilbo feared he might retaliate physically if he didn’t hold his tongue.

Glírae wasn’t here to hear it anyways, so it wouldn’t hurt him.

He ignored Thorin’s angry rabble to Balin and continued to set up with bedroll. He left Glírae’s bedroll in his bag. Something told him that he wasn’t coming back that night, so there was no point in dirtying his bedroll even more, especially after it had just been washed.

“Mister Baggins.”

Bilbo looked up at his name, only to see Kili standing near him, nervous and fidgeting on his feet.He was tapping his hands on the plain and worn book of gemstones, the one he had bought in the last village that they visited. Why a Dwarf would need such a book was surprising, but he figured that it was only natural for them to learn a craft rather than be born with the full knowledge of it.

He himself had to learn to prune his own garden, even if he instinctively knew which plants would best grow there.

“Yes, Kili. Did you need something from me?” He asked, standing to face the young Dwarf.

Kili took a deep breath, though a small bit of red was rising to his cheeks, and he had yet to grow enough of a beard to fully hide it. He straightened up, clearing his throat and holding out the book of gems to him.

“You know Glírae far more than I do at the moment...” He started out, and then withered under Bilbo’s hardening gaze. “I would ask for you to help me choose gems that would look good on a present for him. I don’t know what type of jewelry he prefers. Only what I would like to see him in.”

Bilbo sucked in a breath of annoyance, the familiar feeling of protective anger bubbling closer to the surface. Kili seemed to notice as well, since he quickly pulled his hand back and shrunk away.

“Not for an engagement present or courting gift!” He cried. “I want to gift him something as an apology for my actions towards him. I haven’t been the greatest of suitors and was hoping that I could salvage what I broke before anything happens.”

If Kili thought that his speech made it better, he was more oblivious than Bilbo originally thought. That, or he was just too self-centered to fully realize what he was admitting to anyone but himself.

“Kili, do not get him a gift.” Bilbo said as calmly as he could. “Gifts are not a good way to earn the forgiveness of someone. They’re shallow and quite frankly, are manipulative for the person receiving them, especially Glírae.”

Kili blinked a few times, with a dumbfounded look upon his face. A bit of offense was starting to show in his brow, and Bilbo braced himself for another difficult conversation. It was never easy to argue with tweens when they got defensive, and Kili was as close to the Dwarf equivalentof that.

“If you want to earn his forgiveness, work up the courage and speak to him yourself.” Bilbo interrupted before Kili could say anything. “You’re only making this harder on yourself by avoiding the issue and you are not sorry in the least about it.”

“I am sorry!” Kili cried, dropping the book on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. “It’s why I need help finding out what he likes!”

“No, you are not sorry.” Bilbo said. “If you were sorry, you would admit your wrongdoings and apologize to him, without the expectation of forgiveness just because you think you deserve it. You are not sorry because you are trying to apologize while still looking for ways to further yourself into his heart while doing it. You cannot tell me that you wouldn’t use the information that I would give you to try to win him over afterwards. You cannot tell me that the gift isn’t meant for him to develop positive feelings for you to make him more compliant. None of that is part of an apology, because those reasons are inherently selfish.”

Kili said nothing but looked around to see that they had garnered the attention of the other members of the Company, including Thorin. Thorin’s glare had died down substantially after his vent with Balin and after he had removed all his heavy gear, but he still had the stiff air of lingering annoyance. Luckily for Bilbo, it was directed at Kili, who withered.

“I thought I ordered you to apologize to the sprite.” He said, and Kili looked down in shame.

Bilbo held his tongue over the obvious insult.

“I was going to, but he walked away before I could, and I wanted to make him something to pay him back. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea of owing someone a boon, so I figured...”

Thorin took a few steps towards his nephew and Kili’s words died, along with any excuse he was going to give.

“Not only did you not comply, but you have disgraced yourself by allowing a misdeed against another go unfixed. I will have none of your excuses. They are unbecoming of a prince. You will apologize once the wizard returns with him. Do you understand?”

“Yes uncle.” Kili replied, though his voice wavered.

“Good.” Thorin nodded. “And you will forget about any gift that you intend to make him on this journey. We have no resources to spare for you to waste on pursuing a marriage that neither I nor the elf with approve of.”

“What?!” Kili cried, his obedient posture gone and replaced by one of hostility. “How could you ask that of me? I know you care not for elves-”

“I do not.” Thorin cut him off, his voice like steel once again. “But that is-”

“But you cannot forbid me from pursuing a relationship with him! I am not you, and I do not hate him simply for being born an elf! I love him more than anything!”

Bilbo felt another spark of anger and annoyance. He took a few deep breaths, clenching his fists and teeth to keep the particularly nasty speech he had from spilling out. Kili had obviously not been listening to his last speech where he had forbidden the courting of Glírae, or had ignored it entirely.

“Whether you love him has nothing to do with this.” Bilbo said, and Kili turned back at him. “I’ve said to before and I’ll say it again. Glírae has no interest in courting or marriage. You will not pursue a romantic relationship with him. You don’t even know him!”

Kili looked positively offended at that comment. He would have retaliated further had he not been pulled back by Fili.

“They are right, Kili. You cannot keep pursuing a marriage when you have yet to even earn a friendship. We don’t know anything about Glírae, and you have yet to ask him anything about himself.”

“But I have-”

“You have not. One conversation about what his favorite jewels are to make him a ring is not a real conversation. You don’t know anything about his personality nor his likes and dislikes when in the home nor his life.” Fili said, though Bilbo heard something strange in his voice. “You need to give him up. At least until you get to know him.”

Bilbo nodded and was about to continue that he shouldn’t even bother getting to know Glírae if all he wanted was to sweeten him up for a relationship but was stunned silent when Kili suddenly pushed Fili to the ground. Gasps rang out throughout the camp, even more when Kili kicked his brother across the side, not even to hurt but enough to keep him down.

Bilbo felt a shudder of dread hit him and he took a step back from the angry Dwarf. Kili had an enraged look on his face, cheeks red and eyes brimming, like a scolded child who had just been told no to dessert.

“I do know him! And I want to get to know him more, but none of you will let me! You say I’m rushing into this, but I know well enough what I want, and it won’t just fade over time! It’s been a month and my heart has never known this passion!” Kili cried, and Bilbo’s breath hitched as his eyes glazed over.

Something wasn’t right here.

“Kili, enough!” Thorin scolded, pulling Fili up from the ground. “You will stop this madness and apologize to your brother. This is beyond foolish, even for you.”

“No! I won’t apologize for this! He and the rest of you are trying to keep me away from him!” Kili turned to Bilbo, a pleading look on his face as he desperately grabbed his hands. “What must I do to convince you that I would be good for him? I will do anything to make him happy! You don’t have to worry about me hurting him, for I would rather cast myself off the highest mountain than even dream of making him cry. Please, I beg you.”

Bilbo tried to pull his hands back but found the Dwarf’s grip like solid steel. His anger was beginning to topple over, which only made him more glad that Glírae wasn’t here to witness this madness. He would have to warn him when he came back.

“You do not know him!” Bilbo cried.

“You can help me know him!” Kili cried back, pulling even as Dwalin had come to pull him off. “You can tell me about him, and I can be there to be what he needs! You said so yourself that Glírae was not alright and that he is broken! I can be the help he needs to heal him and love him!”

Bilbo finally yanked himself back, stumbling over and nearly falling. Kili attempted to reach out again, only for Dwalin and Thorin to yank him back. Kili didn’t even register it, his eyes still locked on Bilbo.

“Please, Mister Baggins! You cannot keep me away from my true love!”

“He is not your true love!” Bilbo cried, rubbing his sore wrists. “Glírae will never want to pursue a relationship with you. He will not be with anyone. You’ve heard the way he’s spoken about marriage.”

“He is wrong! Everything he said is wrong! But I can show him how marriage is supposed to be! I can show him what love is like. I would worship him and cherish him and gift him everything that he desires if you would just let me!”

Something was not right.

“ENOUGH!” Thorin screamed.

“NO!” Kili cried, and he was shoved to the ground by Dwalin. “I won’t let you ruin this for me!”

Bilbo had enough. He didn’t stay to hear Thorin argue with his nephew, nor to witness Kili burst into frustrated tears. He packed his things and went into the trees, just far enough away for them not to hear his screams of rage.

He needed to speak with Gandalf soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thorin was beyond enraged.

He had been avoiding the thoughts that had plagued him the last month, ever since the cursed nightmare he had while staying at the halfling’s home.

He had been the mind-numbing fantasies that had been appearing, slowly and throughout the day, weren’t there but it hadn’t been helping as much as he wished it did. During the last week, the loathsome fantasies had reached an all-time high. It took all he had in him, every shred of hatred and dignity, to keep his eyes off the nuisance that invaded his Company.

It had worked for the first few weeks, when he had to focus on navigating the terrain and keeping the spirits of his Company high as they went through the motions of travel. The elf was mostly silent, staying out of his sight unless he was awaiting his orders, which he carried out without complaint. He only spoke to the halfling and sometimes to the wizard, but never to him so he was safe from being charmed by that musical voice.

Then he began to speak and even sing, and the wave of desires had begun to make themselves known again. Assigning him more tasks to keep him out of sight had done nothing now that he was more aware of how present he was, and it became easier and easier to remember those vile dreams that had started to bleed into the real world again.

He could barely even give him his daily tasks without clenching his fists, lest his hands wander and managed to tangle themselves in his hair. It wasn’t long enough to weave intricate beads into yet, but his treacherous mind would whisper about how he could always wait until it was.

He almost stuck himself with the pins of his clothes the one time he had seen him shed his outer clothes to wash, then felt sick when he was disappointed that he had not removed the rest. After he bathed and allowed the halfling to brush his hair once it was dry enough had almost caused him to blush. He almost didn’t admit to himself that he wanted to be the one holding that brush.

Something about this was not right.

No matter how beautiful or charming that elf may be, it should not have been enough to induce these feelings in him. He was old, very old, and yet had never felt anything like this before. This overpowering, mind-numbing, disturbing combination of lust and admiration should not have been possible this late, especially towards an elf of all things.

Now if only his nephew wasn’t infatuated with that elf as well. Kili was only making the situation worse.

Kili had stormed off afterwards, once he had calmed enough to only spit scathing remarks about how he was free to make his own choices as he wasn’t tied down by the rules of royalty. Fili had followed in an attempt to talk some sense into his brother. Neither of them had returned from watching the ponies, so Thorin could only assume that Fili managed to break through that thick skull of his enough to speak without screaming.

Thorin didn’t know how Fili did it with someone that frustrating.

He loved Kili with everything that he had, practically raising the boy as his own after their father’s tragic death when they were young, but the boy had a sharp mouth on him and the stubbornness that could rival even a craft-master. He was also passionate to the point of obsession with everything he did, from the month's long fascination with a single type of metal to the point of refusing all others down to the months of losing sleep and not eating because he was enraptured by a game he had purchased from a local vendor. Now, he had attached himself to a person rather than a trinket.

This argument would not be solved so long as he continued to act out of line and Thorin did not have the patience to deal with it anytime soon.

Something told him this wasn’t going to be the last time they fought over that blasted, beautiful elf.

“What witchcraft is this?” He had asked Balin an hour or two after Mister Bagins had run off to go rage in the trees. “What dark enchantment is at foot here to make us break like this?”

Balin looked up in surprise. He had not said anything really, but his old friend’s eyes widened in realization and horror. Thorin looked away, bowing his head in shame and disgust.

“How long?” Balin asked, his voice low so no one could hear.

Thorin was grateful for that. The last thing he wanted was his Company to lose respect for him if they learned that he was lusting after the elf. The elf that his nephew was pining after to the point of obsession. The elf that was broken and meek and spineless like a fawn abandoned by its mother, who was as soft as the hair on his head.

“Weeks. Since we met him in the Hobbit hole in the Shire.” Thorin muttered back, sighing deeply. “I’ve been having dreams almost nightly. Dreams I would never say out loud for they are vile to think about.”

Balin shook his head in disbelief and gestured to him to continue.

“I’ve been thinking about him. I’ve been thinking about things I would do to him if I was given the chance. It makes me sick just to think about how low I have fallen to dream about touching an elf.”

Balin said nothing to this confession, only looking down at the dirt and relaxing. He sighed deeply, then placed a hand on Thorin’s arm in silent comfort. Thorin was about to lean into the familiar touch, but Balin gripped his arm tight.

“Oh Thorin,” He chuckled, though it was empty. “It seems you are not the only one with a confession tonight.”

Thorin felt his stomach drop.

He had no time to process any of this, however. His response was interrupted by his nephews running towards them, screaming about how they had just sent their burglar to investigate a mysterious red fire that they had seen in the distance and had gotten his caught by a group of trolls.

Thorin screamed in outrage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being with Gandalf was a lot weirder this time than the other times we were left together. He wasn’t in a happy mood this time around. He didn’t tell me any weird stories that always had at least one crime that he committed without once getting caught. He didn’t even ask me questions about myself to pass the time.

He was silent and angry this time, pulling me along ever so slightly through the uneven terrain of the forestwhile fuming. His grip on my arm wasn’t tight, but it was firm and unyielding, similar to my mother’s when I made her mad. When he did speak, it was to give slight commands like “be careful” or “watch your step over here”.

Not going to lie. It terrified me.

I didn’t protest as he pulled me along. I didn’t complain when I tripped over roots and rocks, nor when I was hit across the face by wayward tree branches. I didn’t make a sound when we kept walking and walking, even though I was damn sure we were far enough away for them not to hear or come look for us. The only noise I made was when I had almost stepped on a poor little mantis and almost tripped us both to avoid hurting her, which he ignored once I got my balance back.

Finally, after like a half hour of walking, he stopped as we reached a small lake. He let me go and took a seat on one of the rocks by the back. I massaged feeling back into my arm and joined him, swallowing hard to ignore the buzz of anxiety in my stomach. Gandalf had a strange expression on his face as he stared at the water.

He said nothing for quite a while.

“Glírae.” He said, and I flinched byaccident.

“Yes sir?” I asked, folding my hands together and straightening up.

“I hope you understand why I had to separate you from the others today and not just because I didn’t want Thorin Oakenshield to take his unjust anger out on you. I wanted to speak with you and it’s best to talk away from prying eyes and ears.”

“Yes sir.” I nodded, even though my stomach coiled.

Gandalf nodded and looked back out into the water. He looked to be contemplating what to say first, and that was already a bad sign. That’s the same look my former therapist would give me before our sessions, like she was wondering what to crack into first.

f*ck. What did I agree to?

“Before I begin, I would like to mention that it is alright if you choose not to answer what I ask. You may stop me at any time if anything gets too uncomfortable.”

I nodded, the pressure in my stomach rising to my chest like bile. Something caused the back of my spine to shiver when he met my eyes directly.

“Good.” He said. “First, I am very much curious. I haven’t seen many elves with their hair shorn down and I was wondering why and who cut it. Did you do it yourself.”

Oh, that’s it? If you wanted to know more about me, bro, you could have just asked while we were left alone during the trips to the towns or when we were walking. Well, I guess it might be improper to talk about hair in front of Dwarves, since they take it too seriously.

That, or we’re starting with easy questions.

“Oh, this?” I said, taking one of my white strands and twisting it with my fingers. “My father cut my hair. It was far too long, and he hated seeing how I wasn’t taking care of it like I should, so he cut it. It’s been easier to manage ever since, so he just kept cutting it for me. My mother hated it and nearly slapped me for it the first time, but she’s gotten used to it.” I chuckled at the memory of my mother’s expression.

I swear I nearly put her in cardiac arrest that day.

“Your father cut you hair?” Gandalf said, a little surprised. “Against your wishes? Instead of teaching you how to care for your hair?”

“Not really? I mean, I did cry for a few hours when he first cut it off since I was attached to my hair, but he was right about it. I knew how to care for it and I just...wasn’t. I didn’t have the motivation nor the energy to keep braiding it every morning or even brushing it every day, so we just took the next best option. It’s easier for me when it’s this short, but I wouldn’t mind growing it out again.” I shrugged. “I didn’t ask for it verbally, but I basically did since they warned me about it a few times before he cut it. Cutting my hair was just a necessity rather than a way to reclaim myself like it is for a lot of people.”

“I see.” Gandalf hummed, but in the way where you knew he was secretly judging.

Rude as hell, my dude. I don’t say anything about that rat’s nest you call a beard, even though I should since I know for a fact that you didn’t own a brush until I bought you one in Bree. My hair may be unconventional right now for this time period, but that’s my issue not yours. The hobbits never said anything about it.

“You mentioned your parents. How are they like?” He asked.

Ah, so we’re doing interview styled questions now. I can live with that. I already know all your history and your future, so I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you mine. Just as long as I don’t paralyze myself in the process.

This is a topic I can talk about.

“They were normal, I guess. My father was a carpenter and later built houses and buildings for a living while my mother was a housekeeper for rich families, so I rarely saw them during the day. They were really nice though. Even when we were struggling with money, my mother always made sure to attend all our events and even paid extra so that we could each pursue whatever we wanted.”

I relaxed as I got lost in those wonderful childhood memories. I really missed my parents sometimes and it was nice to be able to talk about them. Bilbo hated them for some reason, even if he’s only heard one or two stories about them.

“My mother was the bravest woman I know. She once worked a month straight to be able to afford to get me singing lessons, even if it meant working herself into exhaustion. She did the same for my sister Mercedes when she wanted to pursue embroidery and when my brother Luis wanted to go into dance.”

“Do you have many siblings?” Gandalf asked.

I nodded, grabbing a stick to draw a small family tree in the dirt. Two people at the top followed by six little people underneath them.

“I do. I have three sisters and two brothers. I’m the oldest right here, followed by my sister Mercedes, then my brother Luis, and then Milagros, followed by the twins Juana and Miguel. My father had a thing for names that started with M since his name is Martin. I was going to be named Maria, but my father was so nervous when he was telling the nurse my name that he forgot the first letter.”

I laughed, and then froze at the slip of the tongue at that last sentence. I looked over to Gandalf, praying he didn’t register that, but he just nodded along without any indication that he did. I sighed in relief and then started a brief explanation on who each of my siblings were as people to cover up that slip.

We were still talking about my childhood and family by the time the sun went down and throughout the night. We went from everything to how my education went (he seemed to be pleased that I was an avid reader in my youth) to how I had dealt with certain situations as a child (Food insecurity didn't scare him much, but he was absolutely appalled by how my siblings used to play as various ways they could die with each other). He even convinced me to teach him a few words in Spanish with a promise to teach him the full thing later down the line when he found out he could not roll his Rs and was now fueled by pure spite.

We would have talked for longer, had Gandalf not shot up, grabbed my hand and took off running back the way we came from.

I also ran when I realized we had talked all night and dawn was approaching.

Chapter 21: Chapter 20

Chapter Text

I don’t know how long it took us to get to the Troll’s camp, and Gandalf was running far too slow for my liking, but he was my guide, and I was stuck behind him. He would pause on occasion, muttering something under his breath as he smelled the leaves or some sh*t, and I had to hold myself back from throttling him every time.

He stopped once again, and I buried my hands in my hair and tried to keep the tears offear and frustration down. I took a deep breath, reminding myself once again that Bilbo was going to be fine, and he was going to live. Gandalf was just finding where they were, and then they would be fine. Bilbo was going to live, even if I had to drag him out of Yavanna’s gardens myself.

I shifted from side to side, anxiously looking over to the horizon that was starting to show the tiniest bit of sunlight. Come on, my guy, this is taking too long. What if they ate him already? I know how this scene is supposed to play out in both the books and movies, and it was a close call in both. I don’t want it to happen because you were busy trying to sniff the pine trees.

Evey step this motherf*cker took that wasted time in getting to Bilbo was another second that he was closer to death. Bilbo can't die! If Bilbo dies, that’s it for me. I don’t know how Elves work, but I will absolutely fade in grief or cast myself off the nearest cliff if it didn't kill me. Everything I’m doing is for that Hobbit, even living. Without him here, I have nothing left in this world. Not my culture, my language, my hobbies or support system.

He better not die.

“Trolls.” Gandalf threw the pine on the floor with a disgusted look. “Hurry, Glírae. Daylight is not far, and I doubt they will survive much longer.”

You don’t have to tell me twice my guy.

He took off sprinting to the left, and I took off after him. He was fast for an old geezer, but I guess that’s just the Maia part of him coming out. If you could run that fast, why the f*ck did run like an old lady chasing a snail?

We ran for a good few minutes, enough to make my lungs burn a bit, and then he froze mid-step. I crashed into his back and hit the floor, but he bent down and slapped a hand over my mouth before I could make an apology or noise of protest. He shook his head and motioned over to the clouds of smoke and sounds of screaming a few feet away from us. I could smell the smoke from here.

I could smell it.

Oh God, I could smell it.

A cold feeling struck my chest as it finally hit how real this was now.

There were trolls on the other side of those rocks. Large, terrifying and deadly Trolls that currently had Bilbo (and I guess the others) tied up in a sack. They were going to cook him and eat him, and I was going to lose him. I was going to lose my best friend and my platonic soulmate and the love of my life.

I shuddered when I overheard one of them talking about squashing them into jelly. The mental image of Bilbo dying via crushing was nearly enough to have me double over in nausea and terror. The mental image evolved the longer they talked about cooking methods, and my imagination was going overtime in filling in those blanks.Disgusting images of him getting his arms torn off, or boiled alive, or roasted or worse did not stop.

Oh God, please not him.

They had Bilbo. My sweet little Bilbo. My pain in the ass that I love more than anything. The Hobbit with sh*tty tastes and zero tolerance for spice and an absolutely foul love of rabbit and-

“Glírae, listen to me very carefully.” Gandalf whispered and broke me out of my thoughts before I could go into a panic attack.

I nodded and pushed myself up until I was kneeling. It was difficult with how bad I was shaking, but Gandalf ignored it and motioned over to the rising sun.

“I need you to go out there and cause a distraction until the sun comes up.”

What?! ME?!

Isn’t that your job, my guy? I’ll get killed if I go out there! Aren’t you supposed to distract them with that little ventriloquist act until the sun comes up naturally? What the f*ck are you going to do while I’m out there?

“Trust me.” He said when he saw my look of horror. “I can press for time for a short while, but you are more equipped to keep their attention. I need at least 10 minutes and you can provide that. Something about you draws the eyes, and they will be no different.”

I was about to protest when a whine of pain cut me off. A familiar whine from a voice that made my spine quiver.

Bilbo. You came on this journey to protect Bilbo. If you can’t do that, then what the f*ck are you even worth, Aria? Bilbo is the important one here, not me. If you can buy a few minutes, just enough for Bilbo to get out of there, then it’s fine. So what if I get hurt out there? It’s not the end of the world like it would be for him (literally).

Mama didn’t raise no bitch!

“What do you want me to do, sir?” I asked, standing up.

“Distract them. Sing, entertain, start an argument. It doesn’t matter. Just make sure they do not move from that spot and keep them in range of the sun.” He ordered, and then pushed me off.

I nodded, taking in a shaky breath, and stepped up to one of the stones. I was hit with the foulest smell of my life, but it did nothing to distract me from the sight that was even fouler.

Trolls are f*cking ugly, dude.

Their faces were misshapen and scrambled, as if someone tried to draw a pug from memory while intoxicated. Their skin was rough and full of boils, with open sores festering in random areas. Their legs were crooked and in no way should they have been able to support themselves or their massive weight, which was concentrated towards the bottom of their stomachs. They all looked identically hideous, minus the different heights.

“We’ll just roast them now and eat them later.” One of the Trolls said, his voice grating like nails of a chalkboard. “Before the sun comes up. Help me pack them on the spit.”

I stepped onto one of the stones, trembling and trying not to sob in terror as I pushed myself up. A heard gasps around me as I did, and Bilbo shouted at me from his spot in the bushes. I gave him a small wave, to which he responded with a plea for me to run.

I shook my head and stuck my fingers in my mouth to whistle.

The Trolls froze and snapped their misshapen necks to look at me. I swallowed hard, gripping my shirt and pulling just to have something to stabilize myself before I started crying. I heard the troll in the center gasp, and he dropped a Dwarf, Bifor, onto the ground.

They all stared at me, unmoving. I gave a shaky bow, not taking my eyes off them, and started speaking.

“I-I...” I stuttered and cleared my throat. “G-Greetings. I heard...heard that y-you were having dinner and...and I thought that...that I w-would stop over and assist you.”

“Assist how?” The Troll on the left snarled, smiling to show his three remaining teeth. “Yer volunteerin’ t’be an appetizer?”

“Or dessert?” His brother on the right licked his lips, smearing them in thick slime. “Elves are always tender an’ sweet. Yer look like y’make a delicacy.”

“I would assist with cooking, if you would like some advice.” I stuttered in a breath and ignored Bilbo’s whine of protest. “I have traveled with these Dwarves for quite some time and can assure you that their habits have not made them good livestock. How were you planning on cooking them?”

The tallest Troll pointed to a spit, where they had already tied Bombur, Bofur and Ori to. The fire underneath was weak, so there was no chance of them burning to death yet, but they were coughing from the puffs of smoke hitting them.

Oh, that’s going to damage a lung if their smoking of pipes hadn’t already.

“But doesn’t roasting take all night? The sun will be up soon, and I don’t think you fancy being turned to stone before you can have your meal. What if they escape while you hide from the sunlight?”

The Trolls froze and blinked stupidly, as if the thought had just occurred to them. The middle Troll huffed, and then angrily pulled the spit off and tossed it on the ground. The three tied to it screamed in pain, but thankfully Bombur was on the bottom, so none were crushed too badly.

“Then we’ll mince ‘em fine an’ boil them over in a pot.” The smallest Troll said in a proud tone and gestured towards the pot and knives.

I blinked and bristled in horror but bit my tongue before I could beg for Bilbo’s life.

“But you have no water. Water takes so long to boil, and I have not seen any wells nearby. And boiling meat destroys the flavor and makes it tough to chew. Are you sure you want tough meat?”

“How would yer cook ‘em then?” The tallest Troll growled, and I flinched. I almost stepped back, but the smooth surface of the stone nearly caused my foot to slip when I tried.

“I would suggest keeping them, at least most of them, until tomorrow night when they can be slowly roasted with sage and other herbs to mask their dirty tastes. For now, I would eat something...much better tasting.” I stuttered out.

“Like what?” He growled. “Like yer? Are ya sayin’ you’ll be dinner?”

“Glírae, no!” Bilbo cried and flopped uselessly on the ground.

I shuddered but bowed lower. I took a deep breath, quickly running a few scenarios in my head before deciding on the one that would cause the least amount of risk to Bilbo. After all, I only need around 10 minutes.

Please don’t let this backfire.

“Not at the moment, but I could be that as well.” I said, finally getting my voice under control. “I see you have Dwarves and a Hobbit lad within your catch, but they won’t make for a very good food source, I don’t think. They were stringy and tough, and they are far too small to offer much of a meal. If you would like to eat me, that would be fine, but I do want to offer you something first.”

Bilbo screamed in protest, but I ignored him and the other Dwarves. The Trolls looked at me, one of them starting to drool and motioned for me to continue.

“I would like to volunteer my talents for your entertainment, my good sirs. May I interest you in a dinner and a show? Or in this case, a show and then a dinner?”

The Trolls hummed and rumbled, stepping closer until I could smell their rancid sweat clinging to their bodies. I tried not to gag and covered my mouth with my sleeve. The Troll closest to me cooed and laughed.

“So pretty. I want it!”

I jumped, and almost screamed as one of the Trolls decided to lunge, but both of his brothers threw him to the ground before he could take a step. One stepped on his back, hard enough to make him squeal in agony.

“No.” The lead Troll - Bert? - growled, then turned to look at me with a crooked smirk.

My heart nearly stopped when I saw his beady eyes glaze over with a fog of white, and then the same thing happened with the other two.

What the f*ck?

“No eatin’ this one. This one’s goin’ ta the hoard t’ keep.” He rumbled but didn’t give me a chance to process. “Well, then, Canary elf. Entertain us, then. Go on.”

Another cold shudder went down my spine and I nearly tumbled off the rock in shock.

Canary? Why does that sound familiar? Someone has called me that before, and there’s no way that this troll would know about that.

What the f*ck is going on?

Only the sound of Gandalf running through the trees pulled me out of that little revelation. I flinched, praying that the Trolls didn’t notice the noise, but their eyes never left me. Even when Gandalf walked into the open like a dumb bitch, they didn’t register him.

Ok, what the actual f*ck? Am I really that new and delicious looking to ignore everything around them? Or at they just that stupid that they can’t focus on more than one thing at once?

Either way, now was not the time to go through the motions of discovering some random ass plot point in my cliché life. I’ll just take this blessing before I do something to lose it.

“I can sing for you. I could sing to entertain you while you figure out how to cookthem.” I said, my voice cracking. “What song would you like to hear?”

“Somethin’ bloody!” The troll on the ground cried in excitement. “Songs of war!”

I nodded, putting down any thoughts other than the main task at hand. Songs of war, I can do pretty easily. I had that whole Viking phase in college right before coming here, so I know a lot of war chants by heart.

