Your feet slipped on loose coins, nearly sliding out from under you as you made a desperate dash to hide behind a massive column of carven green stone, not daring to look back at the scale-armored behemoth that followed behind you, trailing its massive tail through the treasure hoard with a relentless, metallic scraping.
Cowering in the column’s shadow, you tried to quiet the ragged gasps that made you lightheaded, praying that the creature would somehow overlook your presence. The noise of its lumbering progress through the hall ceased, and your heartbeat seemed so loud in the sudden silence that you feared it might give away your position. There came the soft clink of shifting coins quite near you, and you flattened yourself against the cool stone, squeezing your eyes tightly shut in your fear.
The voice was quieter, silkier, calling to mind the warning growl of a predatory cat, and much too near your ear.
“Calm down. I look a lot worse than I am.”
With a start, you opened your eyes to find yourself looking into the face of a man.
sat wringing your hands as you sat beside Kili who was failing to
engage you in conversation. All you could think of was how many sharp
weapons were around and how many reasons you had given for them to be
used. The moon was bright above as you stared into the fire and
wished that you would awake from your coma soon. At least, you hoped
this was some sort of dream.
were pulled from your daze as heavy footsteps stirred the dirt in
front of you and you looked to find Fili’s furry boots standing
He bent and offered you one of the bowls cradled in his arms before
handing one to his brother, “You must be hungry.”
thanks,” You attempted a smile as you looked over to Thorin who was
watching his nephew, “Should you be feeding me though?”
The dragon is wreaking havoc in my brain Plays my emotion, a never ending game
Nothing will be forever gone Memories will stay and find their way What goes around will come around Don’t deny your fears So let them go and fade into light Give up the fight here
Listening to Epica's Chasing the Dragon put me in a Tolkien kind of mood, so I sketched some Hobbit stuff in the train. Wrong place for the Black Arrow to be stuck in I know, but well I wanted it like this
I am in incredible awe and humble receipt of this absolutely AMAZING drawing by striving-artist for my fic “To Die a Hero (and Live Much Longer)”. I am currently in love, and so if you could all please let her know what a fabulous job she’s done, I would be forever in your debt; my words are not enough to describe it.
Day 7: Free day!! Anything you want.(Set during the quest, pre-relationship)
While most of the company settled into makeshift beds for the night, Bilbo found himself oddly restless. He ambled over towards the collection of ponies, something which was quickly growing into a nightly routine. During the day, he stuffed his pockets with any fallen fruit he could find, when they were lucky enough to be given breaks. It was hard to ration such meager pickings amongst thirteen ponies, so he had to alternate who was fed each night. (Bilbo absolutely refused to go anywhere near Gandalf’s horse - the ponies were smaller by comparison, yet still dauntingly huge to Bilbo’s practical sensibilities. That horse was just - just monstrously ginormous! …But every so often, he would roll an apple its way - from a safe distance. He did not want to anger the beast, after all.)
Tonight he had three bruised, withering apples. He first gave one to his own steed, Myrtle, who Bilbo was afraid had grown rather spoiled. She had not been given anything special for a few days now, and had taken to jostling her rider in his seat and moving restlessly any time he tried to mount or dismount.
“Now enough of that,” Bilbo murmured as he stroked the pony’s broad face. “You get your turn, just like everyone else, Myrtle.”
Next he moved onto Thorin’s pony, whom he had named Bungo. The creature had a funny shaggy coat, which ignited the hobbit’s allergies terribly if he ever touched it. “Now remember our deal,” Bilbo whispered as he offered the largest fruit to the animal’s large, searching lips. “I give you an apple, and you make Thorin take that giant stick out of his arse.”
The pony snorted as it took a huge bite of the apple, wetting Bilbo’s whole hand with the effort. The hobbit sighed, shaking his head. “Who am I kidding?” he muttered. “Not even the Valar could do such a feat!”
“What are you doing, Halfling?”
Bilbo jumped at the sudden voice, hand clamping down on the soggy remains of the fruit as he spun around.
“I, ah,” he stammered, staring up at none other than Thorin Oakenshield, rightful King under the Mountain - and rightful pain in the arse. Bungo’s large head nudged at his back, blunt teeth nipping at his enclosed fingers. “Oh, there’s no point in hiding it!” he muttered, turning back to the remarkably hobbit-ish creature. “I am giving the ponies some treats,” he admitted.
So, I had a bad day yesterday (one word: hormones - don’t even get me started) and I tanked my last test of my online History of Photography class (passed, but just barely, grrr) and I REALLY didn’t want to write anything because chances were very good I’d pull a Stephen King in The Stand, put a bomb in the closet of the house the main characters were having a meeting it, and blow half the cast to freakin’ atoms.
Being that the whole plot of my book is based on the fact that I ALREADY killed off roughly 90% of the population of the WORLD, I thought it might be a better idea to not do that…with the killing and the bomb thing. 😏
And then today my eyes have been in their blurry stages thanks to having a whopper of a headache and me being deep into ProcrastinationStation, reading Hobbit FanFiction (hey, by MMC is based on Richard Armitage. It’s RESEARCH! That’s my story and I’m sticking to it! 😝)
I’m very amused how many authors have taken up this one particular prompt:
Women are falling out of the sky left and right on top of Thorin and I can’t help but be amused by it. If fictional characters ever sat down at a pub with other fictional characters and just had a beer/ale/grog together and talked, I could see this happening:
HERE BE CRACKY, TOLKIEN-BASED CHARACTER WRITER FIC (general audiences)