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asgardianhobbit98 · 3 days

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Of Kings, Crowns and Love (Thorin Spring Forge 2024 Entry)

accompanying art piece by @koyunsoncizeri here!! 😭🩷🩷🩷 it's gorgeous!

Summary: Thorin hears of Rohan’s king’s death, and how his son, moving back home from Gondor, is about to be crowned the new king of Rohan. Normally, Dwarves keep themselves out of the business of men. But something is stirring in the North, something dark and evil that seems to be connected to Gundabad and the fell lands of the East... and having some extra allies is not bad (as he’s learned on his quest to retake Erebor).

The King under the Mountain officially invites himself to the crowning of King Thengel, where he meets not just Thengel and a mysterious man called Thorongil, but also the new king’s sisters. Falling head over heels for the oldest of the two sisters, Thorin finds himself no longer on just a political mission, but also one of love.

Fandom: The Hobbit / Lord of the Rings

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield / original female character

Tags: everybody lives AU, Dragon Sickness, PTSD, First Love, Courting, First Kiss, Romance, Love Letters, Baking

Word Count: around 9157

Notes: I want to thank the lovely moderators from @thorinsspringforge for this event and the support they offered us all! This was so much fun :3

I also want to give a HUGE shoutout to my artist @koyunsoncizeri who created something so so beautiful (please go check out their art piece for this fic and reblog and give it love!!), which helped inspire me to keep writing when I struggled!! Their talent and kindness knows no bounds! Thank you love 🩷

AO3 link to the TSF24 collection

AO3 link to my entry but you can also read the full thing in this post

Tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @nowandthane

Part 1: The Coronation, Interrupted

Flower petals moved through the air like a gorgeous spring rain. Puddles of colours lay on the floor already. The people must have picked clean huge fields of flowers just for this very occasion, the newly ascended King thought to himself as he stared out over the sea of colours and smiles.

They would do such a thing too, for him. For today was a joyous and important day in the Kingdom of Rohan. Their wayward and lost prince, Thengel, had returned to take over the crown since his father’s passing. There were, in other words, not just one thing to celebrate, but two.

The crown, heavier than it looked both with burden and physical weight, rested atop his long, golden hair whilst he smiled at unknown faces that saw not him, but his father; who clapped not for him, but for their own relief at no longer being without king; who were happy not for his return, but for their own leadership not disappearing with the life of their previous king.

The colours, the beautiful sight of the petals, was all loathsome to Thengel. He had had a nice life in Gondor. Why, oh why, did his father have to die so soon? He’d hoped to die in some battle before him. But here he was, forced to take the crown because his annoying brothers had skipped town the second they heard their father was on his deathbed.

No one wanted this bloody crown, heavy as it was in so many ways… No one but potentially the faces smiling back at him now. He knew no one. He trusted even fewer people.

Aside from… Morwen. His beautiful wife, stood next to him bearing an equally as heavy crown. Yet, she seemed to carry it with ease. Her beauty, her love, her kindness… They, Thengel thought to himself, were going to be what ruled Rohan. And Morwen, his dear beloved darling, would do it too, even if she would rather spend her time with their children: Theoden and Theodis.

Just as they were going to sit down and start the feast and be one step closer to ending this dreadful day, the large doors to the hall opened. A wind gushed through the place, forcing the petals to blow away from the feasts, some falling into the large beacons of fire to shrivel into ash…

A silence fell over the hall, every gaze turned toward the doors now wide open...

Dwarves.

Uninvited Dwarves. Six of them too!

Slowly, the leader, the one and only Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, slayer of Smaug the Terrible, and defeater of Azog the Defiler, moved through the hall and up toward the thrones. He avoided all gazes sent his way, walking with intent, determined steps, and with a look on his face that was anything but kind, at least in the eyes of the humans.

“I thought Dwarves were meant to have longer beards-“ With a quick, reprimanding tug at her nephew’s shirt, Maerwyn silenced Theoden’s whispers which were far too loud to be called whispers in all honesty. She stood together with her niece and nephew to the side of the thrones, watching everything play out from the sidelines, yet with equal curiosity as Morwen and Thengel.

Maerwyn, sister to Thengel and born with the same beauty and blonde hair, had been in Gondor with her brother almost her entire life. She mourned her father quite little, having never known him. Thengel was more her father than anyone else.

Thorongil, their mutual, closest friend, stood to her side too, looking amused by Theoden’s words. As a friend and not Theoden’s family, the ranger didn’t have to reprimand the child. So he winked at Theoden, rendering Maerwyn reprimand useless, of course.

Theodis, at an age now that her mischievous brother embarrassed her as she wanted to be as graceful and grown up as her mother, glared at Theoden.

Once the six Dwarves reached the front, they each took a bow, staying down on one knee.

“We come to pay our respects to the new King of Rohan,” Thorin spoke. He, crownless as he was (and rumor had it he never wore his crown either), had a face everyone knew. He did not have to introduce himself. And he apparently wasn’t going to either.

Maerwyn glanced to Thorongil. As the older (though he didn’t look it) and wiser out of the two, she wanted to see what his reaction was to Thorin’s own invite to the occasion. He looked suspicious, but mainly surprised. Indeed, the ranger was right to be surprised. The Dwarves, as good of an ally as they could be, weren’t known to so openly approach Men for any sort of diplomatic meeting. This… well, this was certainly a surprise.

As Thorin raised his head to speak, his gaze flickered over to Maerwyn for a split second and she felt her heart do a somersault. No one had told her that the great Thorin Oakenshield was so… handsome.