I took a deep breath, clearing my throat, and growled out to start the song (thank God for those vocal lessons, otherwise this would be painful). The song itself didn’t have much of a beat, other than the occasional stomp, which I will ignore for this song unless my clumsy ass falls of the stones.

Hopefully I won’t ruin Middle Earth by introducing Norse mythology.

“Ships on vigor of the waves are skimming

Barren summits to the verdant plains

Each horizon is a new beginning

Rise and reign.”

I saw the Dwarves jump at the sudden change in tempo from the songs I usually sing. Bilbo’s heard the song before during my chores around the house, but even he flinched at the rougher sound of the vocals.

The Trolls cried in delight, their glassy eyes focused on me and completely ignorant to the wizard in the background running around and freeing the Dwarves from their bonds. Gandalf wasn’t being very discreet, which would have been worrying if the Trolls were completely enamored by my performance.

It was kind of terrifying how much control I suddenly had over them now.

“Far from the Fjords and the ice-cold currents

Ravens soar over new frontiers

Songs and sagas of a fate determined

Shields and spears.”

Gandalf had reached Bilbo and pulled him up from the bush. The blood on his feet and the various cuts on his flesh nearly made me stop singing, but I pushed down the sick feeling to focus on the next verse. By now, the Trolls were completely frozen to the song, and they barely noticed that the sun was beginning to peak through their protection on the rocks.

“Vows of Favour or the thrill of plunder

Pull together for the clan and kin

Clank of hammers and the crash of thunder

Pound within.”

I didn’t bother finishing the rest of the song. The sun poured through the peaks and the Trolls noticed just enough for Gandalf to scream:

"Dawn take you all and be stone to you!"

I gasped when I saw their eyes, for the briefest moment, snap back to their normal beady state, and then they were stone, frozen in place with a look of horror. They were no less ugly when they were made of stone, but the weight of fear leaving my chest knocked the air out of my lungs.

I felt sick as I wiggled my way down the large stones.

Where was Bilbo?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo was trembling by the time that Glírae had gotten off the rock, and he watched the elf collapse to his knees as the shock finally got to him. He would have been over in an instant, had the elf not shot up and made a beeline for him to tackle him in an embrace.

“Bilbo!”

Bilbo cried in slight pain when Glírae pressed on his forming bruises and cuts but melted into the warm embrace and the smell of pine needles. He hugged him back, finally noticing how bad his friend was trembling and how close to tears he was. Bilbo himself felt his eyes prickle as the adrenaline had been released from his system.

“Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?” Glírae asked, loosening his grip.

“No. No. I’m alright. Just a few bruises and cuts, but they’re not serious and they hardly hurt.” He responded, stroking his back and burying his head into his friend’s chest.

Glírae’s breath stuttered, and Bilbo could feel a few drops of hot tears hitting the skin of his shoulders.

“Good. Then I won’t feel bad doing this.”

Just as he was about to comfort Glírae, he was off and grabbed by the front of his jacket. He cried in shock as he was shaken, and he looked into Glírae’s face, which was full of anger and rage. It was the first time that he had ever seen his friend angry since...well, ever. Bilbo shuddered when he was pulled up until their noses were touching and he was briefly aware of the Company going silent.

“Don’t.” Glírae growled, looking positively murderous even as tears ran down his cheeks. “Don’t you EVER do that to me again, you hear? Debería romperte tu putisima madre, hijo de puta! What THE f*ck were you thinking, going into a place where trolls were?!”

Bilbo couldn’t answer before he was shaken once more.

“Uh, Glírae-” Gandalf tried to interrupt, but a glare caused him to flinch back.

Gandalf held his staff protectively in front of himself, as if it would shield him from the elf’s icy look.

“No!” He yelled. “I don’t know what f*cking possessed them to go after Trolls, but I am not having it! They can go and be suicidal all they want, but they dragged Bilbo into this, sir! I draw the line there!”

The Dwarves all took a step back from the angry elf, whose cheeks were starting to turn pink from the intense emotion. It was probably the first time they had seen an elf show any type of emotion, if the stories and jabs they told were true.

“We were not suicidal. We came to rescue the Hobbit after he foolishly got himself caught by trolls retrieving our stolen ponies.” Thorin growled, and Bilbo bristled in offense in Glírae’s hold.

“And who was watching those ponies when they were taken? Isn’t that their fault? Who sent him out?” Glírae snapped and held him even tighter in his protective embrace.

Bilbo was very confused. He didn’t know whether Glírae was relieved that he was alive and wanted to protect him from anything that could hurt him, or if he wanted to end his life himself right then and there. Regardless, the best option was to just keep quiet now that his anger was directed at another target.

The Dwarves looked over at Fili and Kili, who said nothing to their defense. Glírae’s glare made Kili flinch and Bilbo could have sworn he saw his heart shatter just a bit at being the target of Glírae’s newfound anger.

“Let me guess.” Glírae’s voice was cold and calm now, which only made Bilbo more worried. “You didn’t want to admit your mistake and sent him out to fix it so His Highness wouldn’t find out.”

They both looked away and Kili paled considerably. Glírae scoffed, a cruel sound that didn’t fit his gentle and sweet personality and turned back to Bilbo. In an instant, his worried look returned, and he began to examine the scrapes and bruises Bilbo had gotten in the fight.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Bilbo? You’re still bleeding from a few of these.” He muttered and wiped a stray drop of blood away before it could reach his eyes. “Can we have Master Óin take a look at you, just to make sure they don’t get infected?”

Bilbo was quick to agree and let Glírae pull him back to his feet, which were still sore and bruised from the trolls. Glírae steadied him and pressed a small kiss to the top of his head. It was a common gesture between the two of them, but he didn’t miss the strangled sound that came from some of the Dwarves.

“I love you, Bilbo.” Glírae said, earning more gasps, and stroked his hair. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. That was uncalled for.”

Bilbo tried not to appear too smug at Kili’s grief-stricken face, even if it was quite entertaining to see him this way after the whole fiasco he started.

“I love you as well.” Bilbo responded and let Óin take him away to heal his injuries.

Óin was professional and not very gentle, but not rough with him either. Granted, Glírae was watching closely right behind him, his eyes still burning with rage and ready to snap at any Dwarf that got close to him.

Bilbo was glad for the protection and felt a bit of guilty pleasure at seeing Glírae exhibit some reaction other than his usual submissive acceptance. Granted, it was for Bilbo, but they would work on it until it could be for himself as well.

He had a dumb smile on his face as they made their way back to the camp. Gandalf stayed in the far back, claiming to be on the lookout for more trolls, but everyone knew he didn’t want to be the target of Glírae’s anger, which was shimmering instead of calming. Fili had attempted to get closer to apologize, but one look sent him right back to his brother’s side.

Kili was the only one that had not gotten away from the elf, even going so far as the stand next to him while they packed and send rather rude looks to Bilbo whenever Glírae wasn’t looking.

Bilbo let it happen, too high on the victory to be offended.

“You... really love Master Baggins.” Kili said.

Glíraeshrugged and loaded his horse up. Starlight preened when he started petting her, and Glírae smiled as he basked her with his touch.

“I do. I love him a lot. If anything happens to him, I will kill everyone in this Company and then myself.”

Now, that was going a little far, but Bilbo didn’t doubt the fondness and adoration in his voice.

“I love you as well.” Bilbo responded once again, just to see Kili bristle.

Kili had stormed off right after, and Bilbo had to hold back making a rude gesture to his back. After all, he was a polite Hobbit and they only made gestures to their faces, because it was rude not to give someone a chance to fight back.

Just as they were loading up to leave, Bilbo was struck with a thought that had slipped his mind completely.

“Gandalf!” He cried and ran to the wizard to present him with the key that he had stolen from the pocket of a troll. “Gandalf! Look! I stole this from a troll and thought it would be useful for something.”

Gandalf’s eyes lit up and snatched the key eagerly, though Thorin looked skeptical.

“What need do we have of a key from a troll?” Thorin asked and lifted himself up to his pony.

"Honestly, did no one teach you anything, Thorin? Don't you realize that the trolls must have a cave or a hole dug somewhere near to hide from the sun in? We must look into it!" Gandalf said. “You owe it to me for saving your lives, after all.”

Thorin sighed but did not argue. He barked an order that they were going to go searching for the wizard’s suspected cave, and no one had any complaints as they were all bored of walking all day. Within the hour, they had all packed up and began their search, letting Gandalf lead them from place to place.

Around lunchtime, when they had all decided to take a break from searching, Ori came to approach the elf, who was busy trying to force down rabbit stew without gagging.

“So, Master Glírae.” Ori said, very hopeful despite being terrified of the earlier anger. “That song you were singing earlier...”

“Would you like me to sing the full thing?” Glírae asked, once more back to his sweet and caring self.

Bilbo sighed in relief and went back to eating. He barely noticed when Glírae began to sing again but did tap along to the beat of the song. Eventually, Ori had begged enough for Glírae to teach him the song, not just write it down, and they were soon joined by a few other Dwarves.

As lunch ended, the Company was singing their new work song while Glírae cleaned up the camp. Well, Glírae was mostly singing the song while the Dwarves hummed along to chorus, minus Thorin, Dwalin and Bifur. Bilbo even joined along towards the end, being the only other one who knew the words correctly.

"Sails a' swaying on the crimson rivers

Blood and glory in the fighting fields

Shields a' shatter into splintered timbers

Iron and steel.

Fires are rising and the bells are ringing

Glory take us into Odin's halls

Golden glimmer and the sound of singing

Asgard's call.”

Chapter 22: Chapter 21

Chapter Text

The Troll Hoard was hidden nearby behind a big stone door near the bushes. And it smelled like absolute sh*t, and I don’t know why anyone in their right mind would go into that. Since I was in my right mind, I decided to not go into it and stay my ass outside just enough for me to see inside, but not go in.

“Glírae, are you sure that you don’t want to see this?” Bilbo asked, his voice light even though I heard him gag the moment that he walked in.

That pushy bastard had tried to drag me in with him and had even resulted to puppy dog eyes and a high-pitched pleading. He even wrapped his little noodle arms around my arm to pull me in and had squawked in offense when I pulled him off by the back of his shirt and threw him in a bush.

Nice try, you short bitch. I have five little siblings. I’m immune to all types of begging!

“Absolutely not!” I said and sat down far away enough that the smell was bearable. “I can smell sh*t better than you, and that smells like actual sh*t! You can stay in there if you want, but I have standards for myself!”

They were doing their general digging through the troll hoard. Thorin had ordered them to take any food that seemed good enough to eat to replenish their supply, while Dwalin and Balin had taken it upon themselves to collect the barrel of ale in the corner.

Thorin and Gandalf were looking through the pots of gold coins on the floor, as if trying to figure out what type of currency they were from.

“You’re going to leave me down here by myself?” Bilbo shouted back, even though he was already rummaging through the treasures by the entrance of the hoard.

“Yes.”

“I thought you loved me!” Bilbo shouted like a dramatic little bitch. “You said you would follow me until the ends of the earth! You said you loved me enough to do anything!”

By now, the Dwarves and Gandalf had stopped shoving food into their packs to watch the interaction between the two of us. Gandalf himself wore the expression that reminded me of my abuela watching her favorite telenovela. All he was missing was the prunes she would eat during them.

“I don’t love you that much!” I replied, sitting down to re-tie my shoes. “I have standards, babes!”

Bilbo gasped dramatically, but it ended with him gagging once more and coughing when he inhaled the rancid, sh*t smell of the cave. I tried not to laugh too hard as he struggled to hold down his lunch, even if he was giggling as well.

“So rude!” Bilbo said, but he was laughing too much to take it seriously. “I’ll bring you something from here then. Since I, on the other hand, love you enough to come in here for it.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. I really did adore that Hobbit.

It took them close to an hour or moreto sort out the junk from the good stuff, to which I had pulled out my sketchbook to sketch out even more little mushrooms and mushroom like creatures. I filled three pages of them by the time they were finished.

I even drew Bilbo along the margins of the pages, which I showed off to him the moment he came out to take a break from the stench. His only comment about it was that I made him so small, and the bastard got offended when I said it was life size.

He kicked my shin like a rude bitch.

"These look like good blades," said Gandalf from the cave, holding a sword in his hands. "They were not made by any troll, nor by any smith among men in these parts and days. But when we can read the runes on them, we shall know more about them."

Bilbo had picked up the future Sting on his way out, though he didn’t look at it too much other than to say it was shiny.

Knowing those blades were forged in Gondolin was kind of weird, since even Gandalf didn’t know yet, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything. I know nothing about swords, so no way in f*ck would I be able to tell when and where they were forged by just looking at them. To me, they all look the same.

"Let's get out of this horrible smell!" said Fili.

Yes, please. And hopefully to somewhere with a river so that I can scrub the scent of troll from Bilbo’s hair and clothes. Actually, I need to scrub a lot of things from Bilbo’s body. That man is getting a little crusty.

Thankfully, and I mean that I thank God himself for this, they didn’t get mad at me when I asked if we could go to the river. Thorin did look slightly annoyed, but Gandalf had interrupted and reminded them that they needed to fill their waterskins anyways.

“But we didn’t sleep last night and we’re tired!” Fili complained, even though he was just laughing with his brother over the coins they got.

“And whose fault was that?” Gandalf snapped, then turned around to pick up one of the pots of gold coins.

Damn, this guy was stronger than he looked. Just looking at those things made my arms burn and back ache. Dude, lend some of that strength over. Maybe I could finally open a jar without crying to Bilbo or Parsley.

“A bath and refilling will not kill you, Fili.” Gandalf grumbled as he loaded the poor pony up with coins. “Glírae is right. We will use the river to our advantage while it is still here and while we have our things packed. The waters here are clean and warm, so they are the best luxury we will have for a few days at least.”

“Can we at least eat first?” Ori asked, holding a few pounds of bacon in his arms.

Wait, what? Didn’t we just eat a few hours ago? You want to eat again so soon?

“Yes, please!” Bombur shouted in good cheer and plopped down on a rock nearby. “Ale is meant to be drank cold and the meat is fresh as can be!”

I mean, I’m not sure about that one. Are we really going to trust meat that has been in a troll hoard?

“Close the doors then.” Thorin nodded and gestured towards Dwalin and Óin “The smell will sour the meat when it cooks. Bofur, Bifur, set up the fire to cook with!”

We’re cooking this here?!

Y’all, this isn’t a good idea. It still smells like sh*t, even with the doors shut. You can’t seriously tell me you’re hungry again! It’s only been like 2hours and the stew was heavy!

“I could go for some food. Searching a troll cave has made me quite hungry and lunch was so small.”

Et tu, Bilbo?!

Well, you’re a Hobbit, so you don’t count. You eat most of the food I cook in one sitting, and I’m used to cooking for a family of eight. I’d be concerned if you weren’t hungry.

It didn’t take long for them to start a fire and start cooking up the bacon and other chunks of vegetables that were in the troll cave. I was a little apprehensive, since the vegetables weren’t washed very well and simply just rinsed with the rest of the water, but I didn’t get much of a chance to protest.

Bro, they even took the seasonings I had in Bilbo’s bag for this. And the bitch didn’t even care!

My chest was buzzing as I watched the food sizzle, but I couldn’t bring myself to do much other than sit.

A plate was handed to me, with a chunk of bread, crispy bacon, toasted vegetables and a piece of cheese. It was intimidating and large and very much did not look appetizing in the slightest bit. They didn’t hand me any utensils, and my stomach recoiled since I never did clean those after lunch like I usually did.

How am I supposed to eat this?

My hands were dirty, the smell of the food mixed in with the smell of troll, and I just wasn’t hungry. I guess I could make a sandwich with this, but that’s so much food. Food that I really didn’t want. I was going to be sick if I ate this.

I’m going to be sick regardless.

Why do I feel so off, all of the sudden?

The buzzing in my chest grew more intense.

f*ck.

God f*cking dammit, Aria! You cannot keep doing this when someone cooks for you. Just take a few bites at least, and then you can hand it over to Bilbo to finish. He’ll probably get mad at you again, but it’ll be worse if I don’t even try first. At least if you take a few bites, he won’t have to lecture you for a while.

I really don’t want to make him mad. A mad Bilbo is never fun to deal with. Especially when it’s something that I caused.

“Glírae.”

I flinched when he touched my arm, to which he pulled back quickly. I felt bad instantly, and turned to face him to apologize, but he cut me off by gesturing to the plate.

“You’re not eating anything. You’ve just been staring at the plate.” He said and set down his own empty plate.

I glanced around and saw that most of the Dwarves had finished their food already. I was the only one with a full plate still, and that’s because Kili, Fili and Ori were messing with each other by tossing food into each other’s mouths.

I nodded once I realized Bilbo was waiting for an answer.

The buzz was growing stronger.

“Um, yeah...I’m not hungry, so...” I set the plate down on my lap, looking away before I could catch a glimpse of his disappointment.

“We ate 5 hours ago!” Bilbo cried. “And you hardly ate anything at lunch. Surely you must at least feel some hunger!”

Has it really been that long? It didn’t feel like it, and I didn’t even have the slightest hint of hunger or an appetite yet. Besides, I was fine. I worked full 13 hours shifts without a lunch break on the regular back when I was a server, so 5 hours is basically nothing for me.

I swallowed hard and mentally prepared myself for this conversation.

I could feel the buzzing in my chest up to my ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t.” Glírae said, and Bilbo almost slapped himself when he saw the signs of his friend beginning to shut down.

Bilbo almost sighed but regained himself enough to think.

He very much disliked it whenever Glírae became this way and would refuse the food in front of him, even when he was clearly hungry. He may claim not to be, but Bilbo could hear the noises of his stomach and could see the slight discomfort appearing that betrayed the signs of hunger.

He never understood why his friend refused to feed himself, even when he had food that he enjoyed. Many a time he had seen him enjoy a meal but had stopped eating just before he got to the point of being satisfied or full. It was a consistent thing, and one that had only gotten worse the longer that Glírae stayed in the Shire. It had gotten so bad at one point that his friend had skipped meals for a day or two at a time, and Bilbo finally decided to do something about it.

He hated being firm with him, sometimes harsh, but it had been better than letting the elf starve himself when he was already so small. Glírae already denied himself so much, and food was not going to be another thing.

“You need to eat something.” He said in that voice that his mother used to use when she wanted to hear no arguments. “If not the meat and cheese, at the very least finish the vegetables and bread. You must eat something with how much we’ve been moving.”

The elf looked down at the food with a grimace. He said nothing to his defense; not that Bilbo was expecting him to. It made him feel disgusted for thinking it, but this was one of the few times Bilbo appreciated the fact that his friend took orders very well. This would have been much harder had Glírae had the willpower to fight him.

He nodded in appreciation and approval when Glírae grabbed the bread, even if he frowned while doing it, but it was broken the moment that Dwarven King decided to open his big mouth.

“The elf will not eat?” He snarled, and Bilbo felt a shiver go up his spine.

Glírae froze, the bread already up to his mouth, and looked over at the angry Dwarf. He flinched at the blazing look and dropped his gaze to the floor, still and silent, like he did whenever he assumed he was in trouble.

Bilbo felt his chest tighten in worry and rage but was far too frozen in shock to come to his defense. Thorin rose and made his way over until he was standing a few feet away from them. Glírae had begun to tremble and looked positively frightened despite towering over the Dwarf, but the fear was quickly replaced by a blank and emotionless expression.

Bilbo suddenly felt very, very sick.

“You rather waste food, then.” Thorin said, sharp enough to make even Bilbo wince. “Is the food not to your taste? Or is it because it was made by Dwarven hands?”

“Now that has nothing to do-" Bilbo was shouting, when a hand pulled him back down on his seat.

“I’m sorry.” Glírae’s voice was small and shaky, but there were no emotions in the response.

Bilbo felt his blood freeze. He could barely formulate another thought or defense, so scared he was at the sudden shift in character.

Oh no. This was the exact outcome he had been working on for the last five years to avoid. He had seen it in the first three months of Glírae living with him, and it would pop up again on occasion during times of high stress, where he would leave his mind and shut down every part of himself except the part that was trained to appease the threat.

He needed to put a stop to this.

“You admit that you will not eat the food given to you? Food that we have worked hard to obtain and cooked for you?”

“No sir.”

Glírae flinched, and Bilbo finally had enough. He was just about to give the blasted Dwarf a piece of his mind, when he was pulled down by Balin next to him. The old Dwarf shook his head, and Bilbo felt himself shake in his rage.

What did he mean no? Who was he to ask him not to defend his greatest friend? His greatest friend that was clearly terrified of the King they claimed to respect! King or no king, scolding and berating Glírae for something he was clearly struggling with was nowhere productive and only fueled the King’s ego over them all!

Was it simply because he was a King? Being King gave him no right to treat another as if he were lesser than, especially one that had done nothing to him!

“If you will not the food given to you, then you will not eat dinner at all.”

“Yes sir.”

Bilbo nearly punched him when Thorin snatched the plate from Glírae’s hands, who did nothing to his defense and instead folded upon himself, silent and docile and very much scared. Had he not known that screaming would only cause him to cry, Bilbo would have screamed some very choice words at the top of his lungs.

“Thorin, give me the plate.” He said evenly. “You cannot deny him food simply because you dislike him.”

Thorin turned to him, his eyes clouded with fury and annoyance, but Bilbo didn’t let him say anything.

“Hand it over. You may be a leader of this Company, but even you do not get to decide if he gets to eat or not. Food isn’t a privilege and it’s not something you can take away!” Bilbo nearly snarled and was taken aback by the bite he could produce.

Thorin simply held the plate further away, nearly dropping the vegetables.

“If food is such a necessity, he would not refuse to eat it simply because a Dwarf made it. He knows not what it is like to starve, so a lesson in that is needed before he wastes something so hard to obtain!”

“It has nothing to do with the food being made by Dwarves! He’s been eating the same food as the rest of us for the last month without a problem, so you know this as well. You simply want to accuse him of something, so you have an excuse to scream at him!”

Thorin bristled in anger.

“You dare accuse me of manipulation, halfling? When it is him and his kind that is known for that?”

Bilbo gritted his teeth and pushed Balin’s hand off his shoulder, standing to meet the King head on. He ignored Balin’s noise of worry, and frankly didn’t care if they took it as a sign of disrespect. He may be just a Hobbit against a Dwarven king, but status has never stopped a Baggins nor a Took from giving a person a good tongue lashing when deserved.

“Again with this? Look, I understand that what elves have done to you in the past was horrendous, but that is no excuse for you to take your anger out on one that has done nothing for you!” Bilbo snapped, jabbing the King with his index finger. “You constantly berate him, treat him like a servant, and have said no kind words to him nor have you defended him from the actions of certain Company members. He has been nothing but sweet and respectful and does not deserve your ire!”

Thorin pushed his hand away. Bilbo almost took a step back butstood his ground against the larger Dwarf. He could feel his cheeks begin to burn in anger, but nothing would stop him now that his words were coming out.

“Bilbo, lad-” Balin started, but Bilbo was faster.

“Oh, don’t you start either! None of you have been any helpful to this situation and it has only been getting worse. You say nothing while your King piles chores on him, berates him, and places blame on him for crimes he does not commit. I don’t care what loyalty you have to this stubborn and frankly pig-headed King, but if it makes you ignore clearly rude and vile behavior, then I want none of it! I have half a mind to take our chances and return to my Smial, where I can at least ensure he’s treated with respect!”

A gasp rang out through the camp, but Bilbo was too angry to wonder who it was from.

“You would break your contract, half-” Thorin started, and was met with a smack to the back of the head by Gandalf’s staff.

Gandalf snatched the plate from Thorin’s hands before he could recover and handed it to Bilbo. Bilbo took a few steps back, stepping in front of Glírae, who was still trembling and staring unnervingly at the ground.

“Enough of this, Thorin!” Gandalf snapped. “I have just about had it with your stubbornness and behavior on this Quest. In fact, I think you and I need to have a talk.”

Gandalf didn’t wait for his answer before grabbing Thorin by the back of his cloak and pulling him into the woods. Thorin had begun to scream, but Bilbo didn’t even care enough to listen to what the crabby King was spouting.

Bilbo took a deep breath, shuddering, and then turned back to Glírae. His friend had stopped shaking, though the eerie stillness was still present, and he had yet to move or look up.

“Please eat.”

Glírae took the plate and ate everything quickly. Bilbo didn’t even have it in him to ask him to slow down, far too disturbed by the fact that the Dwarves had said nothing during this entire encounter, even if their King was clearly in the wrong.

He hoped this wouldn’t be an issue later on.

By the time Thorin and Gandalf had come back, the King was red faced and out of breath, but had apologized to Glírae through gritted teeth. Bilbo sighed in disappointment when Glírae bowed his head to his apology and accepted it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, that was stressful.

I’m fine though. Sure, my limbs were still a little numb and noise was starting to hurt, but it’s small enough that I can ignore it, so I’m fine.

Now that that’s done and over with, let’s go back to my original problem at hand. I’m getting rid of this stench even if it kills me.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Bilbo asked.

I nodded, and then helped Bilbo onto his pony, who was the only one that didn’t have a bunch of sh*t loading her down. Even Myrtlebristled at the smell, so you know that was bad, and Bilbo groaned when I made him remove his outer coat, so I didn’t have to smell it anymore.

The Dwarves loaded up the coins, food and equipment onto their ponies, but thankfully didn’t climb on top of them. They held their reigns and began to walk forward. I decided to walk next to Starlight, since she deserved a break from carrying my fat ass everywhere.

“To the river!” Thorin ordered. “We will refill our water, the elf will clean our clothes and bedrolls, and we will wash away the stench of troll! Move on!”

Bilbo sucked in a breath, but I placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from jumping up to curse at the King. I shook my head at the insulted look he gave me, to which he huffed and relaxed against me. He muttered something about how he wanted to knock some manners into Thorin, and I almost rolled my eyes.

He really should be used to how Thorin talks to me by now. He’s already mad at me, and I don’t feel like making it worse by pushing more of his buttons. Besides, I like cleaning and he helps me with it, so it’s not too bad. I have to do something to contribute to this Company and we have some time to just ourselves.

I’m fine with that.

The walk to the river only took like an hour or two, and it was another hour to set up a camp to properly get a night’s rest. The river currents were gentle, and the water was warm from the sun, so it was perfect for washing clothes and for bathing.

Too perfect, in fact.

I should have known that the calm after the storm would only bring more storms. Nothing ever ends just like that, so I should have seen something worse coming. There was always something worse.

Let me tell you the sh*t that went down right afterwards, because I am now scarred for life. Oh God, it was the worst experience that I have ever had. Were you aware the Dwarves had absolutely no sense of privacy or decency when it came to nudity?

I sure as hell didn’t. I thought that was a movie thing, but apparently when they are on the road, their sense of everything goes out the window and they just let it hang with the wind and the water. I’m used to modern day humans and Hobbits, who sure as hell were never naked outside (Bilbo was the exception for me and the only exception since he never made me look at him).

It was very disturbing.

The moment camp was set up a few yards away from the muddy parts of the river (a terrible idea but commenting on it made Thorin look at me like he was going to slap me, so I shut up), the Dwares stripped to nothing and jumped into the river. A river that covered nothing, especially when they started to mess with each other while in it.

‘The f*ck? Why are they all stripping? Weren’t we going to take turns like last time?’

I’m going to set my eyes on fire. There were so many dicks, my f*cking God. Just one right after the other and – oh f*ck, I think my stomach is turning in on itself.

I felt sick.

Did you guys know that looking at male anatomy was absolutely repulsive to me? Not just disgust, but a punch of pure fear, anxiety, disgust and shame at what I was seeing. Were they supposed to look like that?

How can anyone stand to see that, much less touch that?

I can’t do this.

It wasn’t just the dicks either. It was their bodies in general, so muscled and hairy and ragged from the years of working outside. Even though they were short creatures, they were built out of stone and pure strength. Each muscle rippled in the wind, only accentuated by the light gleaming off the water on them, showing off how powerful they are and how easy it would be for them to overpower someone.

The last time I saw a man in a state of undress was in the violent p*rn that my roommate watches, and even that was pushing me past everything I was comfortable with. Seeing not one, but over a dozen in real life, that was beyond any boundary or limit I had ever wanted for myself.

I had to get out of there.

“Aren’t you going to join us, Master Glírae?” Ori called out, waving at me and exposing his entire front.

They want me to take my clothes off too?

‘Why are you being so weird about this? It’s just bathing. You bathe with Bilbo all the time?’

That’s different. Bilbo only ever had me wash his hair while he was under the water, so I never saw an of him and never touched him. The Dwarves were all up on each other, not caring what body part touched what, even if intimate areas brushed against each other.

I shook my head and looked away, gripping my cloak tighter to my body to cover up more.

Oh f*ck, I wasn’t supposed to look at naked men. A woman was not supposed to look at naked men, especially not this many. I’m still a woman and I’m not married or dating or anything, so what the f*ck was I doing looking at naked men? Why can’t I stop staring at them? What the actual f*ck?

