iiindiiiaa: toast to the utopia we envision 🖇while we cry endless fountains of sorrow inside our fragile shells, these temporary, mostly liquid bodies 💧 tears for the realities of this dystopia clarified through daily veil lifting 💔 we are small, but we are many, and in our unity there is endless power - the power of love so much greater than the parade of power we see sprouting from wells of poison; fear, insecurity & hate 🐶

Gold of Erebor

this was written a while ago, and inspired the upcoming longer story about the life and love of Fíli, Prince of Erebor and Ranka, Princess of the Orocarni. A sneak preview chapter can be found here, and if you want to suggest a title you’re more than welcome to drop me an ask/message.

Art by @hvit-ravn

“Amad!” you hissed, staring across the room. The King’s Ballroom was filled with Dwarrow in fine dress, but your attention was caught by the Princes of Erebor.

“What is it, dearling?” King Ranvé of the Orocarni asked, following your gaze to where the Heirs of Thorin Oakenshield were greeting their Uncle’s guests.

“No one told me he was blonde!” you groused. “I thought Fíli was the dark-haired one!” Your Amad turned her shrewd gaze your way, as always making it seem as though she could read your mind.

“I always thought you favoured golden-haired dwarrow, daughter,” she rebuked mildly. You scowled. It wasn’t that you disliked the tawny golden locks of the oldest Prince, if you were completely honest, it was simply that the colour reminded you far too much of Salvor’s sun-streaked curls and the sight made your already nervous stomach roil.

“I can’t do this, Amad,” you mumbled, and before your King could restrain you, you had turned on your heel and fled the Ballroom.

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