‘Why haven’t you stopped looking then if you hate seeing it?’

It’s not my fault. It’s like watching a trainwreck. It’s so gross, but I can’t look away.

Naked men, one woman. The math wasn’t hard to do here. No man is naked in front of you unless he wants something. My mother drilled that into my head since I was 7, and she’s usually right about this stuff.Hell, even my brothers weren’t allowed to take their clothes off in front of us once they hit 3.

‘What a whor*, making yourself the center of attention here.’

I’m in danger. I’m in so much danger. I can’t do this right now.

It was getting hard to breathe.

“Glírae, are you alright?” Bilbo asked, tapping my leg.

I jumped, then fell over onto the ground. Bilbo went to pick me up, but I scooted away from the Hobbit. The also naked Hobbit. The Hobbit who was currently in the nude, along with everyone else, including Gandalf and oh my f*cking god.

I can’t do this.

I can’t look at this.

‘You’re going to be fine. Stop being such a little bitch. Not everyone here is trying to f*ck you. You’re not that pretty.’

My breath started to speed up. I scooted back, my arms shaking too much to be able to crawl. I felt gross. So f*cking gross, as if someone just dunked me in slime or ice or was just holding me under the mud. I wanted to scrub this off, but the Dwarves were in the river, and I couldn’t get clean unless I stripped and joined them and – no.

Get away. I have to get away from here.

“Glírae?!” Bilbo called in concerned, but I had already scooted my way back into the woods past the bushes to get away from him.

‘f*cking run then, if you’re so scared.’

I didn’t even realize that I was crying until I settled into a bush by a tree a few yards away from the campsite. It was a few minutes, or seconds later, when I felt the panic attack start to suffocate me again.

Why was I so pathetic?

Chapter 23: Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Bilbo was at Glírae’s side in a moment, almost slipping in the mud as he did so. The elf had fled into the trees the moment the clothes had come off, terrified and pale and trembling. He had tried to comfort him, but Glírae fixed his blank eyes upon him and whimpered in distress. When he touched his knee to steady him, the elf had fallen over and bolted away from him in fear.

Right. He wasn’t supposed to touch him while he was like that, or at all without his permission whether implied or stated. That was not a smart move.

The whine of terror tore Bilbo’s heart out and simultaneously made it sink.

It was happening again. The spike of terror and panic that squeezed Glírae’s mind, clouding his senses and blinding him to everything except that terrible, crippling fear. He hadn’t seen it since they were just outside of Bree, or in the inn itself, and those were far simpler to deal with since he knew the cause of those. He had no clue what had caused this one, or what had caused him to react so violently.

But it did not matter. Getting him away from here was far more important than asking questions to someone who couldn’t answer them. The Dwarves were beginning to stare, and a few were coming out of the water, which would only cause Glírae to panic more. He had only had these floods of fear twice before in public – panic attacks, he had called them – and both occasions ended with him hiding himself in the house for a week afterwards.

Yes, he needed to get him away from here.

Glírae fled just as he went to help him up, scooting back and crawling towards the trees. Bilbo just managed to see the tears in his eyes as he disappeared and cursed his luck. Now that it had started, it would not stop until Glírae had screamed and cried himself into exhaustion.

There had only been one person that had managed to calm him with simple words and touch and Bilbo unfortunately was not Madam Parsley. However, Bilbo wasn’t completely helpless either and had dealt with this enough that he picked up a few tricks.

“Mister Baggins, is he alright?” Ori asked as Bilbo pulled on his undergarments again.

Bilbo didn’t quite know how to answer that.

Physically, Glírae was as healthy as he had always been, which was not that great when he really thought about it. Mentally, Bilbo was concerned about everything that went on in his head, even the things that Glírae had not said out loud yet. Emotionally, that was an issue all on its own and Bilbo didn’t have enough knowledge to truly help him there except to be there and listen.

Currently, not in the slightest.

“No.” Bilbo said as he pulled his shirt on. “No, he is not. He will be, but he needs to calm down first. I don’t know what frightened him, but I’m going to go stay with him until he can tell me.”

He finished getting dressed, ignoring the discomfort of putting filthy clothes back on.

“Do you need someone to go with you?” Kili asked suddenly, crawling out of the water. “Does he need someone to comfort him and tell him sweet words? A shoulder to cry on? I can provide anything he needs if you will simply show me-”

“Absolutely not.” Bilbo said firmly. “This is not something you can help me with and Glírae will not want you there. Stay away from him until he says otherwise.”

“But Mis-”

“I said no.” Bilbo snapped, his patience at a new low. “For once, stop thinking about wooing him and listen when someone tells you that you cannot do something. You have no experience with a panic attack, and I will not have you making it worse for him by trying to act like a romantic suitor rather than a person who wants to help. Stay away.”

Bilbo finished dressing and took off towards the direction of his friend, following the sounds of panicked gasps and choked sobs.

He found Glírae at the base of a tree, curled up on the ground against a bush and gripping violently at his hair. He was breathing fast and hard, wheezing in between breaths when he choked on his tears. He was trembling and shuddering, occasionally pulling at his hair when he was assaulted by another violent shudder.

This was far too common of a sight for Bilbo to panic like he used to. Now, he was simply tired and calm, enough to deal with it without prolonging it or making Glírae feel ashamed for his reaction. Calming him was a simple yet tedious process that involved a lot of waiting and calming words and questions. It was a slow process, but slow and steady was the easiest transition.

“Glírae.” He said calmly. “It’s just me. I’m going to get closer. Is that alright?”

There was silence for a moment, Glírae having stopped crying the moment Bilbo spoke. After a few minutes, the elf nodded and moved himself to the side so that Bilbo could sit. His breathing was still harsh, and his trembling had not lessened, but he had snapped himself out of the haze that kept him imprisoned in his own mind. At least, enough for him to hear Bilbo.

Bilbo took a seat next to him, just far enough away to give him the space he needed. Glírae simply curled himself closer to the tree as the hobbit talked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kili followed Gandalf in the direction that Bilbo had run off to after begging to accompany him. Gandalf had reluctantly agreed after Kili spent a good 10 minutes of pleading (and clinging to the robes he was attempting to put on), but on the condition that Kili stay behind him.

“You will be silent, and you will stay hidden. You will not under any circ*mstances attempt to interfere or to comfort, no matter how much you think he needs it. We are only here to observe and to confirm a suspicion that I have.” Gandalf said, then wacked him on the head when he tried to protest. “And not a sound out of you!”

Kili grumbled but agreed.

They stumbled upon them a few yards away from the campsite and had hidden behind a dense collection of trees and stone. Their burglar was sitting next to his love, who was crying heavily into his knees and aggressively pulling at his hair. His darling was trembling, wheezing and breathing in sharp gasps. It was enough to break Kili’s heart.

This was not how he wanted to see him breathless.

A hand on Kili’s shoulder stopped him from running over, taking the elf into his arms, kissing away the tears and assuring him how much he was loved. Gandalf’s glare made him shrink behind the stone.

Why wasn’t their burglar doing anything? Mr. Baggins was just sitting there while his pearl cried, as if he didn’t care! Why was he not holding onto him, or begging him to tell him what was wrong, or running a soothing hand through his hair? He didn’t even have a hand on his thigh or shoulder to show him support!

It really was unfair how close his love was to their burglar, despite him having none of the makings of a good husband. The hobbit was small and beardless, without a hint of muscle that could be used to protect him from danger or to wield a hammer to forge him gifts of high luxury. The only thing that he had was a cozy home, and even that was too small and cramped and lacked any luxury that would make his beloved happy.

There were no jewels around the house, no carved stone that showed off millennia of history and skill. His beloved was dressed in simple farmer’s clothing, not the rich silken robes that the consorts of the Dwarven kingdoms would wear. He wore no jewelry nor complex braids that showed off his status, nor crests of the Houses he belonged to that would gain him immediate respect. Kili would make him look like a proper Consort when they married.

Mr. Baggins also did not have the means to give him anything that resembled a proper life. The elf beauty had slaved away as his housekeeper, waiting upon him like a common servant. It was insulting when it should have been the other way around, even if Glírae had insisted that he enjoyed serving him. Kili didn’t believe it, even if it was a nice thought of having Glírae serve him instead.

But no. Glírae would be treated like the Consort he was.

Then there was the issue of closeness. The Hobbit had the advantage of time in knowing his beloved, though that would have been easily fixed had he had not been kept away. The burglar did not give him the chance to get close to his love, not even to start a friendship first. He had been set on keeping them apart and protecting the elf from him, though Kili knew that it was possession and jealousy that ruled those decisions. Surely, he would know that Kili only wanted what was best for him.

He would make a good partner had he been given a chance. He knew he would!

Kili felt his face heat up.

“Glírae, can you hear me?” Mr. Baggins asked.

‘What a dumb question. He is right next to him, so of course he could hear him. He didn’t need the elvish hearing to hear him.’

His darling nodded, a broken whimper leaving him when he tried to answer.

“You don’t have to force yourself to talk. But we need you to breathe. I’m going to count slowly from 10. Can you breathe in and out while I do?”

‘Why not just hold him while he cries it out? Stroke his back and whisper comforts to him?’

His love wheezed and gasped but nodded rapidly. His trembling had only gotten worse, and his fingers were pulling so hard on his starlight strands that they were close to breaking. Kili looked a little closer and noticed that his lip was bloody and bitten, to his horror.

“Good. Take a breath in during the even numbers. Take one out during the odd numbers. We can repeat it if you need it.” Mr. Baggins explained, his voice calm despite the stressful situation. “10....9...”

Kili watched in morbid fascination as his beauty followed along with the numbers, even if every other one was broken by a sob. Mr. Baggins ignored when this happened, simply continuing to count at an even pace. When he got to the end, his beauty was still sobbing and trembling.

‘Why is he not calm yet? There is no danger around us, and he is safe.’

“Would you like to start again?” Mr. Baggins asked and Glírae nodded.

It took another count for his love to let go of his silk-like hair, and three more for his breathing to lessen to an almost normal level. Mr. Baggins asked every time if he wanted to start again, until Glírae finally calmed down enough to say no.

It took so long to get there.

“What do you need? Do you need to talk?”

His darling stared at him for a while, his warm, loving eyes still wavering between focused and unfocused. Kili shivered at the haunted look in them. That look didn’t suit his pretty face.

“Yes.” He finally said. “Can you... can you ask me questions? Please? Simple ones that I can answer?”

‘Questions? Why would he need to answer questions? He’s calm now. Unless they’re questions over what caused him to cry. Yes, that must be it. Whatever it was, I’ll be there next time to comfort him throughout it!’

“Oh course.” Mr. Baggins said, smiling gently.

Kili’s stomach burned in jealousy.

“What is this we’re sitting on?” Mr. Baggins asked, and Kili balked in confusion.

What sort of question was that? It was such an obvious answer and frankly insulting to question his darling’s intelligence with!

“Grass.” His beauty said, his voice trembling.

“Good. What color is it?” Mr. Baggins continued.

“Green. Some... sometimes brown.”

“How does it feel like?”

“Rough. Itchy.”

It continued like this for what seemed like hours. By the time it took for the elf’s voice to return to normal and for the tremors to stop, he had described everything in his sight and had started answering small number-based problems. Their burglar indulged him and asked away, never once faltering in asking with practiced ease.

“1 plus 2?”

“3.”

“8 plus 4?”

“12.”

His love was still crying, but he was no longer ruined by the great, heaving cries that hurt to hear and see.

Kili, in turn, was frustrated and heated. None of this made much sense to him. This would have been done much faster and easier had he had just been allowed to comfort his beloved. His beauty wouldn’t have to rely on questions and pointless counting to calm him, as his love and adoration for him would have been more than enough to soothe his ailing heart. There would be no need for describing colors when Kili would be describing his eyes and hair and skin and every inch of him that he loved.

He would never cry again when they married. He would be happy. Kili was sure of it.

“I’m alright now.” His love said before Mr. Baggins could ask another question.

“Alright.” The hobbit nodded his head. “Would you like to talk about what happened? Before you answer, just know that you are allowed to say no.”

His darling shivered, hiccupping. Kili worried that he would begin to panic once more, but the Hobbit didn’t seem to be concerned about the reaction. Instead, his pretty elf reached his hand out and Mr. Baggins took it as an invitation to snuggle at his side.

His love relaxed into the tree, and Kili’s stomach recoiled in more envy at how close they were.

“They were...” The elf’s voice broke into a sob. “I can’t look at them. They... They were naked and...”

Kili blinked as his voice trailed off.

That was it? He had been so scared, frightened enough to run, because they were naked? He had been expecting more than that for such a large reaction Maybe even one of those flashback things that his uncle had told him about, but this? Surely that could not have been everything.

Could it?

“What about it scared you?” Mr. Baggins asked.

His love shivered once more, his face twisting into one of pure fear and disgust. He shook his head, his hands going back to his hair but thankfully didn’t start yanking on it again. Their burglar was patiently waiting for an answer, occasionally muttering that he could take his time.

It took a few minutes for him to be able to respond without crying again.

“They... I...” His love swallowed hard.

Kili tried hard not to stare too much at the subtle movement that made heat course through his body. By Mahal, he was just so pretty, even (and especially) with his face flushed like that. If only it was flushed in a different way-

‘No. Stay focused.’ He chided himself.

“I can’t... I can’t look at it.” His love sobbed. “I can’t look at male genitalia. It’s so... so weird looking. I don’t like looking at it. It’s gross and I just can’t. I can’t look at naked men, Bilbo. I can barely stand men as is, but at least I can be around them clothed! We got to the lake, and they all started stripping and they were all nude and I freaked out! And then they wanted me to get in and I can't do that to myself!”

Kili barely had time to process that confession before Mr. Baggins was moved from his love’s side over to his lap to embrace. It made him burn once more.

“Is that why you ran? Did you feel threatened?” Mr. Baggins asked, not a hint of judgment in his voice.

Kili felt himself bristle again when his love nodded.

Why did he feel threatened enough to run? They would never hurt him! They were simply inviting him to join in the bonding experience that was grooming each other! A way to grow closer to a companion on the journey. And they would have accepted if he did not want to join, even if it would have been very disappointing. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Did he truly believe that they would have harmed him? Had they not over the course of the journey been polite and understanding towards him? Kili at least would have done everything to defend his honor if anyone threatened it!

It stung to not be trusted.

“I don’t like looking at nude males.” His love said. “I have never liked looking at them. I’m not supposed to look at them. And they were all there, nude and touching and... I couldn’t do it. I don’t like being touched, especially the way they were touching each other. Especially with their dicks! I really don’t want that to touch me! I would never want that! I can’t. I can’t!”

Mr. Baggins patted the elf on the shoulder and his love loosened the grip on him. The Hobbit took a bit to shift around in his lap and settled on sitting on his love’s knee to be embraced from behind. His darling buried his face into the Hobbit’s curls.

“You’ve seen me in the nude.”

His love shook his head.

“No, I haven’t. Not until today. Only from the waist up. I don’t look.” His voice was muffled by the hair. “I always wait until the water covers you and I only ever washed your hair. I don’t like looking at dicks. They’re gross and scary.”

Gross? In all his years of life, Kili had never heard for it to have been referred to as gross. Intimidating, maybe, by some of the older Dams that his mother would have brunch with. Or have it been compared to strange items and even stranger metaphors in the romance novels he had swiped from the library whenever they were there for their lessons, but none of them have ever referred to it as gross.

Kili had never heard of anything but positive connotations when talking about the joys of pleasure, whether with a partner or multiple. It was the end goal, sometimes even before the end, of a passionate relationship or something that others indulged in for stress relief and some good fun. Surely something that felt as good as it couldn’t possibly be villainized when both partners agreed. It was even sought after by everyone he knew.

Except for Glírae.

The conversation from weeks ago, one that he had almost forgotten in his haste to court him, was brought back to the forefront of his mind. It was strange for someone to confuse something as pleasurable as love and making love, with the horrors of abuse. He had overheard some of the others discuss it later on but had not paid it much attention in favor of coming up with a plan to fix it and show him what love truly was.

Now, Kili realized that he had a lot more work to do than he realized.

He’d have to go much slower than he originally wanted if it meant showing Glírae that there was nothing to fear when it came to intimacy and the joys of pleasure. It would be a long road ahead if it meant that he would break his beauty out of the shell he had cocooned himself into and taught him the difference between carnal pleasures and making love. He was already wary and skittish, which would just make it harder.

But it would be worth it when they finally ended with their marriage.

“I don’t even like looking at myself!” His love cried.

Kili was pulled out of his head, only to realize that he missed a great deal of the conversation. His darling was crying once more, sniffing and wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his shirt. His face was flushed more, a pretty pink that stained his cheeks like roses, and his cheeks were stained in shining streams of silvery tears.

It was a sad, but beautiful image.

“Is that why you got rid of all the mirrors in your room?” Mr. Baggins asked.

His love nodded, taking another deep breath that caused his chest to rise beautifully. He tucked a strand of perfectly white hair behind his pointed ear, making Kili wonder how soft it would be on his own fingers.

“I don’t like looking at myself. I hate the way I look.”

Kili almost gasped had he not remembered that he was meant to be silent.

This was not possible. There was no way that Glírae did not know just how beautiful he was. Surely, he must have known that the riot caused in Bree was by his beauty alone, where Kili had rose to fight for his honor. He must have known that he was the most perfect being to exist and his looks were carved by the stars themselves.

If he thought himself ugly, what would that mean for Kili?

“You’re not ugly.” Mr. Baggins said at once, and Kili nodded.

His love sighed, pulling the Hobbit even closer to his chest.

“I don’t like the way I look, Bilbo.” He repeated. “It’s just... I don’t like it. I can’t explain it. I hate it. I hate looking at myself in the mirror. I hate being reminded of it. I don’t even like tobathe since I don’t like being reminded of how I’m shaped. This body f*cking sucks and I think it’s awful and ugly.”

“Glírae...”

“No. Stop.” His darling shook his head, his voice suddenly firm. “I don’t want to be reassured or complimented. It’s not that I don’t think I’m pretty. I really do. But I hate it all the same. I hate looking at myself and it doesn’t suit me, so I consider it ugly. I don’t want you to try to change my mind.”

The Hobbit looked as if he was going to protest but shook his head. He relaxed back into the hold of the elf, a disturbed look upon his face. They stayed silent for a few more minutes before Mr. Baggins shifted.

“Would you like to stay a bit longer? I’m sure the Dwarves will have finished bathing in an hour or so.”

The elf nodded.

“Come.” Gandalf whispered, making Kili jump.

He had forgotten that the wizard was there.

“We’ve seen enough. Let’s get both of us cleaned.”

Kili followed him back to the camp, stomach turning with nausea. He had finished bathing by the time that Glírae and their burglar had returned, the elf smiling and cheerful as he had always been. Kili only nodded when his love apologized to his uncle for his outburst.

He started to plan his next strategy.

Chapter 24: Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Everything was tense and awkward after I had returned. No one looked at me, simply clearing the space and returning to the campsite to leave me to bathe alone. Bilbo had gone over to the farthest side of the river to finish his own bathing, to which I was grateful. I washed quickly in the cold water, rough enough that my skin turned red under the pressure and with enough to fully scrub off the stench of troll.

Bilbo finished a few minutes later. I helped him dry his hair while he changed into his last pair of clean clothes.

Half an hour later, we were back at the camp with the Dwarves. It was even worse now that everyone was looking at me, yet not saying anything. Even Thorin refrained from giving me orders that night, which was a hint all on its own that something wasn’t right. He didn’t even remind me to do the laundry or wash the bedrolls how he originally wanted me to.

I didn’t scare them with mypanic attack, did I? Please don’t tell me that I f*cked up again on this journey? I promise I didn’t mean for it to get that bad.

f*ck, this isn’t going well.

This story isn’t supposed to be about me. This is about Bilbo, and this is supposed to be his journey. I’m designated as a side character that somehow got shoved in here where I shouldn’t be. I was here to support Bilbo and make this easier for him. I just had to go and f*cking panic and make this all about me again. I can’t even do this right. Why was I so selfish?

f*ck, I’m useless.

Stupid.

“Get some sleep.” Thorin ordered, making a good portion of us jump. “We’ll take a day’s rest to recover our strength and then head forward. Take advantage of the river. Fili, Kili, bring the ponies over to get their fill of water.”

He looked over at me, as if he was finally going to say something, but looked away and went back to his own pony to set up his camp. I sighed, following his example and going to grab my own bedroll.

I set up Bilbo’s first while he tackled the mess that was detangling curly hair that hadn’t been combed in days. I switched out his pillowcase, throwing the old one into the small pile for questionable stains that I planned to wash in the morning while everyone relaxed.

I set up my own bedroll and it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep afterwards.

I woke up earlier than everyone else that morning. Even Dori, who was supposed to keep watch overnight, was snoring away at his post with his pipe still in hand. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen, but he was just like that, so I didn’t think too much of it.

Quietly, I gathered the materials that I needed for the laundry, before realizing that these people could sleep through anything after accidentally dropping the pot near Balin’s head and getting no reaction. They were either dead exhausted from yesterday or the deepest sleepers I have ever met.

They had left a pile of dirty clothes near the outskirts of the camp, away from the fire. I picked that up too and made my way to the river, snatching a few pieces of firewood and a flint. I got to work, feeling relaxed for the first time in a hot minute.

I do have to say, it was nice being alone. I didn’t realize how socially exhausting it was to be surrounded by people, even if those people weren’t directly interacting with you. Sometimes a Mexican lady just needs her laundry time by herself where she can just do her chores uninterrupted.

“Where the north wind meets the sea

There’s a river full of memory

Sleep, my darling, safe and sound

For in this river all is found...”

I sang every cartoon lullaby that I remembered by the time I was finished, and the clothes were hanging on my makeshift line to dry. Bilbo’s clothes were sparkling by the time I was done, and my clothes looked pretty ok too. I’m really proud of how these turned out. You can barely see the stains.

Good job, Aria. I’m proud of you.

Bilbo was the only one that thanked me, but that was alright.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The food had nearly run out in the following days.

Gandalf had returned to the campsite late in the afternoon, smiling and joyful but also determined as he marched his way over to Thorin. Thorin was right beside me and Bilbo, taking note of how much food we had left with a grim look on his face. It didn’t look good, even with the provisions that they stole from the Trolls.

"I went on to spy out our road. It will soon become dangerous and difficult. Also, I was anxious about replenishing our small stock of provisions. I had not gone very far, however, when I met a couple of friends of mine from Rivendell."

"Rivendell?" Bilbo asked before Thorin could say anything.

Already, Thorin’s face began to darken. Gandalf, however, kept talking and ignored it.

"Don't interrupt!" said Gandalf. "You will get there in a few days now, if we're lucky, and find out all about it.”

I snickered at Bilbo’s scolded expression, to which he kicked me with his little old man feet. I tapped him on the back of the head.What a rude Hobbit!

“As I was saying I met two of Elrond's people. They were hurrying along for fear of the trolls and were not at all surprised when I relayed out encounter with them. They had frightened everyone away from the district, and they waylaid strangers. They warned us of the danger of the road ahead and advised me on the path we can take for safety."

I waited for Thorin to growl or do some other type of intimidation sh*t that he does whenever he’s angry, but he simply huffed and threw my bag of food back down. Bilbo squawked in offense, but nothing fell out or got dirty, so it was fine. Thorin looked at Gandalf for a while, then sighed deeply.

“Do what you will.” He said, glaring at the wizard in resentment.

He stomped off, fuming.

I blinked in surprise.

Damn. Did anyone else see that or was I just hallucinating again? I never thought I’d live to see the day that this grumpy and emotionally immature king would willingly give up control to someone else. Especially when it came to the idea of elves. I must still be locked in a dream, because there was no way that was real.

Gandalf didn’t seem so surprised, and he asked us to pack our stuff up quickly.

“Glírae, I suggest changing into your tunic and cloak sometime within the next few days.”

The food situation got worse quickly within the next few days. We had stopped having lunch (to Bilbo’s immense displeasure) and breakfast was not as heavy as it usually was. By the third day, breakfast became a little more than a handful of cheese and dried meat in between a roll of bread.Then came the fourth day, which we stopped having breakfast altogether and started to ration our leftovers from dinner.

I wasn’t too upset about it, but Bilbo was starting to get a little “hangry” and acted as if he was on the brink of death. Which I mean, fair. He was a Hobbit, and they tend to eat more than a normal person could fathom. Even the extra snacks I had brought him only lasted so long and there were none left.

Day six is when we finally stumble upon the riverbank where we could see the base of the Misty Mountains. Everyone looked in awe or wonder, but I took this time to refill our water skins and change into my tunic while everyone was distracted.

I still hate elvish clothes. They’re too breezy and they have too much fabric. Once I get back to the Shire, I’m selling these to Parsley for scrap fabric.

"Is that The Mountain?" asked Bilbo in a solemn voice, looking at it with big eyes.

"Of course not!" said Balin. "That is only the beginning of the Misty Mountains, and we have to get through, or over, or under those somehow, before we can come into Wilder land beyond. And it is a deal of a way even from the other side of them to the Lonely Mountain in the East Where Smaug lies on our treasure."

Oh right. I forgot about Smaug. I really need to come up with a plan for that before we get there. One that doesn’t involve me roasting alive or worse, getting Bilbo hurt. I should probably also warn Laketown so they can start their evacuation and not have as many people die.

Oh well. That’s a future Aria problem. I still have a few months to get through first.

I came back once I finished tying off the sash of my tunic and buttoning my cloak. I didn’t pull the hood over my head, just because I hated it. I don’t like anything touching my hair, except Bilbo’s tiny old man fingers.

Gandalf was talking, pointing in a random direction.

"We must not miss the road, or we shall be done for." He said. "We need food, for one thing, and rest in reasonable safety. Also, it is very necessary to tackle the Misty Mountains by the proper path, or else you will get lost in them, and have to come back and start at the beginning again. If you ever get back at all."

“Where are you leading up to?” Fili asked.

"You have come to the very edge of the Wild, as some of you may know. Hidden somewhere ahead of us is the fair valley of Rivendell where Elrond lives in the Last Homely House. I sent a message by my friends, and we are expected."

Boy, I wish you did not just say that because I’m already feeling panic starting to rise in me. I really need to start reviewing that book again if I want to keep from making a fool of myself. I haven’t looked at it in days. What if I start forgetting stuff?

It’s ok, Aria. You’re ok.

You still have like 2 or three more days to get back in the groove of things. You can do this. Your notes are still in your bag and no one else in this place can read Spanish, so you can study out in the open. I’ll just make an excuse that it’s just a personal diary or something. Bilbo might call my bluff, but Bilbo can fight me. I’ll punt his ass.

I grabbed the book the moment that I was on Starlight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m not ready.

Three days was not enough. I barely got through reading half of it, and I barely got through any of the important stuff. Oh, sweet Jesus in heaven above, I’m so f*cking screwed. I’m better off just not talking if I’m this f*cking incompetent. Why did I decide to put it off again for this long? It didn’t work in college, so why the f*ck would it work here?

It wasn’t even my fault this time though!

The way to Rivendell was really complicated. No wonder people could barely find the hidden valley. The terrain of this place was a mess. A pretty mess that looked like it came out of a painting, but still absolute hell on our poor ponies and Starlight. She nearly slipped at every turn, and it made reading my book difficult since I had to keep comforting her.

Waterfalls, ravines and bogs were not exactly equine friendly.

The anxiety in me was only made worse the closer and closer we got to Rivendell. I could barely stomach the bits of food at dinner, my hands shook when I was trying to drink water, and I swear I haven’t been able to sleep for the past 3 days.

Oh, someone end me. If Bilbo weren’t here, I would have turned my ass around and tried my luck with nature. I’m so scared. I don’t want to meet the Elves. I don’t want to see Elrond. I’m not like those other OCs who want to experience everything and be the hero. I just want to go home.

I can’t breathe.

“Here it is at last!” Gandalf said, completely ignoring the fact that his horse nearly fell off the slope he was on.

I gripped onto Starlight’s reigns, sliding the book back into my bag. There was no way that I can read anymore, so I’m f*cking screwed and am probably going to die here. My chest felt too tight for me to be able to do anything except accept my fate.

'Calm down, you dramatic ass.’ A little voice in my head said. ‘They’re not going to kill you so long as you don’t draw attention to yourself. Just shut the f*ck up, stay in back and let Gandalf do the talking. You’ll be out of here in a few days.’

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to keep my heart rate down. It would no good for me to go and ruin the mood again with another panic attack. I already had one this week, so it’s too soon for that. It’ll be unfair to Bilbo to spoil this for him. He’s been looking forward to this since Bree.

‘Can’t you just pretend to be happy for a minute? Is that really that hard? Not everything is about you. This Quest is important for the future of Middle Earth, and you are not going to ruin it over something as stupid as your feelings. People will die and it’ll be your fault.’

Slowly, but surely, I pushed down the oncoming panic though sheer willpower. The anxiety and terror lingered, but it was enough to make me look as if everything was fine.

Slowly, the terrain changed again to trees and open glades. I pulled my hood up over my head, pulling it farther down until it covered my features from sight. The air became warmer and clearer, but even something that was supposed to be relaxing felt like a punch to the gut.

‘Stop it! Stop thinking! Just go with it!’

I clocked back in just as the song in the trees faded and laughter rang around. It was a bit disappointing that I missed the song in the book, but I frankly didn’t care anymore. I didn’t dare look up to see the Elves in the trees.

"Well, well!" One of them laughed.

"Just look! Bilbo the hobbit on a pony, my dear! Isn't it delicious!" Another said.

"Most astonishingly wonderful!"

Oh, sweet f*ck, that was creepy. Is that what I sound like? That weird tone that made it sound like someone was singing instead of speaking?

I’m going to be sick.

Gandalf led us through the valley until we reached another river to fill up our water. There was no elf to guide us to dinner like in the books, but I’m just going to assume that it’s because we got here in the early morning rather than at night.

We didn’t stop afterwards, not until we reached the open gates that was Rivendell. Gandalf offered us a break, of course, but the Dwarves had insisted that they were starved and had eaten the last of their food last night.

“If we do not get a good meal soon, Master Gandalf, I fear we will have to start eating the grass like the ponies.” Ori joked, though his stomach protested that it was not actually a joke.

I felt like vomiting.

The feeling only increased as the valley itself came into view. I barely registered anything around me anymore, not even when Gandalf helped me off Starlight and took her away somewhere. I think he may have handed her off to someone, but I’m not sure.

We continued on foot to the entrance, and I felt my mind begin to shut down.Each step brought another stab of fear up my chest.

Unlike most OCs, I didn’t have the awestruck and over the top reaction to the architecture of Rivendell. It may have been the exhaustion of the post-adrenaline rush talking or the gnawing hunger, but I frankly could care less about the grand detail that they spent centuries carving into the walls or structures. Looking around, I wasn’t as impressed as I should have been.

Maybe it was so hyped up that seeing it was underwhelming.

Almost everything that I’ve heard says that I would be stunned in my tracks, to which an Elf lord would laugh at my reaction, and then I would go all wide eyed and jaw dropped like I just saw heaven. Not that the descriptions were off, but none of this was to my taste. I prefer the Shire, which was warm, cozy and just felt more alive, rather than the cold stone that was so perfect it was uncanny.

Or maybe it was because the thought of meeting an elf sounded utterly horrifying to me right now.

I pulled my hood farther down my head, hoping to hide myself from their view for just a while longer. I stepped closer to Gandalf, trying not to make it obvious that I was hiding behind his frame as we walked closer and closer to the place that could utterly break me. I couldn’t stop myself from trembling as the entrance to the courtyard came closer with each step.

I blinked as I felt my eyes sting.

‘Don’t cry. Don’t you f*cking cry, bitch!’

I took a deep breath, using all my willpower to push down those emotions. I wasn’t going to cry or draw attention to myself. Not in this place, and certainly not surrounded by this Company that still hates me. I wasn’t going to do that to Bilbo, seeing as he’s on thin ice because of me.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when I bumped into Gandalf.

“I’m sorry.” I said on instinct, taking a step back.

“It’s quite alright, Glírae. No harm done.” Gandalf said. For some reason, it wasvery soothing as if he was talking to a scared child.

I wonder what that was about.

I nodded and was prepared to go back to look for Bilbo, when a figure moving froze me in place. I felt my heart sink to my stomach and the urge to hurl rise again as the two Elven guards that I just now noticed moved to let another elf, this one of clear High-Status judging by his clothes and overall presence, walk down the stairs.

Oh, my f*cking God.

Elves are f*cking creepy, dude. He was pretty and radiated otherworldly grace, but dammit, it was uncannier than this entire valley. No one should look that perfect. There were no strands loose from his hair like a normal person, his features were far too symmetrical to be real, he moved like he was gliding instead of walking, and his eyes were strange.

His eyes scared me more than anything else about him.

Now I know what they meant when they said that eyes were a window to the soul. How does something so old fit into a face that young? I can’t tell if they’re glowing or if I’m hallucinating.

“Mithrandir.” His voice was musical, like the elves in the trees earlier, but far more elegant and smoother.

Gandalf’s body language lit up as he viewed his old friend.

“Ah! Lindir!”

Right. That was his name.

The Elf bowed politely yet didn’t bother to spare a glance at the weary Dwarves and Hobbit in front of him. He didn’t even look in my direction, despite me being behind Gandalf (I almost whimpered in terror when I realized that the elf was almost a full foot taller than Gandalf, and me by extension). His arrogance was practically oozing out of him.

Thorin was whispering to the others, no doubt insulting the elf and coming up with more theories of how the elves were planning on screwing them over. Bilbo, the poor old man, was more awestruck at the elf than he was by the view of Rivendell. I swear I saw stars in his eyes.

‘Guess a real Elf was more exciting than me. I couldn’t blame the man. I wasn’t that impressed with me either.’

“We heard you crossed into the valley.” Lindir said.

In Sindarin.

My head snapped towards his direction, and I sucked in a sharp, barely audible gasp.

Wait.

What?

What the f*ck?

¿Qué diablos?

I understood that. How the f*ck can I understand that?! I’m not supposed to understand that! I have never learned this language before! Why does it sound so clear? Is this a joke? Is this a f*cking joke from the universe again? I can understand this language.

I can speak Sindarin.

Is it because I got morphed into a f*cking elf?

Oh, f*ck me.

Chapter 25: Chapter 24

Chapter Text

I barely had time to fully register that I can speak this sing-song elf language before Gandalf started talking again. His demeanor changed. Gone was the joyfulness of him returning to his friends. It was instead replaced by a grim look and an even grimmer voice, which only made the suffocating feeling in the atmosphere worse.

“I must speak with Lord Elrond.”

Oh. Ok then. Are we back to the movie? I thought we were in the books here, man, but if we’re going to other direction. Guess we’re flopping back and forth here? That’s going to make things hard for me to figure out what is going to happen next, but I guess that’s just how this is going to go. Make my life harder, why don’t you?

Then again, the movies might have been more accurate here since we never actually see Rivendell in the Hobbit books, other than the narrator gushing about how great it is and how perfect the Elves are. I personally think it is a load of bullsh*t because of how creepy this place is, but no one asked me my opinion.

Still, Azog isn’t still alive in this universe, so I’m not sure why this scene from the movies is playing out. There was no reason for them to go out if the movie events did not exist. There was no Orc party hunting us down, so...

I’m thinking too much about this. I need to shut up before they hear my thoughts or some sh*t like that. It’s just going to make my anxiety worse, and I already feel sick.

“My Lord Elrond is not here.” The creepy little (er, tall?) elf dude said.

My hands were trembling as I gripped onto the fabric of my hood, pulling slightly to make sure it covered everything. I looked down at Bilbo to reassurance, but the old man was still staring starry eyes and starstruck at his surroundings and at the waterfall (which was quiet in the background, even though we were so close to it. Elf magic?).

Bilbo was useless.

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the sudden rise of heat to my cheeks that betrayed how ready to cry I was. I wanted to scoot closer behind Gandalf, but moving was just going to attract more unwanted attention. But standing here was also going to attract attention.

“Not here? Where is he?”

Here we go.

I flinched and gripped my cloak harder as the horns blared in the background, the sound sharp and unsettling against my elvish hearing. I tried to resist the urge to cover my delicate ears but ended up pressing my palms against my head the louder and closer they got.

God, that rung my ears. What the f*ck, man?

The clopping of horse hooves only made the sound worse, and I took a small step back towards Gandalf. The Dwarves then began screaming, with Thorin shouting orders to “close ranks” while pulling Bilbo towards the center of the group. Gandalf grabbed onto my arm, pulling me away before Kili could reach out to drag me towards the center too.

‘Bad touch! Bad touch!’

Then the horses came in, and I nearly sobbed from the sheer terror.

More Elves were on top of the horses, each a brilliant white or warm chestnut. Ther were large, strong, powerful beats that made Starlight look like a young filly. The Dwarves’ screaming and growling only got worse as they were suddenly surrounded by armored elves, their weapons drawn and ready to fight. Poor Bilbo looked like he was going to get crushed as he tried to claw his way out from being smothered by their Dwarven backs.

The Elves were another level of terrifying. If I thought Lindir was uncanny, it was only because I hadn’t seen what true Elf Lords and Elf warriors looked like. Their armor shone in the sunlight, whether a blinding white or shimmering gold. It was too bright for me to see the color. Their hair was also perfect, even though they had just come from horseback riding. Their faces all blended together as they moved in sink around the Dwarves, each more beautiful than the last.

I think my heart just stopped.

Holy f*ck, if the horses were big, then the Elves are huge. Lindir was taller and larger than me, but he had nothing on what an elf soldier looked like. They had the height that would make a King-sized bed look like a college standard, and muscles for days. Oh, they looked like they could crush my head with their biceps alone.

‘Danger. You’re in so much danger. They can overpower you in seconds. You have no chance of fighting back. You’re too small. Too weak. Too slow. Can you even outrun them?’

Oh, I think I’m going to be sick.

Are Elves supposed to be that big? Are they supposed to be that strong? Are they supposed to have the physique of bodybuilders and strongmen? Was the whole pretty, willowy figures that the movie favored a lie? Why do no OCs mention just how large some of these Elves are? There is no way that they just didn’t notice a group of beings that are over 6-7 feet tall.

Oh, sweet f*ck, I think I forgot how to breathe.

Someone help me.

Please help.

Please.

The Elves suddenly stopped dead, as if someone hit pause on a TV. There was no slowing down, no orders being shouted, no pauses to calm the horses. They were moving one second, then they were still. Their weapons were all raised or sheathed, none pointing to intimidate, but it didn’t do sh*t to make me feel better.

I would have whimpered if I wasn’t so frozen. I gripped onto the dark green fabric hard enough to numb my palms. The fabric was soft and smooth, which was just awful for trying to ground myself with.

I miss the rougher fabric of the Shire. I hate elvish clothing.

“Gandalf!”

I did whimper this time, though it was faint enough that no one heard it in the commotion. Well, other than Bilbo, who was giving me a look of pure worry and concern. I tried to nod to him that I was alright, but I was shaking too bad to be able to move any more.

“Lord Elrond!”

Of sweet f*ck, the movies lied their asses off.

Lord Elrond was f*cking tall, which was only made clearer as he jumped from his horse. This elf man was well past 7 – almost 8 – feettall, with clearly defined muscles underneath his red and gold armor (which made sense, I guess. The guy was related to both Turgon and Thingol). His hair was as black as night, which complimented his tanned skin very well. In it, he wore a circlet that was spun into the pattern of stars,which was really weird for someone who went out horseback riding.

He was the most uncanny thing in this valley, for sure.

I couldn’t tell how old he was. His face really was ageless, neither old nor young but my God, did it look like he went through a lot of stress. That elf just radiates Tired Dad energy. His eyes were a silver grey, but with small speckles of white that made it seem as if stars were dancing around in there. He held himself with confidence and pride, but also radiated a sort of warmth that reminded me of the hearths in the Shire. It was almost enough to make me relax.

The power buzzing around him snapped the anxiety back into place, though, and I scooted ever so slightly back behind Gandalf. It did nothing to help, since Elrond immediately went in to embrace his friend. I almost passed out, the heat blooming up to my ears as he stood not even a few feet away from me.

“My friend, where have you been?” Gandalf asked in Sindarin.

I shuddered as the sentence immediately translated in my head. It was a strange thing to hear and understand. It still sounded like Sindarin, musical and light, but the words were as clear as any Spanish or English dialect I’ve ever heard.

“We were just out on a standard patrol.” Lord Elrond replied, his voice so smooth and soothing that it caused my ears to buzz. “ There had been rumors of Orcs being on the rise as the weather has gotten warmer, and we needed to make sure that our scouts stationed near our borders had enough supplies to last until the next rotation.”

Ok, so that makes sense. No Orc packs that needed hunting, but still a valid reason for them to be out. Sure, let’s just go with that. And let’s keep them on that topic so that they won’t notice me, and I can scoot my little ass into a warm bath.

Lord Elrond looked around at the group, his eyes scanning his new guests with an amused sort of fondness that was common where I was from. It looked like my sister’s face every time she volunteered somewhere and tried to spread cheer everywhere. My heart gripped onto that for a moment, but the feeling went away once he looked at me.

It felt like I swallowed ice the moment his eyes looked at mine, and I flinched before I could stop myself. He looked away and I prayed that he did not just see that. His facial expression did not change, so I guess he didn’t. I think. I hope.

Moving on.

Thorin stepped out to the front of the group, a scowl on his face. It wasn’t that much different than his normal resting bitch face, but this time he looked extra angry with the slightly more furrowed brows. I’m surprised he hasn’t sprained a few muscles in his face from constantly frowning.

Lord Elrond stepped up to greet him too, and it just made his height even more ridiculous. Thorin’s 4 foot something self barely came up to Lord Elrond’s thighs. It would have been amusing to see had the impact not nearly made my lungs shrivel up. I had to look up to see him.

I haven’t looked up to anyone in 5 years. The only times that had happened was whenever I had to pull a poor Faunt down from a tree they tried to climb.

Oh, be still my beating heart.

‘Large men. Your mother warned you about what a large man can do to you. Don’t let your guard down. ’

“Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.”

‘Keep your head down. Be nice. Do what they say, and they won’t hurt you. ’

As if I was worried that they would hurt me. I doubt they would ruin their reputation by hitting a guest. Even if that guest was a liar and a cheat that was wearing the skin of one of their own. They didn’t need to know that, and I can keep myself away until we can book it.

Besides, I have Bilbo. I only need Bilbo to make it through this.

“Light the fires, bring forth the wine. We must feed our guests. ”

Oh sh*t. I missed part of the conversation.

The Company reacted like I was expecting. They drew their weapons again and started shouting. It did nothing to faze the Elves, which wasn’t that shocking thinking back on it. The Dwarves all had sh*tty weapons, almost no armor not made of second-hand leather, and worn clothing. Not to mention, they were all so tired and so hungry, it would have taken the Elves no effort to kick them down.

It would be like me punting Bilbo.

I still flinched though.

“What is he saying?” Glóin shouted. “Does he offer us insult?!”

The Company was then interrupted by Thorin himself, right before anything could come to blows. He raised one arm, and suddenly everything went silent. Like, dead silent. They all put their weapons down and shut up in perfect unison.

Oh sh*t. I guess I never really thought about how much...power Thorin really has over that Company.

That’s honestly terrifying.

Gandalf stepped up to clear up the misunderstanding, but Thorin gave him a pointed look. Gandalf gave him one right back. Thorin then turned and looked at me, his eyes blazing with enough fire that I felt my soul burn away at them. I swallowed hard, and Gandalf only made it worse by looking at me as well.

Um, what is going on? Why am I being looked at now? I didn’t even say anything.

“Translate.” Thorin ordered, and I flinched at the cold tone. “What did he say?”

I said nothing, my tongue suddenly numb and stuck on the roof of my mouth. The burning pit in my stomach only got worse as more attention was drawn on me.

I can’t do this right now.

I can’t do this.

Gandalf, help me.

Please help.

“That is enough!” Gandalf snapped at Thorin. “Lord Elrond has offered food, not insult. Something that you could have asked yourselves rather than Glírae.”

Oh, I really wished you hadn’t said my name just now. It only made the elves more interested.

“Glírae?” Lindir asked in a curious tone, tilting his head towards me.

Oh sweet Jesus in Heaven above, he’s looking right at me. This is really happening right now. I don’t want this to happen right now. I haven’t even had the time to prepare my notes or to go over the book and-

I need to breathe.

It’s getting really hot out here.

‘Be polite. Don’t look at them. Bow down. You’re of low status, so don’t f*ck this up. Don’t let them know you’re not really an elf or they might...do something, I don’t know. Just remember what that old book told you to do.’

“And who is this?”

‘So much for not drawing attention to you, you stupid bitch.’

I went stiff as every single pair of eyes went towards me, the panic sharp enough to rip through my chest and nearly knock me over. I didn’t look up from my hood, instead gripping harder onto the fabric but never having the courage to pull.

Gandalf, either my savior or executioner, simply took the lead and walked over to me, slow and tender as if approaching a wounded animal. He patted my shoulder, which was an unwanted touch, and made me shudder. He pulled his hand back quickly though.

‘So much for this motherf*cker helping you. He should have let you hide behind him.’

“This right here is Glírae. He joined us on our journey here as an aid.” He said. His tone was light enough to sound fake. “Quite a brilliant servant, if I do say.”

I grimaced at “servant”.

Alright dude, that’s pushing it just a bit. I may do your laundry, mend your clothes, do the dishes, clean up the camp, refill waters,and do the odd chores here and there, but I’m not a servant. I refuse to be under the service of someone, especially this time period. I absolutely refuse to be employed in a time where labor laws don’t exist, and I could be beaten or forced into someone’s bed just for the hell of it. Not today, Satan, not today.

Not even Bilbo called me that and he was technically my employer. Though I guess Landlord would be a better term for that. I held my tongue, however, as I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. The sooner he gets us food or a bath, the sooner I can get away from here and spend the next two weeks hiding, drawing and sleeping.

A bath sounds great right now. Preferably, away from everyone in those weird, single rooms that they always give an OC when she arrives at Rivendell despite the fact that using hot water for a single guest was all sorts of wasteful. Though I can do without the beautiful elf maid that is assigned to them, despite them not being of importance. I in the least won’t be offered a dress that costs more than my college tuition and car payments.

“A man in the company of Dwarves?” Lord Elrond asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling gently at me. “A rather uncommon sight in these days.”

I swallowed hard, looking down at his shoes and bowing my head slightly. The elf next to Elrond frowned at me and furrowed his brows, which only made the anxiety worse. I wonder what his problem was. He kept looking at me. Wasn’t this the bitch in the Lord of the Rings that could not tell Hobbits and Men apart because all mortals were basically the same?

f*ck you too, my guy.

Gandalf chuckled, which made me shiver again.

Why is he looking at me like that?

“I would not take you to be one to mistake your own race, Lord Elrond.” He gestured to me. “Come, Glírae. Remove your hood and greet our host.”

Somehow, this seems like a bad idea, my guy. I’m not sure if this is safe. I’m getting a bad feeling here. You were the one talking about how I should cover myself back in the Shire, and now you want to expose me to the world? You really hate me, don’t you? You want me to f*cking die.

With shaking fingers, I pulled my hood down over my face.

Lord Elrond’s eyes widened slightly, then locked onto my short hair.

The look directed at the wavy masses immediately made me feel all sorts of self-conscious, along with everything else. I looked absolutely nothing like them. Short, wavy hair instead of long and straight, short height rather than tall as the trees themselves, freckles rather than clear skin, red cheeks in shame, twig arms and absolutely no muscles to speak of.

Oh god, what they must think of me.

I must be ugly as hell compared to them.

It wouldn’t be the first time, but it still stung.

Lindir made a choking noise at me, clutching his invisible pearls in shock, which only made me look down to avoid seeing the disgust that must have been showing on his perfect face. I couldn’t even see Lord Elrond’s expression, but it must have also been negative. I bowed my head but was too scared to do much more than that.

Why did I feel like crying?

“I welcome you to Imladris as well, young one. It has been many years since we have had dealings with the Avari, but any of their tribes are always welcomed here.” Lord Elrond said, his voice giving no indication that he found me repulsive.

It sounded as if he was in awe, actually. But that was ridiculous, so it was probably my mind trying to trick me into calming down. It wasn’t doing that great of a job at it.

The Avari? The forest hippies that disappeared? They thought I was one of them?

‘Use that. They might not think you’re one of them, but an outsider elf is better than a human woman that stole a body. Don’t blow this chance, you stupid bitch.’

I nodded in return, swallowing to clear my voice.

“Thank you for having me, my Lord.” I said, my mouth moving faster than my brain.

Oh sweet f*ck, I just said that in Sindarin!

What the actual f*ck? It’s one thing to have been able to understand this musical, knock off Finnish based language, but to speak it? What kind of bullsh*t is the Universe trying to play on me today?

Sweet f*ck. Oh f*ck. I think I’m close to having an aneurism. Someone get me something that I can used to knock myself out before I can overthink this. Why was speaking that so...weird. It wasn’t perfect, and my speaking had an accent to it that they all lacked, but it was still spoken well.

It wasn’t like I was consciously saying it, even if I was. It was...It was as if I already knew this language but was just reciting it from some deep part in my subconscious. Like a song I hadn’t listened to in years, but somehow was able to recite all the lyrics when the music started playing. Which is bullsh*t because I never heard this language before.

At least, I don’t think I have.

“I would have never thought I would see the day an Elf travels willingly with Dwarves.” One of the guards whispered in the back, but he said it in Westron so it was clearly meant to be heard by the Dwarves.

It did not go very well, as Thorin’s face immediately bloomed pink again.

“This is not a willing arrangement.” He snapped. “This elf tagged along with us at the insistence of the Wizard, and I would rather it be that he keep away from while we are here. I do not wish to see his face if we are to rest.”

Ok, that one actually did sting. Just a bit.

I mean, I don’t like you either, my guy, but I don’t say it out loud. You’re just going to make everyone think that I’m following you out of my own free will, rather than to protect Bilbo’s tiny old man ass. I've been trying to keep out of your way since the start, sir. I was trying not to annoy any of you.

Guess I failed.

Oh well.

Before Bilbo could come to my defense, and trust me when I said he almost did, Gandalf placed his old man hands back on my shoulder and started steer me away.

“That can be easily arranged, Thorin.” Gandalf said cooly. “It will be a break for Glírae as well to not put up with your attitude for the time being. Bilbo, you come along as well. Until they can straighten their acts together, we will be on our own for a while. At least, until lunch is over.”

Thorin glared even harder at Gandalf. Gandalf only rolled his eyes and nodded to Lindir. Lindir was still looking at me with an unreadable expression. Though his eyes were wide, and his face was starting to turn a bit pink. I wonder what that meant? Was I so ugly that I was burning a hole in his head?

“Lindir, if you would lead these two towards the baths. I believe they would like to clean themselves before lunch is ready.”

Lindir only nodded, then snapped back into his original professional state.

“Yes!” He said, just a bit too cheerfully, as if it was forced. “If you would follow me this way, I will show you to our bathhouses. I will also send for temporary garments for you, young one.”

Uh, you don’t have to-

Aaaaaaand he was already walking.

Wait, did he say bathhouse?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rivendell did not have private baths for their regular guests, believe it or not.

There were – not surprisingly – no modern bathtubs made of porcelain with a drain, with steaming clear water and shampoos that smelled like heaven and flowers. There was no elf maid to show me how things work, then offer to wash me to my cliché embarrassment. There were also no arguments with her about my preference for pants, and her insisting that it was only proper for women to wear dresses.

Yeah no. There were public baths in the center of Rivendell, split into cold water baths and hot water baths that were heated through some complicated process that I was frankly too stupid to follow when someone explained it to Bilbo. Something about plumbing and using water springs connected to geothermal vents or something like that. Or elf magic. One of those two.

It seemed a little sus to me, but Lindir assured us that they cleaned the place and changed the water daily so there were minimal risks of parasites (along with trying to make a lot of small talk with us, but always answering me in polite hums whenever I asked him something). I’ll believe them for my own sanity.

There was just one small problem.

“Do you perhaps have any private baths?” Bilbo asked, looking around the very crowded rooms where many elves, thankfully still clothed, were getting ready to wash up.

The room was old and spacious, with a bunch of windows open that allowed the breeze to come in and air out the place. There were both male and female elves there, each one just as beautifully uncanny as the last, and surprisingly, a fair number of human men and a few human women. There were even a few human children here. They must have been the Rangers that visited and retired to Rivendell.

Males were going towards the left side of the building, while the females and children were moving towards the right. There was a door that led towards the middle, which Lindir explained was the room that controlled the temperature in both rooms.

“We do have private baths, but most of us use the communal baths to save water. The first bath when you walk in is the hot bath.” Lindir said, looking more at me than at Bilbo (which was all sorts of rude). “The second one is the cold bath. Right before either one is the room where you can wash yourself off with warm water first, before getting to the pools. Wash yourself as thoroughly as possible before joining the rest of them.”

Um, ok? This just sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen if you want me to take a bath in an enclosed space with a bunch of men. Bathing with the Dwarves was bad enough, but this is an enclosed space with people who are larger and stronger than me.

You want me to go into cardiac arrest.

“Actually, I think we are going to request private baths.” Bilbo said, interrupting my growing panic. “We have been on the road for quite a while and could really use some privacy. And, as you may have notice, my companion might draw unwanted attention to himself.”

Wait what?

What do you mean by that?

“What?” I asked Bilbo, only to have this bitch wave me off.

“Oh!” Lindir said, understanding in his voice.

Which made no f*cking sense, because I don’t understand what he means by that. What sort of unwanted attention? I already drew attention to myself via Lord Elrond, but Bilbo doesn’t know that I’m avoiding them! So, what could he possibly mean?

“Yes.” Bilbo nodded, which still cleared nothing up. “You’ve seen the way he looks, and I’m afraid that he would never be left alone if he shows himself off in his crowd. He dealt with it with the Dwarves, and I would rather have a peaceful bath.”

How I look?

How I look ?!?!?! Are you saying that I’m so hideous that people are going to stare at me like a god damn illegal circus sideshow you pay 6 bucks to see on the side of the road? Are you saying I would cause people to stare at me like I stare ata bad car wreck?

Did Bilbo motherf*cking Baggins just call ugly?

To my face? To another’s face?

Oh, I am so offended right now. I’m going to beat this man the first chance I get. What the actual f*ck? I know I’m not pretty like the elves and their uncanny version of perfection, but saying I’d get stared at for looking like it was just mean.

It hurt.

“Right then.” Lindir nodded, which stung even more since he agreed. “Private baths are just this way. If you would follow me. You can wash off privately here as well.”

I followed along to the far back, passed the rooms and the people and the open windows.

I’m not ugly, am I?

Chapter 26: Chapter 25

Chapter Text

You think that I would realize by now that I’m a very unlucky person, but nope. It just flies over my head until it swings back and knocks me off my feet. I thought being ugly as f*ck to elves was going to be my worst experience here, but it’s not. That could not be further from the truth, and I still don’t know how to deal with this revelation.

Turns out, I’m not ugly as sin. I’m f*cking gorgeous. I’m pretty, beautiful, hot, whatever the f*ck you want to call it. I'm so goddamn attractive that I actually made a person run into a wall because they were mesmerized by my face. I’m the very definition of a delicate beauty that the elves seek out, and my God are they seeking me out.

Want to know how I f*cking found that out? I'll tell you, because it’s the stupidest, most cliché bullsh*t I ever heard.

Let me tell you how this went down.

It was after my bath, where I ended up almost crying from having both hot water and a tub big enough to fit me without me compressing myself and rationing the water (not to mention actually bathe with real shampoo and not just oily bars of soap for the first time in a month), when I realized that I actually had to go out into the general public.

Bilbo and I shared a private bath, to my mortification, purely out of necessity. The tubs were too large for him. He was afraid of drowning, and he really did not want to leave me alone for some reason since these baths had no locks. The space was still big enough for both of us to turn away from each other, but it was still very uncomfortable. I have never had to bathe with him in the same room, and when we washed outside, we were always a good few feet away from each other. Now, we were practically touching.

The way the private baths worked was simple. You would wash up with both shampoo and soap on the outside of the tub in a separate little area in the corner, where warm water came down from little pipes that acted as showers, except it was just one continuous stream of water. The water then went into drains in the floor.

Once you were fully cleaned and got as much dirt off as possible, you could finish washing up in the hot water in the center of the room. The water here apparently had some herbs or salts or something in it that promoted healthy skin and some other bullsh*t that I didn’t pay attention to. It was relaxing, sure, but I was more focused on looking away from the naked Hobbit, so I didn’t really notice.

It got even more uncomfortable when I had to basically hold him up as he scrubbed down inside the tub, as the water went up to his chin due to how deep these things were. This place was really meant for elves and their ridiculous heights. The skin-on-skin contact was super f*cking gross since we were both wet, but it was Bilbo, so it was fine. I prefer a few moments of discomfort if it meant that Bilbo didn’t drown.

I helped him with his hair, even though I was still very hurt by his insult to my looks. It wasn’t the first time he called me hideous, but it was the first time he meant it and said it to someone else. At least, the first time I realized he meant it. It must be because he saw what actual elves looked like, but it still hurt. I know I could never hope to be as pretty as them, but it’s common decency to not bring up that fact.

Just because it was true doesn’t mean he had to say it.

Anyways, we realized just as we were drying off that our clothes were missing. Bilbo wasn’t too worried about it, but I almost had a heart attack on the floor when I realized that I was going to have to step outside in the nude.

So, I did what any normal person would do and wrapped a towel around my chest as Bilbo opened the curtains (yes, curtains. Apparently, they didn’t want anything that would block the air circulation because it caused mold and mildew). I almost jumped when I saw a person standing there.

Lindir was waiting for both Bilbo and I to come out, holding a set of elvish robes for me and one tiny set for Bilbo. He seemed very surprised at seeing us come out of the same bath, and he turned pink when he looked at me.

I blushed back, unconsciously holding the towel closer to me. He gave a questioning look to Bilbo, which was even more embarrassing. I guess I was so ugly that he could barely look at me.

“They were too large for me.” Bilbo answered the silent question. “I don’t know how to swim, so I had to be with someone that would not let me drown. You elves are so very tall.”

Lindir made a small noise in agreement, looking at me quick, only to turn even pinker at the sight of my bare skin. Maybe he was as shy about nudity as I was. That makes me feel a little better since I’m not burning his eyes right now.

Which brings me to my next point. Can I have my clothes back, bro? Like, I don’t mean to be a prude, but I’m very uncomfortable standing here bare ass naked. Like, it’s breezy here and I’d rather not think about my body if I can help it.

This towel does sh*t for modesty.

“I apologize, but I had to grab you both clothing borrowed from a family. We have no clothing for Hobbits, so we had to grab you clothing meant for elflings your size. I hope it’s to your liking.”

It was very much to Bilbo’s liking. Apparently, Elves don’t dress their children in children’s clothing styles. Their styles are the same throughout every age group, even their toddlers. Bilbo was basically dressed like one of the elves, which only boosted his wonder with this backwards, uncanny looking ass valley.

I was handed something similar, though touching it made me shiver. The fabric just felt expensive , like one of the very rare items that Parsley owned that she refused to put on and kept on display in her workshop. It felt like a blend of pure silk and linen, but the weight of it spoke of very sturdy and insulated weaving.

I would have sold a kidney back home to be able to afford even a yard of this sh*t. Not to mention that this sh*t was embroidered throughout the collar and sleeves with star patterns. I don’t even want to think about how many hours were put into this.

And it was blue. Dark blue. Do you know how expensive dark blue fabric is? How labor intensive and dangerous this level of dying is for tailors? Parsley would have taken weeks to get this color and would have poisoned her skin and lungs attempting it. Are elves just made of f*cking money?

I can’t take this. It’s too much. Can’t I just have my old clothes back? I don’t even care if they’re dirty. I don’t want to put on something that I shouldn’t have.

Lindir noticed my hesitation, but his response to it missed the mark entirely. Rather than offense or even some understanding, he gave me a gentle smile.

“It’s probably a different style than you are used to. We don’t have any surviving garments worn by the Avari tribes, but I can assist in putting it on.” He said, his voice a little too high at the end to be natural. “Now, the fabric is worn as it was Gwaeron’s when he was an adolescent, but it should suffice until we can tailor a few pieces down to your size.”

The comment only made me blush harder with shame. I knew I was short, but you really didn’t have to bring it up, you know? It’s not my fault that the rest of you are tall to an almost ridiculous degree.

Wait, did he say tailor? You really didn’t have to do that, my guy! I’m just a housekeeper that was dragged along, so I really don’t need any clothes. The ones I have are more than fine and I can fix any problems they’d have down the line.

I could barely get a word out before Bilbo interrupted.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. Glírae can dress himself just fine. However, I might need assistance with these, if you are offering?”

Bilbo’s smile was cheeky, and he gave me a small nod. I shakily nodded back and thanked Lindir for the clothes. Lindir looked at Bilbo with a blank face that almost seemed disappointed, then nodded.

Huh. I wonder what that was about.

I stepped back into the room, pulling the curtain shut and quickly pulling on the underwear. The garments themselves were harder to figure out, and I had to fight with the belt for it to tie around my slim waist, but I managed to get it just as Bilbo walked in.

He stopped in his tracks as he looked at me, smiling wider as he did. I was about to ask him what was wrong and if I put this sh*t on wrong, but he only chuckled as Lindir audibly gasped.

“Well, Glírae, I always knew that you were as fair as the stars themselves, but I think you’ve reached a greater level of fairness today. Blue suits you well.”

You don’t have to lie to me, you know. I know I look awful in this oversized, loose bunch of fabric. Dressing sh*t up in fancy clothes doesn’t change the fact that it’s still sh*t. Except that sh*t is me.

I’m still ugly.

“Dinner won’t be served for another hour.” Lindir said, though he was still staring at me. “You are free to explore Imladris as you please. When you are satisfied, just inform any elf and they will lead you to the dining hall.”

That’s it? You’re just going to let us wander just like that?

That just seems like a recipe for disaster.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo led the way and I followed along, even if everything in me was screaming for me to go hide until they gave me a room and not come out except for food like a cave gremlin. But since I adore Bilbo, I will follow him in this.

The looks I got from the Elves, however, made me question whether that love was worth it. The elves, and even some of the Men, stopped in place whenever we walked by. Whispers followed us whenever we turned the corner, and a few people’s jaws dropped. The few kids that were here squealed when they saw me, pointing and saying something that was too high pitched for me to make out.

Though I did hear one little punk make a comment about how my hair was too short. Little brat.

It was embarrassing and shameful.

Bilbo pulled me along out of the crowds soon enough, and we found ourselves touring around through the more secluded areas of Rivendell. They were mostly hidden in quiet areas with benches, or some historical sites that must have been too boring to go see every day. Nothing too exciting happened.

It was then that we ran into a problem that we haven’t had since being on the road. Riding on horseback every day and only doing basic tasks, I had forgotten just how clumsy I actually was.

I yelped in pain as I tripped over my own feet and landed headfirst on the balcony floor. The fall nearly sent me off the side of the structure, since guard rails tall enough to protect people were apparently an endangered species in Rivendell. The only reason I managed to stop myself from taking another bath in the water was Bilbo grabbing my tunic and redirecting my fall. He’d done that so many times in our friendship that the bastard didn’t even look back as he did it.

Bitch.

“Are you alright?”

I would have jumped had I not already been on the floor. That wasn’t Bilbo asking. Bilbo had stopped asking years ago when he saw how easily I shook off my injuries.

I didn’t even hear Lord Elrond show up until his gentle, but large hands were helping me sit up. I blinked as I was met with his perfect face, but he put his hand on my shoulder to stop me from standing or looking down.

“Stay sitting. You took a blow to the head.” He said in a stern voice that reminded me of my mother. “We need to make sure it didn’t cause any lasting damage.”

Wait what.

Um, sir. This just happens a lot. I’m fine. I’ve taken a lot of hits to the head in both my old life and the Shire, most of them my own damn fault. I’m just really clumsy. Just ask Bilbo.

“I…um…It’s alright, my Lord. It wasn’t that hard of a hit…”

His look was stern, which only made me shrink in shame. His eyes looked like they were burning, which was terrifying on such an uncanny and powerful being.

‘Nice going, dumbass. Now you made him mad at you.’

I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to bother him for something that was nothing. And I really did not want his attention on me. Anything but drawing attention to myself was just fine in my books.

‘It doesn’t matter. He’s the Lord here and he just gave you an order. Who the f*ck do you think you are to say no? Get real and learn your place in this society.’

Yes. Yes, that’s right. I forgot for a moment there that I’m just a lowly peasant. f*ck, this is going to be difficult to get down.

“Regardless, I will feel better if I know you did not cause yourself any injury. Eyes up please.” He said, and gently tilted my head up. “Keep your eyes on me. I’m going to check your pupils.”

The standard concussion test followed.

I’m ashamed to say it almost made me cry. It wasn’t anything he did, but all the attention that he was giving me was…stressful. I know I’m being a baby with it, since he’s literally a healer and checking a patient, but it was just a lot, you know? I’m not used to being on the receiving end of this. It’s so weird being the ones getting checked over rather than doing the checking.

It felt wrong.

“Thankfully, it’s neither a concussion nor will it bruise. You are lucky it wasn’t that hard of a fall.” Lord Elrond smiled at me, ignoring the tears in my eyes.

Or maybe he just didn’t notice them. I swear they must have been obvious along with my reddened cheeks. But he didn’t comment on it, so it must have been fine. I hope it was fine.

He helped me up to a standing position, then fixed the front of my clothes back in place. He didn’t need to do that, but he radiated so much Dad Energy that it must have been an unconscious gesture for him. I’m not sure why it was translated onto me, but I’m blaming my height for it.

“Now then, I’m assuming you will not be around your companions much for the duration of your visit.” He asked in a voice that said he already knew the answer.

I shook my head, feeling my tongue tie itself to the point where I couldn’t give a verbal answer. His gaze gave me massive anxiety, even if it was warm, non-judgmental and comforting. It reminded me of my dad when he was having one of his good days. It almost made me relax.

“No. No, I don’t think we shall be missed.” Bilbo responded for me.

Lord Elrond turned his attention towards Bilbo, and I used this new lack of attention to move out of the way and kneel on the opposite side. The stone guardrails were cold against my back, which was just the shock I needed to wipe that anxiety off my face.

Bilbo gave me a small nod in acknowledgement and struck up a conversation with Lord Elrond. It was a more somber one, which was different than his original cheerful demeanor he had when hopping around the place.

“The truth is that most of them don’t think we should be here. On this journey.” He confessed. “Too weak, they think us. They see me as too sheltered for this journey and Glírae as too meek.”

Meek? The f*ck do you mean meek? And I a f*cking mouse to the rest of you? I may be a coward, but I’m too much of a bitch to be meek?

Am I?

“Indeed.” Lord Elrond said.

Don’t agree with him!

“I heard that Hobbits are very resilient.”

Alright, that might be pushing it a little bit. They are hardy motherf*ckers that are too stubborn for their own good and man, can they survive some scary sh*t, but I’ve lived with them. I was there watching grown, middle aged Hobbit men burst into uncontrollably tears after they accidentally crushed a sprouting plant in their gardens.

I was also at Sage’s birthday party, which was all sorts of bad. Hobbits break easy, man.

“Really?” Bilbo asked.

See! Even he doesn’t believe that bullsh*t.

“I’ve also heard that they are fond of the comforts of home.”

Now that one was true. They really liked their homes, and I can’t say I blame them. Hobbits really got down the formula on how to build a comfortable life. I adore the Shire and its slow and peaceful pace. Still, why did he say that like it was an amusing thing rather than a fact?

Bilbo smiled and made a tiny jab at Lord Elrond.

“I have heard that it is unwise to seek the council of elves, for they will answer with both yes and no.”

Ain’t that the truth. I got really upset at the elves in both the movies and the books. I think I’m the one that told him that back when I was complaining about never getting a straight answer out of old people.

He reigned in his laughter and sobered up immediately when he thought he had offended the very tall, very muscular elf lord, but Lord Elrond only gave a warm smile and a small laugh back.

“You both are very welcome to stay here, if that is what you wish.”

See, I thought because of the way he ended that, that he was going to leave, but nope. This bastard just took a seat on a bench that was so blended into the scenery of the balcony, that I didn’t even notice that it was there. Bilbo, the freaking socially oblivious old fool, took a seat next to him as if he were not the most important man – err…elf – in the valley. And Lord Elrond didn’t seem to care.

What the f*ck? I thought elves followed a social hierarchy. At least, that’s what the book in my bag said. Maybe it’s different when it comes to different races? Bilbo is pretty highly ranked in the Shire, so I guess he can get a slight pass compared to most.

I’m just going to stay down here. Even if Bilbo counts as Nobility, I sure as hell don’t. I don’t want to draw more attention to myself by breaking any social rules or portraying myself as more important than I really am. I’ll stick with just being the invisible ugly little housekeeper. Fading into the background was a better way to survive than forcing my way into the narrative like most OCs did.

“Unfortunately, we signed a contract. At least, I did for the both of us.” Bilbo explained. “We gave our word to follow them, so we’ll continue to do so. At least, until they do something stupid again and we’ll have to break it.”

Wait what? Something stupid again? What did they do to make Bilbo consider breaking the contract in the first place? Nothing on the journey was that bad. They never yelled at him and Thorin’s comments were few and far between. Did something happen while I was gone those few times and he didn’t tell me?

A cold feeling washed over me as the implications of Bilbo not wanting to reach Erebor hit me. I have to put a stop to this.

“Again?” I asked, even if it was difficult to keep the worry out of my voice. “What do you mean? Did something happen?”

Lord Elrond looked over to me, then back to Bilbo. Bilbo, on the other hand, looked very unimpressed and exasperated by my question. He shook his head at me like he usually did when I was being stupid, which caused me to shrink.

“Glírae, have you been paying attention to how the Company has treated you?” Bilbo asked in a gentle voice.

f*ck, he’s going all therapist on me. I must have done something really stupid or missed something important.

“Um…no? I mean, they don’t treat me that differently than how they treat you. They’re rude, yes, but not really anything terrible.”

I expected him to sigh, or even to start scolding me for being so stupid and blind. Instead, he just shook his head.

“Glírae, they went through your sketchbooks. They looked through all your personal artwork and they still haven’t apologized or even admitted to it. They treat you with far less respect than they have treated me.“ He said in a serious tone. “I have already given them stern lectures about it, but it seems they do not care enough about you to correct this violation of privacy.”

That’s it?

I know about that already, my guy. I’ve known since the first night when I saw the smudges across the charcoal and my bag organized in a different way. I just thought they were looking for some extra pages to start a fire and Ori didn’t want to give up any of his. I’m not sure what the big deal is here. It’s not like I was hiding anything.

I would have shown them my books if they asked, so it’s not like it was that big of an issue. Yeah, it’s a little rude, but my siblings have done way worse. At the very least they didn’t rip any of my line work out to color with permanent markers. That was a fun day.

“I know.” I said, which was a mistake it seems.

Bilbo sucked in a breath and his eyes widened enough to bulge out.

Eyo, what the f*ck? What’s with the reaction? Did I f*ck up again?

“You knew? Why didn’t you say anything?”

I shrugged, flinching slightly at his outburst. Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow at Bilbo, then at me. It sort of felt like he was judging the situation and trying to piece together his own opinion. I can just see the mental notes being made in his head.

I didn’t like it. It reminded me too much of that sh*tty case worker that wouldn’t stop visiting our house and making my mother cry. Or the hospital staff any time one of us landed ourselves there. It was a gross pity that they had when they already came to a conclusion about what happened and are trying to twist you into confirming it.

It's not going to work.

“I just thought they needed paper for the fire. I didn’t see the problem as long as they didn’t take my actual drawings…” I trailed off as I saw the rage starting to grow in Bilbo’s eyes.

Oh.

Oh f*ck.

Oh sh*t, Aria. You stupid f*cking bitch. Now you’ve gone and made him mad. What the f*ck is wrong with you? What did you just do to f*ck this up? Bilbo is the only person that you like and likes you back, and now you’ve gone and f*cked that up.

I’ve never seen him this mad before.

The closest he had ever gotten to that was when I had taken on too many children and had cried from the stress of trying to wrangle 17 toddlers, and even that wasn’t directed at me even though I was the one who f*cked up. This one was aimed at me, and it just made my chest burn and constrict. I can’t even rationalize this with another situation, like blaming the mothers of those kids, since this was very obviously my doing. I just don’t know what I did.

I really made him mad.

Nice going. You made the only person who rarely gets mad at you livid, just like you do to everyone. Why can’t you just stop being such a f*ck up and just keep people happy? Mercedes does that perfectly. It’s not that f*cking hard to just be likeable, pendeja.

I swallowed hard as he took a deep breath to calm himself.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

“I’m sorry.”

Bilbo sighed and shook his head. My chest burned hotter at the act, the heat traveling to both my cheeks and my eyes. I shrunk closer to the railing and looked at his feet, so I didn’t have to see the anger on his face.

“No, Glírae. Don’t apologize.” He sounded exhausted. “We can…talk about this later. In private. It’s not your fault but…please say something next time. Don’t just let them disrespect you because you think it’s not a problem. It is.”

I don’t even know what he’s talking about, but I’m pretty sure it’s still my fault. I’m the only one involved in that, so it has to be related to me. So therefore, it’s my fault. I’m the one that left my sketchbooks out in the open, so that’s just asking for someone to look at them.

Isn’t it?

They’re just sketchbooks.

“Yes, sir. I mean, Bilbo.”

Bilbo sighed again at my accidental slip, but before he could correct me, Lord Elrond put a hand on his shoulder.

“Perhaps this conversation is better had after lunch when we are all not hungry and tired. It should be ready soon, but I’m sure the cooks will not mind if we sample their food a little early.” He said in a voice that it was that of a father not leaving room for discussion. “Please follow me and I will direct you to the dining room.”

Bilbo only nodded and pushed himself up.

I ignored Lord Elrond’s curious looks and followed them out. I really needed to do something for Bilbo soon. I made him mad, so it’s only fair for me to make it up to him.

Trying to apologize again only made him shake his head.

f*ck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a few hours after lunch was where I fully realized that I wasn’t “Hunchback of Notre Dame” levels of ugly and was closer to “Classic Disney teen girl romance entrance for a party” levels of perceived beauty. Though, it was for a completely different f*cking reason than the usual ‘I made the room stop with my beauty alone’ cliché, though that did end up happening.

It was actually significantly worse than that.

Lord Elrond had led us through the halls of Rivendell, making small talk with Bilbo about something. I think it was plants, but I was still too shaken by Bilbo’s anger to fully comprehend it. The halls themselves blended together once I stopped paying attention to the masterful, uncanny artworks along them. There were a few battles and historical scenes carved and painted into the stone, but I was too focused on Bilbo to try to remember where they were from.

I was so focused on my Hobbit that I barely noticed when we walked into the dining room. The only reason I noticed was because of the sudden shift in volume.

The hall, which was decorated with many long tables, chairs and benches (which were also works of art themselves because elves liked to show off, I guess), was packed with many elves. Each one of them was in a group, either having loud conversations or playing card games while they ate. They were all tall, perfect and glowing, but far closer to...normal, I guess, compared to the elite soldiers that greeted us at the start and Lord Elrond himself.

The volume shift was instant, as all conversations died the moment that we walked in.

Some elves and the few men that were there bowed their heads to Lord Elrond, but most were frozen in shock (literally, as some had stopped mid spoonful or were dripping the drinks they had tilted). A few choked on their wine, while some gave out gasps. Every single one of them was staring at us.

See, I had originally thought that it was because Lord Elrond was just that great of a guy that commanded everyone’s attention the moment he walked into a room, but nope. Can you guess who the f*ck they were staring at? It certainly wasn’t the Hobbit, as Bilbo was basically hidden behind Lord Elrond’s tall ass legs and flowing robes.

Yeah. It was me. I was that f*cking gross looking (or so I thought) that I literally broke everyone’s brains with just walking into a room. Never mind that there were a few people starting to drool and there was even one unfortunate man that almost choked on a half-chewed bite of buttered bread. Some elf ladies had started whispering to each other while elf gentlemen were giving each other looks of disbelief.

I was the new center of attention, and I f*cking hated it.

It didn’t take long for me to notice where their eyes were pointed at, but Lord Elrond started walking before I had the time to panic. He moved at a faster pace than normal towards a set of doors on the left corner of the opposite side of the dining room, and we both had to jog to keep up with his long footsteps. Bilbo almost tripped over himself just trying to not fall behind.

Damn those tall legs.

“We will be dining in a private area today.” Lord Elrond explained. “I’m sure your Companions have many questions and would prefer to be by themselves rather than in the middle of a crowd. It’s just through these doors over here that will lead us to the private outside seating. I’m sure the kitchen staff have plated and brought out the food by now, so you may eat while you wait for them.”

Now, this is where I should have turned my little ass around and booked it back to a hidden area, food be damned. I did not know what the f*ck I was getting myself into when I went through those doors and sat down at that fancy wooden table with an even fancier spread of roasted vegetables, salads and other dishes. Nor did the bad feeling really sink in until well after I did.

But I’m a dumb bitch and thought nothing of it, not even when I made the musicians stop setting up their instruments by just greeting them. Oh no, I’m so f*cking stupid that the bad feeling didn’t come until well into the lunch when something so in my face happened that even I couldn’t ignore it.

Did you guys know Kili was in love with me?

Yeah. This motherf*cker just proposed.

sh*t.

Let’s start from the beginning again.

Chapter 27: Chapter 26

Chapter Text

I’m not exactly…proud of the way I reacted. It was honestly really embarrassing for me to start crying, but in my defense, it was the worst thing I’ve ever heard.

It happened all of the sudden at the early dinner/late lunch that the Elves had prepared for us. It was mostly roasted vegetables, a few soups and some bread along with a few other things. Meat wasn’t really present outside of a few dried pieces in the center, which I don’t really blame them for. Meat was hard to cook on short notice, since it’s not like they had any ready to cook cuts laying around. At least, red meat since there was a bit of fish cooked in there.

I miss refrigeration and ready to eat cuts. It’s just not the same here. I miss just defrosting a ribeye, smothering it in herbs and spices, then cooking it rare and beautiful with butter I didn’t need to churn. Everything here must be thoroughly cooked otherwise you risk something stupid, like death. I gave Bilbo a heart attack when I told him I liked my meat basically raw. Judgmental bitch.

I have to admit, the vegetable soup slapped. This was the best thing that I’ve had in the last month, even if Bilbo forced me to try it by not letting me near the bread until at least half of it was gone. He gave me an extra-large portion of a few things to make up for the missed meals on the road. I still felt really bad about making him angry, so I just did what he said and finished whatever he put in front of me.

I didn’t touch the bread. My stomach hurt too much afterwards since I just ate more than I normally had this past week, and I didn’t want to push my luck with him. He pushed it a bit closer to me but didn’t try to make me eat it. I was thankful for that. I would have vomited if he tried to get me to eat anything else.

Gandalf came in as I was trying to force the second dish down, giving us a small nod and a strained smile. It was really surprising to see him, since he was not clean nor ready for dinner. He looked the same as before, with the same robes and tangled beard and covered in the grime from the road. Did he even take a bath? I didn’t see him in the bathhouse, but I just assumed he came afterwards.

Kind of gross, my guy.

Lord Elrond made a gesture for him to come over towards the high table where he was going to sit, and only then did I realize where they had put me. I was sitting away from the main, long table that was meant for the Dwarves. They stuck me where everyone important was going to sit, and that was almost enough to kill my appetite. But one stern look from Bilbo made me pick up the spoon again, so I just kept eating to distract myself.

Then Gandalf made it worse by sitting right next to me, and Lord Elrond next to him. When I tell you my heart almost stopped, and I felt my cheeks start to heat up. I swear the universe hates me.

Lindir came in with the Company, looking far more annoyed and blushing like mad from rage and embarrassment. I would later learn that he and Lord Elrond had caught them bathing drunk in one of their fountains after stealing bottles of wine from the kitchen, and Lord Elrond had left him there to get them out, make them dress, and bring them to dinner.

Ouch my guy. I apologize for your eyes. I’ve seen them too and it was horrifying.

Anyways, the Dwarves were more than a little offended at the food since they were expecting roasts and meat, which was very confusing. Like, they of all people would know how difficult meat is to prepare for a large party. Especially for one that they did not know was coming at least a month in advance to prepare? That sh*t takes so long to gather ingredients and the time to cook. And why would they care right now? What sort of ungrateful bitches say no to free food after starving for a week? They didn’t even try it!

Ori straight up refused to eat anything but bread and wine, which made me fear for his stomach. Bilbo would literally beat me if I tried to pull that sh*t. With a frying pan. And a spatula. Don’t even get me started on Thorin, because that bastard literally just pushed the food around and took most of the meat in the stew. And then the dried cuts in the center. And then had the gall to complain to Balin that the hospitality of elves was lacking compared to the stories told.

Lord Elrond and Gandalf let him, probably because they didn’t want to start an argument. Balin, who was closest to Bilbo, took the rest of the meat since there wasn’t a lot to begin with (while listening to the ungrateful, brooding King whine like my youngest brother at a church dinner). Which was fine, since the thought of meat just sounds terrible with how full I currently was. I just wish they had more non-alcoholic drinks.

My glass of wine was still full, and I had been ignoring it all dinner. Lord Elrond even asked about it, which made me jump at the attention.

“Is the wine not to your liking? We have other types of wine if you would prefer those, including a few bottles imported from the Woodland Realm.” He said. “Would you like to try the mead?”

I put down my glass of water, a little startled. I really didn’t want to drink. Even the smoothest of wines had always had that strong, hand sanitizer taste to it and I was not about that. Plus, drinking always made my head fuzzy and slow and I really hated that feeling.

But I could force it down and hope it doesn’t hit.

If he wants me to.

Luckily, Bilbo came to my rescue.

“Glírae doesn’t drink alcohol if he can help it.” Bilbo explained, then gently poked me in the side. “His tolerance is worse than a Faunt trying their first ale! He was given a few drinks at a birthday party last year and stumbled into many carts lined up next to each other.”

Well, he didn’t need to go that far in exposing me. Sage’s birthday party was an event that should not be mentioned in polite company again, and my embarrassment lives on to this day about how hard I cried afterwards. I have so many stories about Bilbo’s old man ass getting drunk and-

He's still mad at me. I’m not going to push my luck on that. He’s joking with me, yes, but that doesn’t mean we’re back to normal. It just means that he’s calming down and anything can set him off again. Whatever I’m doing is working, so don’t push it.

Don’t push it.

I just nodded and took a small sip of the wine, just to be polite.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

It was overly sweet and bitter at the same time, and it was thick enough to feel like someone watered down cough syrup. I cannot force that down, even if I wanted to. And I really, really didn’t want to.

I’m so sorry, but I can’t. I really didn’t want to waste it, but I just can’t drink it.

I’m sorry.

“Don’t like it?” Bilbo asked.

I shook my head, setting it down for him to finish off. He gladly took it, giving me a small smile. I winced as he drank that foul concoction down within a few gulps. It must have been really strong wine, since his face was already flushing a bit pink.

“We have other drinks that may be to your liking.” Lord Elrond said. “Many still contain alcohol, but much lower than our wines. Perhaps you will like one that isn’t as strong.”

He made a gesture towards Lindir before I could protest that he didn’t have to. Lindir, who was still looking at me for some reason, shook himself out of his daze and power walked back inside like an elf on a mission. Which he technically was, but it was for my picky ass, so it was more of an inconvenience really.

“Do not bother.” Thorin interrupted just as Lord Elrond was going to speak again. “This one will not like whatever you offer him. He would rather waste the food and drink offered to him.”

I flinched, looking down again. Another flare of heat made its way into my cheeks, but I didn’t say anything to my defense. He was right. I do waste a lot of food offered to me because I’m too much of a puss* to just chew and swallow. I can’t help it, but it doesn’t mean it’s ok.

Someone probably spent so much time on that wine…

“Thorin!” Balin hissed, pulling the King back onto his seat.

Thorin ignored him and set his eyes back on me. A shiver went down my spine as his eyes glazed over and his glare pierced my very soul. There was something dangerous in those eyes that spoke of anger much deeper than he was letting on.

Was he that upset about the food incident? I thought I apologized already…

“Regardless,” Lord Elrond said before either Bilbo or Gandalf could go off on him. “I would still offer. My offer extends to the rest of your party, but I do believe that the wine is their favorite part.”

He made a gesture towards the disappointed Dwarves who were chugging the wine in an effort to avoid eating the vegetables on their plates. Well, most of them. A few, like Bombur, were more than happy to inhale the food like a f*cking vacuum cleaner. I’m pretty sure that Nori was trying to swallow the roasted broccoli whole and it was not working out in his favor.

They remind me of my brothers. Luis in particular had to be reminded to chew his food after choking on more than one occasion. Then there was Mercedes, who had to chew her food exactly 26 times otherwise she would refuse to swallow it.

I said nothing as the atmosphere settled back down to its normal tension.

Now, here’s where the bullsh*t started that sent me into a panic that night. I had been given a different type of wine, which was closer to hard apple cider (Lindir poured it for me, but he was staring at me more than the cup and filled that thing to the brim before he noticed). It still didn’t taste that great and was far too bitter for it to be my drink of choice, but it was bearable, so I drank it down just to be polite. Which was a mistake, because I overdid it with how much I could tolerate.

I solely blame the alcohol for what happened next. I did not know that it was as strong as it was since I could barely taste that sharp sting.

Lord Elrond had started talking about the swords that we found in the Troll hoard and where they were from. While the talk of Gondolin was entertaining, it wasn’t anything I didn’t already know, so I focused on the Company heckling the musicians. Kili in particular was the butt of a few jokes here and there, especially since they kept pointing at him then at the musicians.

It was really rude, especially since the musicians were starting to get very, very uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure what was said as my head was starting to grow a bit more fuzzy with each sip I forced down, but something was said that made the harp player look violently ill. She stopped playing and moved her harp go the other side of the room, which caused the rest to stop as well.

I didn’t have time to ask what was said, because Kili slammed his hands on the table and blew up at Bofur in a rage I have ever only seen in my father during soccer season.

“Enough! I have had it!” He screamed, then slammed Fili’s plate onto the floor. “I am not going to f*ck an elf if it’s not Glírae!”

He sounded ver-

Wait.

Um…

What?

The?

f*ck????!!!!!

Oh, I must be drunk if I heard-

“My love is not a joke and I’m sick of you all treating it like some phase that will wither and die! I love him, more than anything, and he will be my husband! If you keep shaming me- “

I don’t actually remember much after that. The alcohol hit right after. Or maybe it was the panic attack.

Either way, I cried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glírae was frozen.

It was expected, as the declaration even surprised Mithrandir himself.Elrond looked towards the smaller elf, expecting to see either flattery or disgust, but was met with only unrelenting terror and revulsion. The blush had spread across his cheeks, nearly hiding his freckles behind the pink, and he looked so scared that Elrond felt the sudden urge to hide him away in his arms as if he were his own child.

Elrond’s concern grew immediately.

He had been warned about this, of course. Mithrandir had all but pulled him into his office after arriving and had given him a rather... detailed rundown of their newest elven guest. A far greater rundown than he had given him about Thorin, who was a King, or the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins, who from the start held an interest in him. In fact, the rundown had been 2 hours of Mithrandir venting his concerns and frustrations, most of which seemed far too outlandish.

But one concern that was true was that the Dwarf Kili would propose soon. And propose he did, in a rather unconventional way. One that was clearly not appreciated.

“Um... lad. You said that out loud...” The Dwarf with the red hair tried to pull Kili down, but he was shaken off in a fit of rage.

“What of it? I have no intention of hiding my feelings for him, and I will not let you try to talk me out of this again.” Kili said.

Elrond felt a sudden, cold feeling wash over him at the tone in the young Dwarf’s voice. Something about it seemed wrong, in a way. While Elrond knew Dwarves could possess darkness of their own and they were not immune from cruelty, something else was there. Something dark that he couldn’t place but seemed familiar and terrible. Something far more sinister and more ancient than this...

( A brief image came to him, of an ancient elf staring at the stars, one star in particular, with a rabid look in his eye that was more beast than person )

Perhaps Mithrandir’s concerns were not all that outrageous.

“Kili!” A set of voices, one belonging to the Hobbit and the other to the Dwarven king, rang out in his halls.

The elven lord watched as the Hobbit pushed himself up in a defensive stand, looking like a protective parent with the way he pushed himself closer to Glírae. Thorin stood as well, but it was to focus on commanding his nephew.

“I told you no!” Master Baggins shouted.

“I forbid it!” Thorin shouted at the same time.

Kili did not listen, and it seemed that he could not hear them with how fixated he now was on the beautiful yet small elf that sat trembling in his chair.

“He does not want to marry you! He said so himself, and yet you do not listen!”

“He is not a suitable partner for you. Your duties as a Prince dictate- “

“Shut up.” Kili practically growled, in a voice so frightening it seemed beastlike.

Elrond could have sworn he just saw his eyes glaze over in a cloud of white, even if it was just for a brief moment. Now there was something that needed to be investigated further.

Kili looked as if he was going to argue, or at least protest and defend himself, but seemed to have talked himself out of it and ignored both parties completely. His gaze turned to Glírae, a smile blooming on his face as if he did not notice how uncomfortable it made him.

“Glírae, my love, my moon. You are fairer than the great stone of the mountain or the gems beneath the earth. Your beauty alone was struck me to the core, and I would be honored if you would allow me to marry you. What say you?”

Glírae shakily stood, and the hall waited in bated breath for his response. The poor Avari was trembling something awful, and looked ill just thinking about the words spoken. He said nothing, and just shook his head.

Kili didn’t seem to notice the rejection.

“You need not answer yet! We can always court for a year, as it is customary. That would be preferable, as it would take at least a few to gather everything we need for our wedding! I will get you a gift, and then you get me one, and we can call this courtship official!”

Glírae shook his head again, taking a step back.

“Oh…no…” Glírae stuttered out, his voice shaking as much as he was. “No…”

Kili looked heartbroken at taken aback by the response.

“No? Why not?” He asked, taking a step towards him.

There was a sudden gleam in his eye.

( A distant cousin, who had trusted a deceiver and had spent every moment of his remaining life creating a power that would doom them all)

Glírae shook his head harder and took a few more steps back until he was nearly behind Elrond. Elrond moved forwards as well, sensing the harsh tension that was starting to grow.Kili didn’t seem to notice that Elrond had moved, his eyes too focused on the cowering elf that clearly did not want him there.

“I know you’re scared, but there’s nothing to fear.” Kili said, his voice failing to sound soothing and instead sounding closer to possessive. “I would treat you well. I would love you and please you. Love and pleasure are not something you should fear.”

Elrond’s heart twisted along with his stomach as Glírae’s face flushed, tears coming to the corners of his eyes. He looked so very frightened.

“But I don’t…I don’t want to…” His voice was meek.

Glírae’s protests fell on deaf ears as Kili’s voice only grew louder and bolder.

“But I do! I know I do! I love you and have loved you from the moment I saw you! I saw how stunning you looked, and I knew I had to have you!”

( A foolish man, unable to sleep as he desperately attempted to rub the words back onto a golden band that had consumed his life )

“Have me?” Glírae almost shrieked. “I’m not a prize!”

“Yes, a prize! You are my prize! My prized possession! My beauty and true love. I’ve heard the tales, of two souls destined to be together, and you are mine!”

Elrond felt a cold feeling wash over him. The lustful looks were practically oozing from the young Dwarf now, and it was clear what was starting to come to his mind when regarding the young elf. It was worse than anticipated.

“I am not. I’m not. I don’t even know you!”

“You’ve known me for a month. I know many couples who have known each other less than that who have wed!”

“We’ve spoken like twice!”

“And I cherished both conversations, as I had your attention on me and me solely! Oh, what I would do to have you always look at me.”

“I would prefer you do nothing! Get away from me!”

The argument continued between the two, with not a single person intervening. Elrond looked around, and then carefully slipped away to alert Lindir. His assistant was dumbfounded and very invested in the fight. It took an absurd amount of time for him to get his attention again.

Elrond held back his intake of breath as Lindir blinked away the cloud in his eyes.

Now that was even more concerning.

“Get the guards. Quickly. I fear something will happen here.” Elrond whispered to him.

Lindir nodded and took off. No one tried to stop him or even noticed him leave. It was for the best that way.

The argument raced on.

“I will make it all special! Our marriage will be one of a kind, because no one can love you like I!”

“I’d really rather not!” Glírae was close to sobbing now. “I don’t want to get married!”

“That’s because you do not know what marriage is like. You speak of marriage like one would speak of slavery, but I can show you how wrong that is! I will treat you like a Queen and you will be loved every day of your life!”

Kili was getting upset. Gone was the hopeful passion that he held and was slipping towards a dangerous mix of desperation and anger.

“No!”

“Yes! You may not see it, but I have planned our future together in the Mountain. You will be a respected Consort!”

At this, Thorin tried to protest, but no words other than anger garble came from him. It seemed the King was far too angry to even speak now.

“Consort?!”

“And you will live in the very height of luxury. I’ll show you that love and passion is nothing to fear!”

“Passion? You mean-“ Glírae looked very ill. “I’m not f*cking you!”

Elrond did not miss the utter terror that was in his tone, far greater and more powerful than anything had originally been. Glírae took another step back, clutching at his clothes as if Kili would come rip them off if given the chance.

It did not seem that far off from the truth.

“I would never f*ck you! You deserve so much more than to be mounted like an animal.” Kili smiled, which only made Glírae whimper and shiver behind Elrond. “I would make love to you. We will be each other’s firsts and only.”

His words were betrayed by the gleam in his eyes, which were now so clouded over by lust that they appeared white.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I promise that I will be gentle and sweet to you every day of our marriage. You speak of pain and force and suffering, but it is not like that at all! My mother’s marriage was passionate and wonderful, like ours would be.”

Glírae only shook harder and took another step back. Kili was unrelenting in his pursuit.

“We will learn together. You are as inexperienced as I in the ways of making bodies sing, so we can both learn together.”

“Leave my virginity out of this! It’s not yours to take!”

The proclamation caused him to blush something fierce, and Elrond noticed that it caused his musicians to jump. And that was even more concerning, as they hadn’t reacted that strongly to anything else said.

What was happening?

“Not take! Never take! Willingly given and gifted is what I prefer. How it should be. I won’t force you, and I will wait until you are comfortable and ready!”

( A woman, loving yet distant, who had spent hours staring at a great light in a lonely room while her children played )

“You’re going to be waiting until your deathbed then, since I’ll never be ready! Not with you or anyone!”

He had to put a stop to this. His guards were still not here, but Elrond could at least hold his own before anyone got hurt.

He took a step in front of Glírae, blocking him from sight.

“Perhaps we could sort this out in a better way.”

It did not go as expected.

Chaos broke out as Kili threw a potato at Elrond’s face.

Chapter 28: Chapter 27

Chapter Text

Lord Elrond caught the potato before it could hit either his face or the statue behind him. He set it down calmly on the table next to him, not letting any anger or annoyance show in his features. He regarded his Dwarven attacker calmly. However, it did little to quell the outrage in the room.

Lindir barely had time to bring the guards into the room before the Dwarven prince had lunged himself at Lord Elrond, teeth bared and rabid like a hound. The prince’s arms swung, throwing what was left in his hands back to their table. Lindir gasped in horror and outrage, already dreading the cleanup when he saw the bowl of chopped fruits fly off the table from the force of the prince’s throw.

“Let go! Let go! He’s mine! Mine only! You can’t keep him from me!”

He spat and bit at his brother, kicking and screaming and uncaring about what anyone was saying to him. He kept clawing at the ground, as if trying to pull himself by force towards the object of either his rage or lust.

“Kili! Kili no!”

Luckily for everyone, the nearest 4 Dwarven companions had grabbed hold of him the moment he threw the first projectile, and it took very little time for them to bring him down to the floor. The prince let out a feral scream as his arms were twisted back and he was pinned, which mixed into the shriek from the beauty that was trembling from behind Lord Elrond.

The guards were quick to spring into action and pushed themselves between the struggling dwarf and their Lord. The Dwarven King (to which Lindir had already forgotten the name of) let out a cry of outrage, pushing the nearest guard away from his nephew. Another guard pushed the King back into the Hobbit, who tumbled down to the floor.

The first prince, the older one, grabbed onto the wrist of the nearest guard, who had been coming to pull his brother up to haul away.

“Keep your pointy ears away from him!”

The prince, Kili, thrashed against his brother, growling in a feral rage as the King stood in front of his line of sight. His teeth sunk into his blond brother, eliciting a string of curses and insults from them both. Even so, he still managed to turn his anger towards the elf guard that was attempting to assist in keeping him down.

“Don’t touch my brother!”

A dwarf from the nearby table threw a turnip at the guard to aid his princes. The guard caught it and threw it back on reflex, hitting the dwarf square on the nose and sending him tumbling back out of his seat. The Hobbit staggered to his feet but was knocked down once again by a flying salad bowl. Mithrandir caught him, but then was promptly knocked over himself by a well-aimed wine glass.

The hall erupted into chaos as a massive food fight began.

Though, it wasn’t a fight more than an attack. The Dwarves threw all the food, while the elves in the room attempted to shield themselves from the onslaught of flying ale, mugs, bowls and vegetables.

Lindir barely had time to blink before a bowl was thrown at his head. It missed him by an inch, and it was enough to make him jump. He jumped again as something else flew by his head, and it was clear that someone was targeting him now. He turned to look at who dared to throw something at him, and managed to lock eyes with a red-haired dwarf just as he got ready to aim at him again.

Lindir shrieked in shock and outrage as another bowl, this one filled with hot broth, was flung. He raised his arms to block his face, bracing himself for the burns he would receive. However, it never hit him.

CLANG

He felt the spray of soup brush against his hands and his ears, but none of the pain of being burned came with it. Instead, he heard a high-pitched yelp of pain from right beside him. Something loud and made of metal (a tray, it seemed) clattered onto the floor, and a string of phrases in an unknown language was sworn out loud.

“Glírae!”

The hall was struck quiet.

The fight had lasted less than a minute, but the damage was extensive from what Lindir could see. The food itself was ruined and the floor and walls would need a very thorough cleaning, along with the people present. However, none of them looked angry and were instead staring at something with shocked horror.

Lindir turned to see what had happened and gasped.

That beauty, the lovely little elf that came to grace their halls with his presence, was clutching a red hand to his chest. He was covered in broth, and it had soaked him completely and so thoroughly that there was steam rising from his clothes. There was a metal sheet pan on the floor, slightly dented alongside the broth bowl, which was now sporting a crack. He was also covered in other liquids, mostly wine and ale from the looks of it.

He was crying out in small whines, and it broke Lindir’s heart to hear.

The Hobbit pushed himself up from the floor, himself covered in a layer of honey and cake, and rushed over to the elf’s side. He said something to him, though it was too low for anyone to hear. Glírae shook his head in response, and it was then that Lindir realized that he had begun to cry (His tears looked just as pretty and delicate as the rest of him, like pearls in the ocean). His face was already flushed and heated, from both the heat of the broth and the stress of the day (and what a pretty shade of red it was).

Lord Elrond, the only one who had remained pristine and clean, wasted no time in coming towards him.

Glírae flinched away from him but didn’t protest when Lord Elrond carefully took his much smaller hand to examine. His Lord made a displeased look, then turned his attention to the other areas where the broth had burned the beauty. Glírae trembled and cried (that was also a pretty sight, even if the context should have made it anything but), but stayed still and allowed the examination to happen, occasionally whining whenever he was touched.

Poor thing must have been so frightened. It must have hurt a lot if he did not want someone, even one as gentle as Lord Elrond, to brush his tender fingers over the reddened skin. He looked so small, so fragile, and so delicate in that stage of fear. It made Lindir want to grab hold of him and embrace him while soothing his fear. What he would give to run his fingers through his hair and to soothe him with gentle words...

Lindir’s chest burned.

“What happened?” A court lady playing the harp asked.

She was one of the lucky ones, being spared the food and having only had a few mugs of ale spilled on the bottom of her dress.

“The Avari protected Lindir. He jumped up from his seat and used a tray as a shield for him!” Another musician, a lyre player who was drenched in his own ale, responded.

“Poor thing was hit instead.” The singer, a motherly elf who had also managed to remain clean, whispered.

Lindir almost gasped again, feeling his heart swell with a warm sensation.

He had protected him? The beauty, the star come to life, had chosen to place himself in harm's way to protect Lindir of all elves? Not his smaller companion? Not the meddling Wizard? Nor had he chosen to hide, as it would have been the safer option for him? He had willingly jumped into the fight and had chosen Lindir to protect?

He had been injured for Lindir. He had borne pain to keep Lindir safe. The beauty had noticed him over everyone and had decided that he was worth the torment of heat to keep Lindir’s clothes from being ruined. It was such a simple act, but one that made his stomach clenched with excitement.

Would he take pain for him again?

Lindir’s chest burned in return and his stomach turned into knots.

He unconsciously licked his lips.

“Lindir.” Lord Elrond said.

Lindir blinked back into awareness, shaking off the daze that had formed behind his eyes.

“Yes?” He asked, trying hard to keep his voice steady.

“Would you take him to the Healer’s Wing to get his burns treated? And can you borrow another set of clothes for him? It’s a shame that these were ruined so soon, but I don’t think he would like to walk around in these any longer.”

Glírae blushed harder at the last sentence, and Lindir felt his lips curl up in a smile at how adorable that was. He didn’t meet Lindir’s eye, instead choosing to look down at his feet. Which was disappointing, as he so wanted to see those doe-like eyes of his on him and him alone. They sparkled so prettily in the light.

“Of course.” Lindir said with a nod. “Please come with me, then. We’ll get you settled in the Healer’s Wing. I would advise removing the top layer of your robes first, however. They’re dripping and I’m sure it’s not comfortable for you.”

Glírae gave a shaky nod, allowing Lord Elrond to assist him in removing the top layer. Lindir felt a bit of jealousy at the action but took a deep breath and decided to just remain satisfied with seeing him in less clothing. The underclothing clung to his figure, as the broth had soaked through that as well, giving him the full view of the body underneath.

He was very small. A perfect size for holding him in his arms.

Lindir swallowed hard and turned to walk out the door, hoping to hide the growing blush across his face. He motioned for Glírae to follow, which he did judging by the shy, quiet footsteps behind him. He risked a glance back, and felt his chest burn even more at the sight of this pretty little thing following him silently and obediently. His eyes were to Lindir’s feet still, but they were focused on him and his leading that it almost felt as good as if he were looking into his eyes-

Lindir cut these thoughts off before they could spiral and reveal something about himself that he was not willing to think about.

The walk to the Healer’s Wing was uneventful, if he didn’t count the Elves and Men that would stop in their tracks to stare at Glírae. Most glanced at him, then turned to look away. Those were not so awful. Others, however, stared openly and hungrily, and Lindir’s chest burned all the hotter. More than once, he had to bite his tongue and walk faster before he could scold someone for staring at places they should not have been.

Glírae paid no attention to anyone else, instead keeping his eyes on where Lindir was leading him and remaining a quiet and timid shadow behind him. His presence, soft as cotton and cool as an autumn night, alone was enough to cool the tendrils of jealousy that were wrapping around his throat.

They arrived at the Healers far too soon for Lindir’s liking, but he pushed down his annoyance to greet the only healer in the room. Today, it was Lord Miluiloss, who paused from his book to greet them as they walked in. His face immediately took a look of concern when he saw the stains on Lindir’s clothing.

“Lord Miluiloss.” He gave a polite bow in greeting.

Lord Miluiloss returned it with one of his own, curiously looking at the elf hiding shyly behind him. Lindir took a step to the side, gesturing Glírae to step forward (all while ignoring how his heart leaped when Glírae whined in surprise). Glírae did so with some hesitation, gripping the burned hand all the harder.

“This is Glírae, a guest staying with us for the foreseeable future. He was injured after another guest threw hot broth on him. Lord Elrond asked me to bring him here so that you could treat him while he deals with the aftermath of the incident.”

Lord Miluiloss nodded his head, now worried rather than concerned, motioning the younger elf to come forward. Glírae hesitated for a moment before taking a few steps towards the older healer. Lord Miluiloss gave him a tender smile, like he did with all patients that were nervous of visiting healers.

“Ay. I can. Do you also need to be treated for injury, Lindir?”

Lord Miluiloss grabbed onto Glírae’s hand without much warning, eliciting a flinch and a jump from him. The healer paid no heed to it and started inspecting the damage done. From what they could see, there were already small blisters forming on the palm. Glírae tensed at the contact but didn’t protest as the healer started to move his fingers around.

Lindir shook his head, pretending that touch didn’t sting to watch.

“No. I’m going to fetch him another change in clothes and ask someone to prepare another bath for him. Is it fine to have him bathe in the Healer’s baths?”

Glírae tensed as Lord Miluiloss moved from his hand to his right shoulder, where the skin was the reddest, and started to push the underclothes back. A brief flash of some form of emotion passed through Glírae’s eyes at the action, but it dulled down as the younger elf stiffened.

Strange. He wondered what that was about.

“I would prefer that. They don’t look terrible and will heal with some burn paste, but I don’t want to make it worse with too hot or too cold water. Thank you, Lindir.”

Taking that as a dismissal,Lindir left them alone. Even if he didn’t want to. And by the Valar, he really didn’t want to leave that delicate light that took Elven form.

Every step taken away from him was a stab in his very soul, pushing down and tearing a hole in him that would not be filled until he could see him again. Until he could hold him and love him and keep him as his.

It should not have been possible to love so fast.

Well, Lindir wasn’t sure if it was love quite yet. He certainly felt the heat in his heart and the pool of desire in his stomach, and he longed to spend a night with him should he let him. He wanted to feel his fingers through his hair, the heat of his skin, and the sound of his voice. That wasn’t even mentioning the more... unpleasant thoughts he was starting to have.

No, it wasn’t love. It was far too soon for love and leaned far too much into physical desire. Not love. Not yet.

But he had time.

Perhaps, one night. All he needed was one night, and then they could see if this went anywhere. If not... well, there certainly was no rule saying they must marry to have their fun. Lindir certainly wasn’t a bad lover, even if it had been a while since his last partner. And no other partner had ever made him feel the heat of desire he had felt with this one.

There was time before they left. No one willingly left the valley unless they were needed elsewhere, and even then. It would be weeks before they felt rested enough to fully leave, especially with Mithrandir in tow (who had always delayed his departure if it meant free food and a bed). It was more than enough opportunity to get him alone and woo him for a fun night. Or several.

He really hoped for several.

But alas, now was not the time. Lindir sighed and moved to his room’s storage closet towards the back. He pulled out a box from the top shelf, bringing it to his bed and opening it without much thought. Inside, his old robes from his youth lay neatly folded. He discarded the first four robes, looking around until he found one that caught his eye.

It was a thin, white robe. It wasn’t decorative like the rest of his clothes, and certainly not in his size at that age. It was soft and heavy fabric, lined with golden threads and embroidered with feather patterns. The patterns of the collar were straight and thicker than normal embroidery on elvish fashion. It was somewhat familiar...

‘Are they birdcage bars? Strange choice to make into a decoration...’

Strange. He didn’t remember wearing a robe like this, but his youth was so long ago that he must have forgotten. And it must have been one of the few that he was gifted and never worn. He was a very picky child, after all. Regardless, it was perfect for their guest.

It would certainly suit him. He was as pretty as a Canary bird, after all.

Lindir refolded the robes and marched his way out of the room. He wasn’t sure how long he was in the room or gone from the hall, but by the time he had made his way back to the Healing Wing, the hallways were full of gossiping Elves and Men. They didn’t bother to be quiet, and some spoke loudly to get his attention.

“Did you hear that the Dwarf prince proposed to the beauty?”

“No! Did he say yes?”

“No, not at all! He rejected him outright! And the Dwarf grew angry!”

“He attacked Lord Elrond!”

“The nerve!”

Lindir ignored them all and walked all the faster, eager to get back to the beauty and see if he could thank him for his heroic saving of his robes.

However, it was not to be. He walked into the Healer’s Wing and was met by sounds of wheezing, gasping and pleading. Lord Miluiloss was kneeling in front of a medical cabinet, gently talking to it in a low voice. From inside the cabinet, Lindir heard the sounds of Glírae struggling to breathe.

“What-” Lindir stuttered. “What happened?”

Lord Miluiloss shook his head, not even looking at Lindir.

“I’m... I’m not sure.” Lord Miluiloss said. “I was trying to see the extent of the burns and asked him to remove his clothes... Oh...”

Lord Miluiloss had a horrified look on his face.

“Oh?” Lindir asked.

Lord Miluiloss stood up, rushing to push Lindir out of the Wing by force.

“Leave.” Lord Miluiloss ordered, voice hard as steel.

“What?!”

“Leave, Lindir. I know what happened, and I need everyone out until he calms down.”

Lord Miluiloss’ anger was pronounced and Lindir felt a shiver go down his spine. The robes were snatched from him, and then the door slammed in his face.

So much for wooing him.

Chapter 29: Chapter 28

Chapter Text

“What happened?”

Bilbo was enraged and made little effort to hide it.

“Why did no one come find me when he first started to panic?” He cried. “Glírae is very fragile when he gets like this, and I fear you made it worse. He has a very specific way of calming himself down, and you must watch him carefully, so he doesn’t hurt himself. What happened to set it off?”

The healer, an older black-haired elf who had introduced himself as Miluiloss, shook his head. He looked back behind him, where Glírae was lying on an infirmary bed and staring blankly at a wall while bundling himself in thick quilts. There was no noise of movement coming from him, other than the occasional sobbing hiccup.

“Master Baggins, I have been a healer for a long, long time. I’ve seen fear flashes overtake both Men and Elf alike, so this is not new to me. I understand your worry for him, but I am more than capable of providing aid, as are the rest of us here. I would advise you to not question the other healers as you’ve done me, lest they take offense.”

Bilbo barely had time to feel like a scolding fauntling when the healer urged him to move outside. Bilbo followed him, though he felt a bit nervous when the doors were shut. He could still see Glírae through the glass on sides of the door frame, but it was not as clear as he would like.

“This is a conversation better had outside of listening ears.” Miluiloss said. “I have a few questions about how this occurred and who he is. And I’m sure you have some questions for me as well.”

Bilbo nodded, then blinked in surprise when Miluiloss sat down with his back to the door. They were close in eye level now, but it changed when Bilbo was gestured to also sit.

“Who is he? Do you know what caused this? You asked me what set him off, but he was already close to this state when he came in. Lindir said he had broth thrown at him, but there must have been more to send him into a fear flash. So, what happened?”

Bilbo tilted his head in confusion.

“Fear flash?”

Miluiloss nodded.

“Yes. A fear flash. A sudden episode of intense fear when no danger is present, accompanied by shortness of breath, trembling, disorientation, and being unaware of your surroundings. It’s what happened to him in the cabinet. Is this his first episode since he has met you?”

The healer looked doubtful. Bilbo sighed, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

“No. No, it’s not. Glírae has them at least once a month, sometimes… many times more. It has only happened twice since we left the Shire, but that’s far less than usual. He calls them panic attacks.”

Bilbo tried not to think about the worst of them, where Glírae had retreated so far into his head that he had been blind to the outside world. Even to his own pain when he scratched himself so deeply, he bled onto the floor or through his clothes. The knife incident was still fresh in his mind, even years later.

Miluiloss speaking thankfully interrupted that memory.

“Panic attacks? Can’t say I’ve ever heard them be called that...” Miluiloss said, mostly to himself. “However, I have not been around the Avari so their terminology may just be different than ours.”

Avari? Was that not the word that Lord Elrond had used to describe Glírae when they were introduced? Glírae had flinched at the mention, which seemed rather odd since it didn’t sound like an insult to Bilbo. But perhaps it was, and Elves were just better at hiding it.

“If I may ask? What does that word mean, exactly?”

“Which one?” Miluiloss asked.

“Avari. This is the second time someone has called him that, but I don’t quite know what it means.”

Miluiloss must have sensed something in his voice because he gave a small laugh at the question. He shook his head, gesturing towards himself.

“’Tis not an insult, Master Baggins, so do not worry yourself. Avari simply refers to what type of elf he is. I, for instance, am of Noldorin and Silvan descent. Much like you Hobbits have different types, we have the same and we classify ourselves as such. He is Avari, which is simply a different branch separate from the Eldar.”

It made sense, but still didn’t explain why Glírae seemed so uncomfortable to be referred to by it.

“You can tell Elves apart from each other? At first glance? How?” He asked, trying to be genuinely curious.

Luckily, Miluiloss seemed to not have noticed the small hint of hostility. And if he did, he made no show of it.

“His features are too foreign than ours to be of the Sindar, Noldor or Silvan, so he must be of the Avari tribes. It was more so narrowing it down, and it was fairly obvious.”

It was not obvious in the slightest to Bilbo. Sure, Glírae was a bit different compared to the Elves of Rivendell – at least, the few who greeted them – but he still shared that same, otherworldly beauty that was found in all elves. Perhaps he was easier on the eyes than the others, but that was purely on a Hobbit’s love for soft things. And Glírae was the softest thing he had ever met and seen.

Perhaps the height had been different? But that made little difference either, since Glírae’s height (while a tad bit smaller) was still comparable to the Elven women and a few of the men that lived there. Only their warriors, Lords and those who glowed seemed to be high enough to reach the stars. Glírae was certainly taller than Gandalf, at least, by a good few inches.

What else could it be, then?

“I’m guessing you are wondering why we can tell?” Miluiloss’s eyes were sparkling, as if he caught him musing.

It was frankly silly, since Bilbo was planning on asking the question regardless.

“Yes. I’m a bit confused on how Lord Elrond, and you for that matter, were able to tell so quickly. He doesn’t look much different than the rest of the Elves I’ve seen here to me.”

Miluiloss blinked in surprise, and his smile only grew wider.

“’Tis always fascinating how other races cannot tell our features apart. But then again, we are guilty of that as well with everyone else.” He tapped his chin with his fingers. “How to explain this then? There are many ways we can tell he’s not one of us, but we cannot exactly pinpoint which tribe he belonged to. There are far too many, most dead and gone, and we have not seen them in thousands of years.”

Bilbo was now even more confused but didn’t think to interrupt just yet, even if he didn’t quite know what an Avari was. Changing the subject would only confuse him more.

“The most notable feature of him was his height. While it’s not uncommon for Elves born in the Third Age to be closer to the height of Men, he’s rather small. The Avari were smaller as well, as they never beheld the Valar, Valinor nor the Tree light that gave them the ability to grow as we do now, even their males. It was quite simple to come to the conclusion with that alone.”

Bilbo nodded along, biting his tongue at the jab at Glírae’s height. Glírae was a perfectly respectable height to be and was even still growing judging by the 2 inches he had put on in his 5 years in the Shire.

“But he’s not much shorter than some of the Elves here? That can’t be the only reason.”

Miluiloss shook his head.

“No. No, he’s not the smallest, and you are correct. There are other features as well. His hair, for instance, is one unlike what has been seen in the three main elven groups.”

Bilbo looked through the glass again, catching a glimpse of Glírae’s soft hair. Sure, it was possibly the prettiest feature on him, and so soft and relaxing to brush and pet, but it didn’t like anything special when compared to the silky, long braided locks of the Elves in Rivendell.

Perhaps because it curled? He had seen curly hair here, but only on the Men...

“I have never seen the color on anyone, other than the wizard Saruman before.”

“But aren’t there silver-haired elves that live here? I saw a musician with silver hair not an hour ago!”

Miluiloss gave another cheerful laugh.

“Yes indeed. Silver. Not white. Even with the clearest silver, there is always a hint of pigment in our hair. Never have I seen white hair – purely white hair – on a person, even on the aging Men.” Miluiloss then pulled one of his own braids. “Nor have I seen such curls. Elven hair is strong, resilient and straight like a pin. His coils and curls, like strands of shaped mithril...”

The confusion returned, and Bilbo quickly lost track of the conversation as Miluiloss began to go into great detail about how wonderful Glírae’s hair was, and how Elven society would have revered that hair. It was frankly very awkward, as Bilbo had often spent hours on Glírae’s hair when he went days without brushing it and had to be wrestled and held down just to get the tangles out.

“Shame it is so short. There would be many braids that would have adorned him had he have the length for it.” Miluiloss sighed, as if experiencing a great loss.

“Is that why you call him Avari? His height and hair?” Bilbo asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

Miluiloss snapped out of his daze and shook his head.

“Well, no. There are many more subtle things as well. His eyes are brown, which is rare for us as the Noldor are known for having grey, while Silvan and Sindar are a mix between blue and green.” Miluiloss listed off. “Then there’s his mannerisms and speech. Both the accent and the speech show that he did not grow up in our society and learned later in life.”

Well, that made sense. Glírae had a completely different language that sounded nothing like the elvish he had heard that day, and he did pronounce it differently when spoken to.

“His freckles were the final tie to it, as none of us have them unless we work long days in the sun, and certainly not as dark and prominent as his. Even his features are strange, like the larger eyes and the softer features you wouldn’t normally see on our males. All these combined just paint the picture. He doesn’t fit with any known groups, so he must be of the Avari tribes. Does that clear it up?”

Not by much, but enough for Bilbo to nod. It still seemed like they were labeling Glírae an outsider based on his features, but I didn’t seem like the right time to correct them. He would ask Glírae about it later.

Miluiloss then lost the smile and straightened up, which caused Bilbo’s anxiety to peek.

“Now that I answered your questions, then perhaps you could return the favor.” The healer’s tone became serious.

“Yes, of course.” Bilbo tried not to stutter.

“What happened?” He asked. “All I got out of Lindir was that someone threw broth at him and burned his skin.”

Bilbo sighed, swallowing back the rage growing in him once more to retell the story.

“Glírae was propositioned by Kili,even though he was warned not to. Kili... did not take the rejection well and started a food fight. Glírae blocked a bowl of hot broth that was being thrown at Master Lindir, but the broth hit him instead.” He finished.

Miluiloss looked concerned at the explanation, and looked as if he were making a few mental notes in his head. He glanced at Glírae, a worry on his face. Bilbo did the same, only to see Glírae begin to shake again and bury himself in the quilts until he was completely covered.

“And the Dwarf? The one that started this? What happened to him?” Miluiloss asked. “Surely, he’s not out walking free after assaulting someone.”

Bilbo shook his head.

“No. No, he was taken away by the guards just as I was leaving. He’s under house arrest until our Company leaves. He’s not permitted to leave the room he was given and has to have at least 3 others there with him to keep him from sneaking off. He’s not permitted to speak to Glírae unless it’s a formal apology.” Bilbo explained. “He’s also getting a stern talking to by Thorin and Gandalf, but I doubt he will listen. He hasn’t been listening this entire month.”

A troubled look took over the healer’s face.

“Truly? That’s not good, then.” Miluiloss sighed. “Though it would certainly explain the injuries. Scorned suitors are... violent, on occasion. It’s very dangerous, and I’m glad he wasn’t hurt protecting Lindir.”

Bilbo glanced back at the room his dear friend was in. If he strained his ears, he could hear him crying to himself. He wished to go in there to comfort him, but Glírae was better off calming himself alone this time. And Bilbo was... very tired. Too tired to assist without making it worse.

“I am as well. I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

“Many in these situations don’t. It’s what makes it worse. Keep an eye on him, Master Baggins. Do not let that Dwarf near him, for I fear his desperation may turn into violence if rejected enough times.” Miluiloss said. “I would suggest him not going further with that group, if they cannot keep their Prince under control.”

Bilbo sighed.

“I fear I feel the same...”

Miluiloss said nothing to that. Rather, he gave Bilbo a warm smile.

“Would you tell me a bit about him? I would like to get to know my patients, but he’s a bit preoccupied at the moment. Tell me, what is his personality like to get a Dwarf to fall for him?”

“Well, he’s very sweet...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glírae was finally asleep.

He always grew exhausted after one of his panic attacks, but sleep came slowly and roughly to him during those times. Bilbo stayed with him throughout the day and into the evening, stroking his hair (still wet from the very quick rinse he was given) and keeping watch on the infirmary door until his breathing turned even and his eyes closed. He never regained his focus enough for Bilbo to ask him if he was alright, but it didn’t matter.

Glírae was safe in the care of the elves. Miluiloss had promised him that no one would enter the room that he did not approve of, and those that he did would be other healers. Bilbo was allowed to stay as long as he wanted and stay in Glírae’s bed if it meant that it would calm his friend.

Bilbo chose not to and to go to the room he was provided.

It was on the other side of the guest rooms, far enough away from the Dwarves and their bitter King, obsessed Prince and the enabling Company members. It was also discretely guarded for his protection, even though Bilbo didn’t really need the added guard. But it was no matter. Better safe than sorry. Whatever made the Elves feel better.

Lord Elrond had taken him there personally, which was strange, but not unwelcome. They spoke on their way there, mostly about the incident and Glírae. Well, Bilbo spoke to him about his concerns regarding Glírae’s wellbeing and stay.

“Do not worry, Master Baggins. Glírae is perfectly safe in the valley. Many of our guards have already volunteered to make sure of it. We will not let any danger befall him.”

Bilbo nodded, fidgeting nervously.

“And the healers? They will make sure he’s alright? I’m worried about his health, you know...”

Lord Elrond gave him a fatherly smile.

“I’m sure. We will give him a general exam once he wakes up and see what we find. Besides his eating habits, is there anything else that worries you?”

Bilbo nodded rapidly.

“Oh, so many things. He rarely eats, even when he’s hungry. I’ve seen him go 2 days without food once, and he only ate when he grew too nauseous to stand. He doesn’t sleep very well. It’s constantly interrupted by nightmares, and when it’s not, he rarely gets more than a few hours at a time. I’m also worried about how... sensitive he is to sounds, smells and touch. He is fine one moment, and then the next it’s too much, and he hides himself under his bed sheets trying to shut the world out. There’s more, but I think those are my main concern.”

Lord Elrond gave no indication that he was concerned, but he looked like he was memorizing the list Bilbo just threw at him.

“I’ll make a note of that and hand it to Lord Miluiloss for him to know. If you have any other concerns, please tell one of us.”

Bilbo agreed and waved the elf lord goodnight.

The door shut, and he made his way to the desk in the corner of the room. Tired as he was, he pulled out a scrap of paper, a quill, and began to write until the candlelight burned away and he was falling asleep where he sat.

Once he woke up, he finished his list of concerns. He was just about to head out to run to Lord Elrond, when a knock was heard.

Bilbo opened the door to a very frazzled looking Elven woman in healer’s robes. She looked down at him, nervously fidgeting.

“Are you Bilbo Baggins?” She asked, her voice shaky and nervous.

A pit grew in the bottom of his stomach.

“Yes, I am. Has something happened? Is Glírae alright?” He asked.

She tugged on the apron around her waist.

“Well... There has been a small problem. Your friend is alright, but he...”

She seemed to be struggling with what to say. Bilbo tried not to interrupt her, even though his mind was racing with conclusions.

“Yes?” He prompted.

“He’s refusing to be seen by the healers.” She explained. “We offered a checkup for him, just to make sure he was ok and to address the concerns that were brought to us. And he... is being less than cooperative.”

The pit grew larger at the tone dropping at the last sentence.

“Less than cooperative how?” He asked, wishing she would just get to the point.

She made a nervous little twitch with her hand, gripping the fabric harder.

“He has hidden himself under the bed and has refused to come out. This was after he threatened to jump out the window if we so much as touched his clothes. When Lord Miluiloss tried to ask him to at least step on the scale, your friend threatened to bite him.”

Bilbo blinked in surprise, then again just to make sure he had heard that right.

“That... That does not sound like him at all...”

That sounded closer to the Faunts on their first healer visits...

“Well, none of us were expecting that. And when Lord Miluiloss took a step forward, just to show that he meant no harm, he started speaking something in a language we haven’t heard. We’re not sure what he said, but it certainly did not sound flattering.”

Alright then... Glírae was cursing in Spanish, which could not be good...

“So, Lord Elrond was called to see if he could smooth things over. He’s better at dealing with patients than any of us, especially those who are scared.” Her face took on a sour look. “He barely made it into the room before your friend called him a ‘ Brachio-saurus who ate a glowstick ’. We’re... still trying to figure out what that means...”

Bilbo thought he could not get more shocked, but he was wrong.

“Lord Elrond managed to block his way to the medicine cabinet again, but now he’s under the bed. We don’t want to move him, but we can’t seem to calm him down. So, Lord Elrond suggested we get you.”

Bilbo needed no more explanation. He asked her to lead the way, and he prayed that nothing else happened during that time.

Who knew Glírae was afraid of healers?

Chapter 30: Chapter 29

Chapter by LuminatheCell

Chapter Text

Glírae had become an even more concerning case for Miluiloss.

It wasn’t so much as the fear of healers he seemed to have (Miluiloss had encountered that more times than he could count, many of them soldiers with their own horror stories of barbaric medical practices), but more so a cumulation of everything he had been warned about and had noticed himself. Seeing him curled up under the bed in pure distress while they attempted to coax him out was not helping the situation.

There was little he could do once Glírae had decided to retreat. His attempts to speak to him earned him nothing but petty insults in a language he didn’t recognize, or whimpers of terror as Glírae pushed himself further back into the back corners under the bed. He had seen this situation before many, many times (though, in most of those cases, the patient was a small child) and knew that an unfamiliar face would only make things worse. So, it was a relief when Lord Elrond sent Nellasûl to grab Master Baggins from his room.

Master Baggins had been the only one who was able to calm Glírae down enough to crawl out from under the bed. It did take a better part of the hour, most of which they had spent outside the room, quietly discussing the events that occurred.

“Poor thing looked so scared.” Nellasûl said. “Have you any ideas on what triggered the fear flash?”

Lord Elrond looked deep in thought, but whatever he was thinking, he did not share. Miluiloss, however, had no problems sharing his.

“You asked him to remove his clothes so that we could examine him.” He explained. “He had a similar reaction yesterday when I asked him to take his soiled tunic off so he could wash the hot broth off.”

Nellasûl looked confused and a little worried.

“But taking your clothes off is standard for a healer’s visit, especially for potential burns. There is nothing wrong with it. And it’s not like we haven’t seen nudity before. Is he really that shy?”

“It was not shyness. It was terror.” Miluiloss said. “Shyness doesn’t get you a reaction that severe. Shyness also doesn’t have the patient threatening you when you get close, then pleading with you to get away from them.”

Nellasûl made a hum of agreement. She fidgeted nervously, occasionally glancing towards the shut door.

“What could have caused that, then? It’s concerning to see an elf fear other elves. Healers at that. We took vows to do no harm to our patients.”

Miluiloss nodded in agreement. Lord Elrond cleared his throat, gaining both of their attentions.

“I have a few ideas, but speculation will only cloud your judgment. We have the concerns that were brought up, and that is what we are here to investigate. Any theories should be saved for when we gather more information, unless you wish to cloud your judgement.”

Miluiloss felt like a scolded child at that but conceded to Lord Elrond’s point. Nellasûl bowed her head in apology.

“Will you tell me what happened before I arrived?” Lord Elrond asked.

“Oh, yes.” Nellasûl nodded. “Lord Miluiloss asked me to come in this morning to assist him with our patient. Lord Minuial is out in the forest gathering herbs, so I agreed. The patient was already awake when we arrived and was trying to leave. We asked if we could give him a general examination before he did.”

“You asked him. That was after I asked if I could look over the burns on his shoulder and palm.” Miluiloss clarified. “He agreed to just the burn examination. It was healing well, so all he needed was the burn medication for the next few days. However, once we asked about the general examination, it started to become... concerning.”

Nellasûl looked away, her cheeks starting to turn pink in shame and embarrassment.

“Concerning how?” Lord Elrond asked.

Miluiloss glared just a bit at his fellow healer. Nellasûl’s shameful look grew, but she faced Lord Elrond.

“It was... my fault.” She said. “I don’t... I don’t know what I said that caused him to panic like that-”

“You asked if we could give him an examination now that he was sitting on an infirmary bed. And implied that because I was removing his clothes anyways that it is simply more convenient.”

Nellasûl’s ears turned pink, and she buried her head in her hands for a moment. Still, she turned her annoyance onto him.

“It came out wrong, I know. But I don’t think I said anything wrong by asking if we could examine him! A general examination always involves removing at least the outer layers of clothing. You should have warned me that he was uncomfortable with it!”

“I must warn you not to ask a patient to take his clothes off?” Miluiloss bristled in offense.

“We ask all the time for general examinations. I thought that’s what we were doing. That’s what you asked me to accompany you for. You failed to warn me of that particular piece of information. You already knew he was uncomfortable with nudity, yet you didn’t tell me.”

“Because I only asked you to accompany me and take notes while I treated a burn and prescribed him medication for it. I didn’t ask for you to try to take over my patient.” Miluiloss said. “You cross a boundary when you asked to examine him when you were not his healer. What made you think it was appropriate?”

Nellasûl glared at him, even though her ears were fully red now.

“Concerns were brought up to us that I believed needed to be examined. Is it wrong to be concerned about someone, especially when the concerns were worrying?” Nellasûl snapped. “Forgive me for trying to help.”

Miluiloss felt a stab of anger in his chest.

“You looked through my notes? For a patient that was not yours? Do you know how many rules you have broken by doing that?”

Nellasûl shook her head.

“Not just your notes, my Lord. They were left on my desk as well.” She snapped back. “Mithrandir left a list of concerns on my Lord Minuial’s desk and asked me to hand them to him when he returns. I’m his assistant, so I read them. And I’m a trained healer just as much as you are!”

“I’m not-”

“Enough. We will get nowhere if all we do is argue.” Lord Elrond said. “What happened after Nellasûl asked him to undress?”

“He panicked again. It was almost an instant fear flash. He threatened to jump out the window if she went near his clothes. I asked him if we could do minimally invasive examinations, such as having him stand on the scale. He threatened to bite me if I touched him. Then we went to grab you and you know the rest, My Lord.”

Lord Elrond sighed heavily but asked to see Miluiloss’ notes. He read them in silence and nothing else was said between them for the rest of the hour.

It was a relief when the smaller elf made his way out and they were allowed back inside. Sure, Glírae was shaking and crying and seemed closer to panicking again than was comfortable, but thankfully none of the harm to his person like he was warned.

“Are you alright?” Master Baggins asked as he fretted over the elf.

Glírae didn’t respond other than a small, shaky nod. He looked very nervous as he gaged the hobbit for a sign of anger or annoyance. Miluiloss didn’t miss the way his body language changed from terrified aggression to a more subdued, closed off passiveness. His eyes lowered to the floor, his limbs tensed, and he positioned himself in a way to block his vital organs from being targeted. It was a seamless switch, as if it was second nature to him.

He would have to keep an eye on that. It was just another sign that something was seriously wrong. It reminded him of...

“What happened?” Master Baggins asked, fixing Glírae’s hair like a mother would a child. “What scared you?”

Glírae opened his mouth to respond but closed it right away. He shook his head, shrinking even further into himself while a flush appeared on his cheeks. Master Baggins’s gaze softened. His hands left the elf’s hair, which seemed to both relieve and disappoint him.

“Can’t speak at the moment?” He asked. “Are your words stuck again?”

Again? That was another thing to add to the list of potential problems. While it was common for Men to be at a loss for words during stressful times, and sometimes at other moments (or in some unfortunate cases, permanently), it was practically unheard of for elves, whose voices were integral to their lives. Elves were auditory by nature, and to silence an elf’s voice would be like removing a limb...

This case just turned from moderate to severe if the facts given to him were correct.

Glírae flinched back, his fingers digging into the fabric of his borrowed white tunic. Miluiloss has struggled getting him dressed last night after washing off the broth, and now it made him look even smaller and more pitiful.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t ever apologize for being afraid. It’s not your fault.” Master Baggins said firmly. “And you don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. Would you like some space?”

The trembling resumed as Glírae shook his head. Master Baggins said something in a low voice. Miluiloss couldn’t quite make out the question, but Glírae gave a nod of his head. He took a deep breath, then forced himself to stand back up. Miluiloss had to blink to get the full image of him, even though he had seen him before. It felt different now.

He was rather cute, in a delicate sort of way. He could see why the Dwarf prince had a fascination with him (or rather, a dangerous obsession that gave him a terrible feeling in his heart), even if Miluiloss himself didn’t see the desirability or the appeal to have him as a partner. Perhaps it was because his heart was already taken by another, but this type of beauty did not strike his fancy in that way. He resembled more like his children than that of his wife...

No matter on that, though. He was neither his child nor his spouse, so that train of thought was pointless. Still, he could see why someone, even a Dwarf, would grow obsessed.

Glírae stood still, looking at Lord Elrond as if he were awaiting instructions. He still made no eye contact with anyone, though that was common with some during moments of high anxiety. Master Baggins stood next to him, though his eyes were on Glírae and Glírae alone. He resembled a worried parent, even though his charge was twice his size.

“He would continue with a general examination. He might not be able to answer most questions right away, but he’ll calm if you give him time.” Master Baggins said. “And if I’m allowed to be in the room.”

Well, that would make things easier than allowing him to leave like Miluiloss was ready to do. However...

“He does not have to, if he doesn’t want to.” Lord Elrond reassured him first. “We can reschedule for another time, when he is less stressed, and we can find some common ground to minimize this.”

Master Baggins shook his head in time with Glírae. The elf looked tempted, and he glanced over to the open door, but stayed put. Miluiloss didn’t miss the way that his feet shifted as if he were ready to run, only to stop when Master Baggins began to speak again.

“No. No, that won’t work. If you let him walk out this door, he will never come back unless you drag him by force. It’s better to just get it over with and save him the stress of waiting for it to happen.”

The response was quick and well-rehearsed, as if Master Baggins spent a lot of time speaking for him about this particular subject. Miluiloss was left with even more questions and even more concerns that needed to be investigated.

“Is that alright with you, Glírae? You are allowed to say no, and we will not keep you here if you do.”

Glírae seemed surprised that he was being addressed directly (another concern to add to the many), but he nodded his head. He tried to say something, and looked frustrated when the sound came out muted. Still, he tried again.

“Yes. Yes, it’s fine sir.” His voice was soft and strained, still thick with tears.

(Sir? That was a strange way to address him. He was neither a knight nor a ruling lord. Perhaps a cultural misunderstanding?)

“Is there anything that you would like us to avoid? Or that we should know?”

He wanted to say something. Miluiloss could see it in the way he tensed and swallowed down his thoughts. However, something stopped him before he could, and his eyes dulled over in a frightening, lifeless way. Glírae shook his head, even though he unconsciously pulled his clothes tighter across his body. It was obvious what he wanted to ask but was too afraid to say (Their list was growing ever more extensive by the moment). At least, one of his requests.

The clothes stayed on, then. Simple enough, even if it was not ideal.

“Alright then. Remember that you can stop us at any time, and you are allowed to say no. We take patient autonomy very seriously here.” Lord Elrond said.

Glírae nodded, though whether he fully understood that was questionable. Still, Miluiloss wasn’t going to question his intelligence until proven otherwise, so he accepted that as consent. Tentatively, of course. Even if Glírae would not voice his complaints, he would be looking out for whatever made him uncomfortable. Miluiloss only hoped that Glírae hadn’t fully mastered the art of keeping his emotions numb, otherwise he might cross a boundary he didn’t know about.

Master Baggins sat in the corner of the room, keeping a watchful eye but otherwise not interfering or making comments. Glírae occasionally looked back at him, but otherwise focused on the healers. Miluiloss took over for the exam, while Lord Elrond recorded the medical notes.

A routine examination followed. Glírae said nothing throughout it, and it was an uncomfortable silence only broken by Miluiloss speaking the results out load.

The results themselves only made Miluiloss worry even more (so much that he was sure his hair would grey).

First, they asked Glírae to step on the scale to get a baseline weight (the clothes were light enough to not be an issue). Miluiloss initially thought the scale was broken with how low it read, but discretely testing it after Glírae stepped off showed it was perfectly fine. He quickly asked Lord Elrond to mark down the weight – a mere 120 pounds! – on the chart, while writing a quick “underweight” next to it. Issues with food indeed...

His height was simple enough. He was small for an ellon, but height was such a fickle thing with elves in general. It wasn’t unheard of for an elf of the Third Age to be the height of Men, even if it wasn’t common. However, a comment made under Glírae’s breath caught his attention. Lord Elrond's as well, judging by the looks of alarm he sent Miluiloss.

“Huh. I grew again. That’s neat.” Glírae had whispered.

“Glírae, how old are you?” Miluiloss asked, then quickly corrected himself. “Just so we have a baseline if you are not done maturing yet.”

Glírae had frozen underneath Miluiloss’s hands, which were gently leading him to the bed for a physical examination. He was lightly trembling with each step taken, and they were all preparing for him to attempt to run for the windows again.

“Oh... um... I’m... I’m not sure...” Glírae answered after a while. “I... lost track at some point.”

Now, that was certainly uncommon, even for a race as long lived as theirs. While time and age may have flown together faster than others, they still kept track, if not just to brag to each other about how far they have survived.

“Are you an adult, at least? Are you of age?” Lord Elrond asked, his voice clinical and hidden from all worry.

“Huh? Yes, yes, I am. I have been for years now.” Glírae nodded.

“Are you certain?” Nellasûl asked from her observation corner. “You are rather small.”

Miluiloss sighed inwardly at her lack of tact. Glírae, however, looked almost offended at the question, and he blushed a rather pretty pink. He sat down on the bed with a small huff.

“Yes, I am. I reached my majority, even before I met Bilbo. I can drink, marry, sign my own contracts, everything you can. I’m an adult.”

He wasn’t lying from what Miluiloss could tell. Still, he watched Lord Elrond mark something on the charts, then asked to proceed with the examination.

The physical examination was the most difficult part.

Nellasûl had to take over for them, after Glírae had frozen under Miluiloss’ hand in terror the moment he had him asked to lay on his back so they could check his stomach. Lord Elrond had attempted to take over after Miluiloss accidentally brushed his hand over his chest (Glírae had jumped so bad that Miluiloss was originally worried that he had hurt him somehow), but it only served to make the smaller elf more frightened. Thinking it must have been how they did tower over him, which was intimidating all on its own, they had asked their smaller, female healer to take over while they stepped off to the side.

It did not help. In fact, it seemed that having a female healer seemed to frighten him far worse than a male healer. Nellasûl’s soft voice, as well as her terms of endearment to him, caused Glírae such distress (a distress, that for some reason, she did not notice even though it was clear as day) that Lord Elrond had to stop the examination just as she finished checking the force in his arms.

“That is enough for today.” Lord Elrond said, stopping her just before she could ask him to remove his clothes for a further examination (as she apparently did not learn her lesson). “We have all the information we need for now. You are free to leave and grab something to eat. Lunch is being served soon. I can escort you to the dining hall.”

Glírae looked all too relieved to be done, and practically tripped over himself to leave the bed. Master Baggins followed suit, and they all left with Lord Elrond.

Miluiloss stayed behind to categorize the notes and to write his own concerns. There were many, and most of them awful.

He didn't miss the way Glírae's aversion to touch extended to all of them, but especially Nellasûl. Her voice seemed to only panic him more, even when her language became simple and her touch gentle. It seemed at some point she had begun to speak to him like she would to the children of Men, but it frightened him more than insulted him.

He didn't miss the way Glírae kept his legs pressed firmly together at all times, even when they were doing something mundane like checking his ears.

He didn't miss the way that Glírae's eyes unfocused every time he was asked to move or shift.

And he certainly didn't miss the way that he did not look at Master Baggins, even though he was there for his emotional support. Not once did he look over at him.

He needed to speak to Lord Elrond about this.

But first, he needed a word with Nellasûl.

Chapter 31: Chapter 30

Chapter Text

Lindir was greeted with an enticing sight.

“Hello, my darling.” He breathed in wonder and traced the tips of his fingers against that soft, cotton hair. “You look as lovely as ever. Perhaps even more, like this.”

Glírae shuddered under him but leaned in closer to his touch. He didn’t strain against the bindings on his wrists or thighs, only trying to increase their touch. He didn’t even shake his head to rid himself of the cloth that bound his sight dark, already knowing who his lover was. Lindir’s heart swelled with love at how much Glírae trusted him like this.

“Please, sir.”

Lindir chuckled, but he was not a cruel elf. He pressed his hand against his cheek, revealing in the heat, and leaned down for a kiss. It was returned clumsily, which was adorable. He pushed him tighter against the sheets, and the beautiful creature he had been gifted returned his energy with increasing enthusiasm.

The rest flew by in a hazy, hot blur. Lindir did not remember the actions so much as the pleasure that blinded him. Everything melded together into a sensation of heat and stinging pain and overwhelming bliss. The body underneath molded to his touch, bending in every way he commanded and obeying him with such delicate submission that he was sure he could die from happiness.

His skin looked loveliest when it had been bruised by his hand-

Lindir woke up with a start, drenched in sweat and far too hot for comfort. The fire of passion was everywhere, from his legs to his chest to his head. He panted against his pillow, trying to catch the breath that that dream had stolen from him. It took far too long to calm himself down, and even far longer before he could feel his legs enough to stand to prepare a bath he now desperately needed.

He needed much more than a bath, but that issue was less likely to occur at the time.

It was far earlier than he was used to getting up at, and he debated whether he should return to bed. However, one feel of his thighs proved that it was a horrible idea. His legs shook as he stood, in that pleasant way it did after a night of carnal fun. It was a shame that it had to happen only in a dream. The lack of intimacy in the morning made him feel far too cold, even as his skin overheated.

It was strange, really. Lindir did not usually have those types of dreams, even when he was with a long-term partner. Nor had it involved... those... types of activities, as he had never been much interested in anything that involved outside help. He wasn’t sure what that dream had meant for him, or if it awakened something in him, but it was a little less than pleasant to realize how much he wanted to mark and possess that beauty.

It was far too intense for a person who he had just met, and he doubted Glírae would agree to surrender himself so readily and completely to Lindir, even with a promise of not being hurt during it. That sort of trust was not built on the first night, nor did he want to taint his experience with the exhaustive work that came with that.

No. No, he would prefer not to do that. It was just a dream, so it wasn’t anything to worry about.

( Even if it felt so good... )

Lindir was dazed as he undressed himself and filled the tub, not caring that the water was cold. He would need the water cold for his little problem. Even after his bath, the tingling phantom pleasure lingered, making his heart ache as he stared at his bed, which looked so lonely without the partner of his dreams in it. He did not care if he was tied to it.

He needed to see Glírae again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lindir did not have to wait very long to see the object of his newfound desires. The beauty had graced the hall with his presence again. He walked in behind Lord Elrond, all shy and bashful and sweet. His oversized clothes were gone, and in place was the white and gold laced tunic that showed off his lithe and delicate form and made him seem as if he were just... radiating.

( He looked better with nothing on )

It hugged his frame nicely, showing every soft curve and part of him that was just begging to be loved and gripped and squeezed and pleased. The sleeves puffed out at the ends with longer fabric (also embroidered with those strange birdcage bar designs), which only showed how diminutive and petite he was when compared to those he was standing next to (not that it was hard with how unnaturally tall Lord Elrond was). The tunic went down to his mid thighs, and underneath was a pair of tight white trousers and rather worn through working boots (How wretched such cheap things looked on him. Lindir would get him something better than those). His hair still hung loose around him in those delicate curls, and it caused a heat to burn in his stomach at seeing such an intimate sight.

A rush of euphoria ran through him as he remembered how soft that hair felt underneath his fingertips the night before, and wondered if it would be the same in real life ( and if he would allow Lindir to grab on and pull, should he ask ).

Glírae didn't look around at them, as he was quickly ushered to the table where food was being served. Lord Elrond carefully stepped behind him to usher him towards it, and it blocked Lindir’s view. In just a few blinks, Glírae was lost in the crowd.

It was a shame. Lindir wanted his eyes on him again, even if it was just for a moment. He didn’t get that in the dream, and he craved it so. It made him almost dizzy to think about what would happen if he gained his full attention for longer than a moment. For longer than a night. One night. Just one night was all he needed, even if it was far, far less than what he wanted.

( One night is not enough. It will never be enough )

Which was fine. Lindir wasn’t a bad lover. He could convince him for a second time if he impressed him during the first. And while he was not the most skilled like some others (Lindir made a mental note to keep him far away from Lord Gildor), he would make up for that with the sheer passion that he could bring. He wouldn’t dare hold back, nor even think of giving him less than his best performance when the time came. Someone of that caliber deserved nothing more than his full attention, and perhaps he could return the favor with his…

Lindir shook his head free of those thoughts before they could go somewhere embarrassing for the public eyes and got up to serve himself some more lunch, even though his plate was still half full. You couldn't go wrong with a little more dessert, after all, and his appetite was ruined for food not as sweet as he was picturing their guest as.

Glírae was still behind Lord Elrond, who was filling his plate with sweet bread rolls, sandwiches and a side of hearty soup. Glírae’s plate was identical, as it seemed he allowed for the older elf to choose his lunch for him. Beside him, the Hobbit, Master Baggins, had his plate piled high with a little bit of everything and then some.

Glírae, to his surprise, was holding the full tray in one hand, and balancing another tray of drinks in another. None were swaying as he walked, not even the full glasses of wine and juice, and he moved without so much as looking at them. It was with such practiced eased that it must have been second nature. A servant, then? A laborer, perhaps? It would explain the freckles that complimented his otherwise fair face.

They were the same then.

That made things so much easier. And so much better, now that he knew that he did not need to seduce an elf of noble stock. Rather than expensive wooing and showing off his accomplishments, all he really needed were flattering words (which was easy, as there was so much about him to love) and some gentle touches to set the mood. Perhaps even a song or two to show that he really cared about his pleasure and to prove himself a loving partner.

His face was starting to heat up.

Luckily (for his body, at least), he ran into them soon afterwards, before the redness could be seen on his cheeks. They were at the dessert table, where Lord Elrond was piling his own plate up with fried dough and sweet tarts. Master Baggins was close behind him in treats, while Glírae had no dessert and made no indication of wanting any (His suspicions of a servant background were confirmed with how easily he carried 4 plates). He even wrinkled his cute button nose when Lord Elrond offered him one of the milder tasting treats and shook his head.

He was not fond of sweets, then. Lindir could forgive that for the face alone, and that simply meant that there was more for him. That, or he would just have to find a dessert that he liked. The Avari were all different, so surely something sweet from his culture was more to his taste. He would ask about it when he got the chance.

“Scone, Lindir?” Lord Elrond asked before he could say anything. “Or perhaps an apple tart?”

His tone was one of amusem*nt, and his eye twinkled in that way showed when he knew something about you. If Lindir’s cheeks weren’t warm before, they certainly were now.

“Just a few tarts, my lord.” He responded, and it took all his vocal training to keep his voice still. “If you are looking for a seat, I have a spot at a table nearby.”

Lindir tried his hardest not to openly stare at Glírae.

“Thank you for the offer. We accept. Lead the way.” Lord Elrond said, not even bothering to hide how funny he thought this must be.

Was he truly so obvious?

He led the way back to the table, which had now become crowded minus the four seats left for them. Lindir noticed the company they had attracted immediately, both male and female elves squeezing themselves into the benches to try to get as close to Lindir’s spot as possible, whereas it was but empty just a few moments ago. A few had half eaten plates, which only pointed to them moving from their original spots to come over to him. Others had no plates at all, which was more than a little strange.

He had a feeling it was not his company that they suddenly wanted to bask in.

That point was proven when a silence washed over them as Glírae set down the drinks and his plate on the spot next to Lindir (his heart almost stopped in sheer glee). With all the grace in the world, he sat on the bench in between him and Master Baggins. Lindir was not proud of himself for the way his eyes drifted to how his hips moved as he made himself comfortable, nor how his mind wandered dangerously to thoughts about getting them to move like that in another way...

No. No, not yet. He was not going to think about that yet, no matter how much he craved it. How much he needed it.

(Andoh, did he needit)

Lunch was a quiet affair, as everyone was far too busy staring (some openly, others more reserved) at Glírae as he took small bites of his sandwich and soup. Glírae did his best to ignore them, though Lindir could see the way he was shrinking in on himself the longer their eyes were on him. Master Baggins led the conversation with him, asking Lord Elrond various questions about Imladris and what there was for them to do. Glírae occasionally asked his own question, and Lindir made sure to hang on to every word.

“Is there a place where I would be able to sew?” He asked.

Sew? He enjoyed sewing? Lindir’s ears perked up at this. Perhaps he had been wrong about his status?

“Is that your craft?” Lindir asked. “Are you a tailor?”

Glírae’s cheeks dusted pink at the question. Master Baggins answered for him, which only aggravated Lindir a little (or a lot, since it meant that he could not hear his bell-like voice).

“He’s a housekeeper! Sewing is just one of his many skills, but he tends to focus on making toys for the children in the Shire.” Master Baggins said with pride, as if that was the best possible thing to be. “His embroidery is wonderful as well. It’s sought after enough that Hobbit lasses ask him to make their wedding gifts!”

Lindir tried not to cringe when Glírae’s cheeks only turned redder at the Hobbit’s words. That simply wouldn’t do. If he was to be a servant rather than following his craft, then he at the very least should have been in a higher position than that of a single domestic cleaner who would be replaced the moment he could be.

“We can arrange something for you. You would have to purchase your own fabrics, however.” Lord Elrond said. “Or if it’s just to entertain yourself, I’m sure the tailors wouldn’t mind having a helper for mending. It would save them time to help them complete their bigger projects.”

Glírae nodded in agreement and returned to eating silently (and Lindir did not focus on how soft his lips were, nor how much he really, really wanted to-). Lindir had to look away when he drank his juice to not stare at his throat and how it moved and-

Lindir instead made a note of the conversation. He would buy him all the fabric he wanted, and new needles and threads and dyes and whatever more he desired. Perhaps he would even give him enough to make clothing, if tailoring was one of his skills rather than simple toy making. And if he were to buy him all the fabric he wanted, then perhaps it would open an opportunity for Lindir to get to know him better. And for him to realize how great of a partner he would be.

Lindir shoved another pastry into his mouth and tried to keep his thoughts at bay.

It did not work. He had to excuse himself as soon as he was done. Lindir practically sprinted back to his room, trying to ignore the way Lord Elrond’s amusem*nt turned to concern as he did so. When he got to his rooms, he hurried to lock the door.

“Oh, Eru .” He cursed as he practically tore his clothes off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glírae was oblivious to the looks he was getting, and the attention he was receiving. Bilbo would have thought it amusing had he not been so concerned about how forward some of these elves were being, and it was not hard to realize what they were after from his friend. After watching one elf practically throw herself on him, to which Glírae still remained oblivious and spoke to her about fabric dyes, he decided to stay as close to him as possible.

It proved to be a good decision.

The elves had invited them all to a small party in the main courtyard that night. Well, they invited Glírae first, and Bilbo just happened to be there (which seemed to annoy them, but they were far too polite to say anything to a guest), but it still counted. Bilbo wasn't dumb enough to not see where that was going, nor was he too naive to recognize the type of attention his friend was getting (and it was not one Glírae would appreciate, if his suspicions were correct). They knew it too, judging by their blushes after flirting with Glírae and they realized that Bilbo was there. It was far too obvious, even for a bachelor like him.

He wasn't going to let anything happen to Glírae if he could help it. He loved the elf, but Glírae was not the smartest when it came to social interaction, and Bilbo would rather not him deal with whatever activities they were trying to convince him to do.

The party was put together with shockingly fast accuracy, with booths being propped up for food and with a bonfire being built and ready within the hour of the first invite being issued. There were musicians gathered around with instruments, dancers ready in their decorative clothing, and servers of all kinds waiting for guests. It was cozy and lively and completely came out of nowhere if Lord Elrond’s looks of confusion were anything to go by.

Bilbo almost groaned when he realized who this party was for.

That was confirmed when Glírae and Bilbo arrived with Lord Elrond, and Glírae was promptly pulled from their side to sit with a group of elven men and women. Lord Elrond was not given a second glance, which was also a shock to him. Lord Elrond took being ignored with grace, but Bilbo could see the frown on his features that he didn’t try to hide. Not that anyone but him noticed as he was the only one who did not have their eyes glued to his shy friend (Poor Glírae was turning pink from all the attention on him and trying to run away from all the booths offering him free food).

“Would you like a drink, Master Baggins?” Lord Elrond asked as he led him towards the drink table.

Bilbo wanted to be by Glírae’s side, but he would settle for a drink. It was easier to watch Glírae speak to love-drunk elves about cleaning tricks and childcare with a few ales in him than not.

“For a party thrown last minute, a lot of care went into the presentation.” Lord Elrond said as he handed Bilbo a wine glass filled to the brim. “They certainly were trying to impress your friend.”

Bilbo looked over to the blushing elf and human maidens who were desperately fixing their hair and clothes as Glírae was walking by. It was almost as bad as the elf and human gentlemen, who were not so subtly trying to push each other out of the way and subtly show off their strength. It was frankly embarrassing to see, and reminded Bilbo far too much of the birds he used to fling rocks at as a child.

“I think ‘seduce’ is a more accurate word.” Bilbo said after a long drink. “They’re trying so hard. Glírae won’t even notice them.”

Lord Elrond hummed in agreement and moved them over to a chair just close enough to watch. Glírae was nervously following around an elf lady with pins in her black hair and fingernails stained so blue that it contrasted on her pale skin. They were talking, so Bilbo wasn’t worried too much as Glírae seemed to be engaged in that conversation.

“That is Celeriel.” Lord Elrond explained as he finished his drink. “She’s one of our tailors. I asked her to see if we needed any help in mending clothing for the summer and that Glírae has sewing knowledge. She must be talking to him about it.”

Good then. Nothing too strange or scandalous like he feared. Sure, she seemed far too touchy for a first meeting, with her occasionally patting his shoulder or grazing his arm with her fingers, but there were no outward signs of her attempting to lead the conversation to more unsavory topics. Hopefully the night would stay that way and they would all stick to admiring his friend from afar.

Alas, he had spoken too soon.

The dancing had started just as the sun had begun to go down (and by that time, he and Lord Elrond had gone through 7 plates of food each and very pleasant conversations over various topics). Lamps were lit in unison around them, which was a pretty sight to behold. The glass on the lamps was strangely colored in a way that shone it around. Bilbo was so caught up with the light show that he almost missed just how well it hit Glírae.

He heard those around him gasp softly, and looking over, he almost did as well.

Glírae seemed to shine in the light, far differently than how he shone during the parties in the Shire. His clothes shone as bright as his hair, which was sparkling with the reflection of different colors around him and glittered as it moved. Gone was the aura of nerves, and in its place was an energy so soft and soothing that Bilbo could have sworn it overtook the buzz of the drinks. His skin shone clearer, his lips were redder and fuller, his eyes brighter, and his overall appearance twisting until it became a prized painting or sculpture one would only see in museums.

It was different. Glírae looked different. He even moved differently.

Glírae made his way out of the crowd of dancers, moving towards Bilbo’s table in a hurry. Bilbo shuddered when he saw him walk, as there was no small sway in his step, nor the heaviness of his footsteps. There was no indication of the clumsy little fellow he had known all these years. He moved like the flow of a gentle stream, or branches in the wind. It was beautiful and so, so wrong.

Was his friend always this pretty? Always this graceful?

Why did he seem to shimmer so bright?

“Oh sweet f*ck, that was a lot. Juro que casi me matan ahí afuera.”

The image shattered.

Bilbo blinked away the fuzz in his eyes as the world returned to normal. Glírae’s glow had vanished in a blink, along with that wrongness around him, and his friend was back to his usual state. His hair was back to its loose mess, no longer glittering, and the nerves around him were obvious once more. His movements were back to clumsy, with how he almost tripped taking a seat next to Bilbo.

Strange. Was he drunk already?

“Not a fan of dancing?” Lord Elrond asked, his amusem*nt breaking Bilbo out of his confusion.

Glírae just shook his head and let it fall down onto the table. He sighed a heavy sigh.

“I don’t like dancing. Never have. Not even with my parents or siblings. They kept asking me to dance to these songs I don’t know, so I’m just going to stay here with you guys.”

Bilbo gave him a pat on the head.

(Did his hair feel softer?)

“Do you want me to grab you some dinner?” Bilbo asked. “You haven’t eaten anything since you got here.”

He braced himself for their usual fight but was surprised when all Glírae did was nod.

“Yes, please. I can feel my stomach eating itself.”

Oh. Oh , it was one of the good days today. Bilbo held back his sigh of happiness and hurried over to the booth with food he knew Glírae would enjoy. It was a simple dough stuffed with wonderfully seasoned meat and vegetables, along with a nice cold glass of water for him. He didn’t miss the way that the elves ushered him to the front when he said it was for Glírae, but he ignored it in favor of grabbing the food. It took a good 10 minutes to get it, as the cook insisted on waiting for the freshest batches for him (or rather, for Glírae), but he had gotten it with an impressive amount of soup on the side.

“Make sure he eats it all.” The elf cook said. “He is too small to be dancing all night with no supper!”

Bilbo agreed and rushed back over to the table as quickly as the larger tray’s weight would allow him to go. However, he almost dropped it when he came across a different sight.

There was an elf standing there, this one taller and larger than any other he had seen (Which he did not think was possible). He was dressed in expensive golden robes, which matched so perfectly with his decorative golden hair (Bilbo hadn’t even known making that pattern was possible with hair) that it was hard to see where one started and the other ended. His skin was tanned from the sun, and he was so handsome that it almost hurt to look at him.

He also glowed, so there was that too.

The golden stranger stood next to Glírae, who was staring at him with a mix of horror and recognition. He flashed the smaller elf a pearly, toothy smile, which made Bilbo shudder. Glírae shrunk back in his seat, which the stranger seemed to not have noticed.

"Would you share my bed tonight?"

Glírae's expression went blank, and he blinked twice.

"Say what?"

Lord Elrond choked on his drink.

Chapter 32: Chapter 31

Chapter Text

Rivendell parties were special in a way that made everyone excited, depending on the occasion and the expectations. It wasn’t uncommon for them to happen, as elves loved to party and pass the time with drink and song, but usually they were planned at least a few days in advance. However, the arrival of a new guest was enough to celebrate, especially with this new guest being… so very lovely.

It was almost criminal that they couldn’t have given him something like this yesterday, when he had arrived, but being a little late was alright so long as they made sure it would exceed his expectations. Glorfindel vibrated with excitement the full day as they set it up, and it was utter torture to wait until his patrol could be released to ready himself. Every step towards his room was electrifying, and he would have ran had there not been so many people in the hallways.

“Rushing much, my Lord?” One of the female staff chuckled as she passed by him unlocking his room. “Are you in love again?”

Glorfindel gave a sheepish smile back.

It wasn’t a surprise how excited he was, and the teasing had become almost a normal thing in Rivendell. Which was fine, as there was no lie to it. Glorfindel was the type of person that had a lot of love in him.

Love was just such a wonderful thing, and it was only natural to want to share with as many people as he could. Love felt good, and love helped others feel good as well, whether that may be emotional, romantic or things of a more physical nature. Love felt wonderful, whether that be loving embraces in the courtyard, sweet kisses shared through passing loves, or nights of burning passion in the sheets.

There were many, many people that he had loved in that way, yet none of them had brought forth that warmth that he didn’t know that he had been yearning for. None of them had set a fire so hot that only his death could compare to it. No one had ever stolen his breath away at first sight and yearned for his love. No one had made him weak at the knees and short of breath and made him wish to be the one who had gone to seek them out instead, rather than wait for those that wished for his love to come to him.

Glorfindel knew love, and he wanted to love the Avari visitor. He wanted it so much, it ached.

He glanced outside his large balcony, watching the preparations being made and checking for what would be offered that night. The food was being set up in the stands, and it smelled as delicious as ever. The musicians were setting up as well, and it was Glorfindel’s luck that the notes they were practicing were for songs meant to be danced with a partner and more intimate than most.

It was one of those parties, then, that were meant to encourage the merrymaking of all that wished to indulge and let themselves go for the night. They weren’t common, but they were the ones that they looked forward to the most then. Glorfindel was glad that they had chosen this type of party as an introduction, as it would surely be the most fun for that lovely guest to be welcomed to. Plus, love in the air made everything that much sweeter, and he was sure that half of Rivendell would be participating in more intimate activities by the time night hit.

There was no shame in it. He couldn’t wait.

He had dressed himself finely for the party, with so much care put in to show off his appearance (including the strength and beauty he had been known for and aided him in seeking out more elves to love) that he arrived hours late. It was no matter, really, other than the tightness in his chest at the worry that someone else had come to steal away his new love’s affections first. It was a useless worry, however, as he had found his love unclaimed and alone sitting at a table with Lord Elrond.

It must have been fate, then, to have such a wonder be left alone for him. Such a lovely little thing should have been snatched up by the first hour, and perhaps by first arrival, yet here he was without a partner nor suitor hanging off him. He doubted Lord Elrond counted, as he was interacting with him as he would his own children.

He was even more beautiful than when he first saw him from upon his horse at the entrance where he had come in with his Dwarven friends. The Avari, whose name must be as soft as the rest of him, was clean now, letting him see the shining white hair that had caught his eye. His freckles were on full display now, and Glorfindel yearned to count each of them. His clothing complimented him well, especially the soft shade of his skin.

White suited him well. Glorfindel would be content to see him dressed in it forever, even if a nice gold would also do wonders for him. Oh, what he would give to dress him the fashion of Gondolin, for he would have outshone everyone there.

Glorfindel’s heart swelled as his love raised his head from the table and rubbed at his eyes, as if tired and wishing to sleep. It was adorable, especially when his Lord reached over to pass him a glass of water with a tender smile. His love drank it down, and Glorfindel couldn’t help but turn giddy as he pushed his hair out of the way. He could see his eyes now, and they were so warm and cozy like a gentle embrace, even if they were dropping with exhaustion.

Perhaps it would do well to let him sleep a bit that night before they began. Glorfindel was strong and powerful, after all, and would surely exhaust him in his passion, so he would want his lover to have the energy to endure him. Even at his gentlest, it would be disappointing to tire him out before they could reach the height of their love. The rumored inexperience that had reached his ears only added to that worry.

Plus, he wouldn’t mind just holding him close. He looked like he would fit perfectly in his arms, and he would feel safe being protected by Glorfindel’s strength.

Glorfindel made his way over to the table, ignoring the disappointed glances thrown at him from those that were also eyeing the Avari, as well as the curious ones of his former lovers and his admirers (Which was unfortunate, but they had their chance to ask before he had arrived). A few of them gave him encouraging smiles and gestures, which boosted his confidence to charm. Many of his admirers even looked excited as he approached him, and Glorfindel felt that boost his confidence even more.

After all, it was no secret in Rivendell how skilled he was and how many recommended him as a partner to others. It had been the same in Gondolin, but Rivendell had far less rules for who he could have fun with. He was lucky it was Rivendell where they met. They would have never spoken in Gondolin.

He met Lord Elrond’s eyes first, who only raised a curious eyebrow as he looked at his decorative clothes (a contrast to the more casual wear of his Lord, though not nearly as decorative as some other attendees). Glorfindel gave a smile back, only to be met with Lord Elrond’s eyes widening in shock for a second before darting towards his tablemate. He must have already guessed what he was there to offer, but it was alright. He had never stopped one of Glorfindel’s proposals before.

He stopped in front of his love, who startled at his presence and had to look up to see his face. He marveled at his height, it seemed, as did most people who had met Glorfindel. Glorfindel didn’t miss the way his eyes moved to his defined muscles, his strong build, nor the power in his stance. He must have been impressed, if the faint flush upon his cheeks was anything to go by as well as the sharp intake of breath.

It made his heart sing, and he positioned himself in such a way to bring more emphasis to his most desirable features.

Glorfindel responded by making a bow in greeting. The Avari made a tiny squeak then bowed his head rather low, keeping his hands in front to show they were empty. He didn’t raise it to meet his eyes until Glorfindel began to speak, and even then, his eyes were kept respectfully away. It was disappointing, but he’d be looking at him again soon.

‘Such strange manners. They’re so very old. Perhaps his culture has not evolved much?’

“Greetings, fair one.” Glorfindel said, earning a strange look from Lord Elrond (which was strange, but that was not important). “I missed the chance to greet you earlier, so I am here now. I am Glorfindel of Rivendell now, though I have gone by many other names and titles. And what may I call you, lovely one?”

The beauty’s eyes widened for a moment in recognition, which was all the better. It certainly helped when attempting to charm another person, and he had not been denied before whenever he named himself.

The Avari pulled his hands closer to his chest, as if he were trying to steady himself. Ah, Glorfindel must have truly amazed him if he had shocked him enough like that! Perhaps he was trying to fathom the attention he was getting from a figure of legend, which was also common. It mattered not, as Glorfindel was prepared to assure him of his own beauty all night.

“Um… hello, sir. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Glírae…”

His voice was soft and sweet. It reminded him of the pretty Canary birds that Gondolin’s court kept, though he was much fairer. His voice was simply perfect, and he could not wait to hear him say his name with it as that was all he would soon remember.

Lord Elrond hummed from the corner, taking a glass of wine from a party attendant that had come to offer a tray (a ploy it seemed, to cheer Glorfindel on with his attempt to flirt, as the attendant gave him a smile and mouthed a quick “good luck, m’lord”). He also offered a drink to Glorfindel, but Glorfindel found himself unable to take his eyes off the Avari, Glírae, for very long.

Glírae was such a lovely name, for a lovely person to go with.

A small bundle of nerves was beginning to form as he looked at those beautiful brown eyes, seeing the world itself in them. It was difficult to fathom how much Glorfindel desired him, and the sudden thought of losing him was now on his mind. Despite the very low chance of being denied, it stung to think that it would be a possibility.

No matter. Charm was something that came naturally to him.

“You look lovely tonight.”

That seemed to have worked, as a start. Glírae’s blush traveled up his ears and across his cheeks until his freckles stood out among the pink. It was adorable. Glorfindel wanted to see more of that sight.

“I… um, thank you… You as well, sir.”

Glorfindel smiled brightly, all nerves of rejection melting away. Glírae found him pleasing to look at as well, then. There was no need to waste time, then, if this is what they both wanted.

“Would you share my bed tonight?”

The reaction was not what he had been expecting. Glorfindel had been expecting soft blushes and squeals, or perhaps very enthusiastic declarations of excitement, or even the rare few times they had gone and dragged him impatiently to the bedroom. Sure, it was rare that he would ask for passion anymore, but the few times he did were met with nothing but flattery and contentment.

The color draining from his face was not what he expected.

“Say what?” Glírae’s tone went upwards in what Glorfindel could only describe as terror.

Oh? That reaction was…

Whatever Glorfindel was going to say was interrupted by Lord Elrond snorting and choking on the glass of red wine, which was even more shocking coming from someone known for being so composed and hard to shock. Just as Glorfindel was about to ask his Lord if he was alright, he was interrupted again by a small being pushing him out of the way (with a bump to his thigh, no less!) and placing a tray of hot food down in front of Glírae.

Glorfindel recognized him as one of the guests that arrived with the Dwarven group, and the only one that Glírae kept in contact with during his stay. They had greeted each other briefly when Glorfindel had escorted the unruly Dwarves out of the dining halls, though there was little he could say about him other than he had been very angry over Glírae being attacked. Rightfully so.

Perhaps a protective friend? Glorfindel had heard of those but had yet to stumble upon them at these types of events.

“Sorry that I took so long, Glírae. I got your dinner.” The Hobbit, Master Baggins, said. “Are you alright, Lord Elrond?”

Lord Elrond took a few more deep breaths and drank down the last of his wine, and he responded to the question by grabbing a glass of water to drink instead. That was even stranger, yet he couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong…

Strange.

Glírae didn’t react to Lord Elrond, nor the food placed in front of him or the fussing of the Hobbit as he fixed his tunic and sat a napkin down on his lap. Rather, he was staring at Glorfindel, and looking more and more mortified as he processed the question. Master Baggins tapped his arm, and Glírae flinched at the contact until his face erupted in a dark blush.

It wasn’t an appealing sight this time, and Glorfindel felt rather sick looking at it now. All of his formal arousal vanished in an instant, and any form of attraction was replaced by a rather dark feeling (not quite anger, yet certainly unpleasant) the darker Glírae’s face became. Then there was a faint tremble in his body and a quick flash of utter revulsion.

It was awful to look at, and it made his heart sting. Glírae shaking his head “no” made the sting worse, confirming his suspicion.

Oh dear. Perhaps it wasn’t what Glorfindel originally thought.

That certainly wasn’t normal. What was this… pain in the chest he was feeling?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bilbo felt a surge of anger light up his chest when Glírae shakily pushed the place away, with a small whisper of “I'm not hungry anymore.” The joy at a good night for his friend was ruined, and who knew if this would be one of those nights where he could get Glírae to eat anything anymore.

“Come again?”

The unwanted suitor sounded offended, which very much ground Bilbo’s gears. The rejection was very much clear, after all, and he was the one responsible for the dampening of the night! Perhaps it was all the drinks Bilbo had, but he had half a mind to pull him down by the ear and give him a talking to that he would never forget!

Alas, Glírae stopped him. It would do no good to let go of his anger while he was in such a fragile state.

“I… I’m not interested, sir. I mean… Lord Glorfindel.” Glírae stuttered out, gripping the tablecloth so hard it turned his knuckles white. “I’m sorry.”

Bilbo really didn’t think the apology at the end was necessary, but his friend was far too stressed for a correction. It certainly didn’t help that he himself could feel the stares around him, and hear some of the whispers of disappointment coming from the surrounding elves that were shamelessly watching Glírae’s embarrassment.

He had half a mind to scold them too!

“Oh no! A rejection!”

“He rejected Lord Glorfindel? But why?”

Bilbo could think of several reasons, but none of them were any of their business!

“He’s a wonderful lover and so handsome! I thought for sure that this would be wonderful!”

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing!”

“They’d make such a wonderful couple! They are both beautiful people! They’d go down in legend as the most perfect romance!”

Bilbo doubted that last statement. Glírae’s dream spouse would be no one but his own solitude in the comfort of the Shire, surrounded by nothing but his hobbies and his friends. And certainly not a tall, strong Lord that asked for a night of sex as the first meeting.

Bilbo wouldn’t allow it!

“Oh.” Lord Glorfindel sounded disappointed and hurt.

Bilbo was just about to give him the tongue lashing he had been holding back (he could comfort Glírae later after he had torn this elf a new one), when Glorfindel just shook his head and smiled. (Was that a white cloud he blinked out of his eyes?)

“That is quite alright, then. I apologize if my question made you uncomfortable. My offer still stands, but there is no pressure to accept it, and I will also like to extend the offer to simple encounters not in the bedroom. Perhaps join me for breakfast sometime?”

It certainly didn’t sound alright! The words were strained and forced with no emotion behind them, as if he were repeating a pre-written speech! Not only did he greatly offend Glírae’s honor and dignity by asking for something so personal from him, in public no less, but now he disrespected him by expecting another meeting?

Had this been the Shire, he could have faced the social shunning of the century!

Glírae finally looked up, though the flush on his face was still bright and clear. He made no response other than a small shake of his head, and he grabbed onto Bilbo’s arm for comfort.

“It’s quite alright if you say no to that as well.” Lord Glorfindel said, then bowed in apology. “Once again, I’m sorry. I will take my leave now then. Please enjoy your dinner, Master Glírae. You as well, Master Baggins. Lord Elrond.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned around and left into the crowd of elves. They all stared at him as he left, then turned back to Glírae when he was lost into the crowd.

Glírae shook as more eyes came upon him.

His stomach growling broke Bilbo out of his angry resolve. Lord Elrond was quicker, however, and he made quick work of handing off the used plates to the eavesdropping servants (along with a look so stern that they all fled from them).

“Glírae.” Lord Elrond gently nudged him. “Would you like to take this dinner up to your room?”

Glírae nodded slowly, and Bilbo saw tears start to well up in his eyes.

Bilbo gathered the plates of food while Lord Elrond grabbed the glasses. On their way out, Bilbo glared at every elf that complained that Glírae didn’t say yes. It did nothing, as their eyes were still locked on his friend rather than him.

Another wave of rage hit him when he saw Lord Glorfindel in the distance holding his arm out to another elven maiden, who squealed and leaped into his arms for a kiss. The very nerve of him!

Bilbo took a deep breath to calm his anger and followed Glírae to his room.

Glírae ate in silence on the floor with him and was only a few bites in before he started crying. Bilbo rushed to comfort him, and he found himself buried in his friend's chest.

"Glírae, what's on your mind?" He asked. "I can keep him away from you, if you want. That was very rude of him."

Glírae didn't seem to pay attention to his words and only stared ahead, much like he did when he was lost in his own thoughts.

"Did... Did he think I was a whor* or... Do I look like one? Is that why?"

Bilbo's stomach dropped to his feet.