“We come bearing gifts to rekindle a friendship between their people.” The Dwarves stood, upon which two younger Dwarves and one much older rounded Thorin to bow in front of the king and queen, presenting three boxes each. “Myrr from the people of Esgaroth. An embroidered Rohirrim symbol on a tapestry from the merchants of Erebor. As well as a divine set of new bracers and a dagger from the Dwarven smithies of Erebor. You could wish for no finer equipment, I can assure you,” Thorin spoke.

Morwen smiled and graciously bowed to accept the gifts.

Thengel, however… “So you have come to rekindle something ancient, indeed.” It sounded for a second as if this was his way of dismissing the Dwarves and denying a rekindling of allyship. But then: “Welcome.” And with that, Thengel sat down, with Morwen in tow, and the people in Edoras Hall continued to cheer.

The feast was grand. Tables laced with meat, mead, cakes and everything one could have hoped for had been prepared by servants for days before this, and it all looked as perfect as they’d hoped it would turn out to be. Before long, the lutes from bards filled the Golden Hall’s entire air with joyous music. People sung, danced, drank and ate to their heart’s content. It was a merry occasion once more.

The Dwarves stayed in their corner. All apart for Thorin’s nephews, who had found their way into the crowd of Men to sing and dance alongside them with ease. They’d found Theoden and Theodis, and had danced with the little children for a while before Morwen had sent them to bed. Now they were merrymaking with the adults instead.

The older Dwarves seemed less inclined to mingle or mix with the strangers. And it showed in their way of glaring and mumbling to each other each time someone had the ‘audacity’ of glancing their way or coming a little too close to their corner.

Thengel, watching his people’s merrymaking from the sidelines with a cup of untouched mead in his hand, found it only making him distrust these Dwarves’ intentions more.

“You look troubled, my friend.” Thorongil had appeared by Thengel’s side. “As new King, you should not have those frown lines on your face just yet. Leave that for your first duties.” A joke. But Thengel was far from a joking mood.

“They want something…” he muttered quietly. His gloves squeaked as he closed one hand into a fist. “I just know it. It’s just like those nobles in Gondor, Thorongil. They want things from me because I have power.”

Thorongil didn’t react at first, simply listening to the grumbling of his old friend. “Did I want something from you?”

Thengel scoffed. “No, but you are different.”

“Perhaps they are different too?”

Thengel narrowed his eyes at them, especially Thorin Oakenshield. Maybe he didn’t don his crown, but a crown he had. A whole kingdom that looked up to him and marvelled at his power. What could he possibly want from Rohan? Nothing good… It couldn’t be anything good…

Part 2: The Feast

Moving through the crowd, Maerwyn approached the Dwarves standing in their corner of the room. Her hands cupped a chalice of red wine, but it was not the reason for her seamless movement through the crowd. They parted for her, bowing respectfully. She was now no longer the daughter of the King. She was the sister of the King. Yet, that was not the reason for people to part for her so quickly and respectfully. Her importance to the kingdom had not changed. But rather, she, herself, was put on a pedestal by all who saw her, it seemed.

This, Thorin noticed as he caught sight of the woman approaching them. Her green eyes flickered between the vessel in her hands, and him, letting Thorin know her intent. Curious, he’d watched her, long since forgetting about the conversation at hand between his fellow Dwarves. Dwalin and Ori seemed oblivious to it. Balin was not, watching Thorin and Maerwyn’s looks to each other with curious dismay.

“It’s not worth it, Thorin-“ Maerwyn had interrupted a conversation as she approached, blinking innocently at Dwalin with an unsaid apology, to which the Dwarf only glared.

There was a moment in which Dwalin wanted to push forward and place himself in front of Thorin protectively, but Thorin was quick to stop that with a single hand gesture. Instead, he stepped forward to greet Maerwyn with a bow.

Maerwyn couldn’t tell whether Thorin had done so to be kind to the sister of the King Thorin clearly wanted something from, or whether Thorin truly had meant his kind greeting.

Approaching guests was unlike her. She stayed in the background, sister to great men, daughter to Kings, doomed to be of a gender that was given little space or power in the Kingdoms of Men. Yet here she was, approaching guests of the King, her brother, without a care in the world. Confidence bloomed through her body, driven on only by the pure infatuation with this one Dwarf’s attractive face, curious whether the Dwarf’s heart might be as attractive too.

“My lady..?” Thorin asked politely.

“Maerwyn,” she replied. “King Thengel’s sister.” She curtsied politely before offering the cup she was cradling in her hands.

Thorin looked confused. She smiled. He smiled. “It is an offer of kinship and generosity to share wine from the same cup.”

“And who else has drunk from this?” Thorin asked curiously, though his voice held a little edge to it.

Maerwyn blushed. “Me.”

Spurred on by this answer, it seemed, Thorin reached out and took a long sip, lips lingering on the cup as his eyes found hers… with intent. She watched with wide eyes, her blush gone but not because she was not feeling something. Rather, she was too surprised by the Dwarf’s obvious meaning to allow herself to feel anything-

Then before she could say or do anything else, Thengel’s hand suddenly touched her shoulder.

She was silently goaded to leave, and so she did, her head lowered but a smile playing on her lips.

“You seem happy.” Thorongil said as he walked with her through the crowd.

Surprised he had approached her, Maerwyn nodded her head in agreement. “I’ve never met a man with such reputation.”

“Yes, reputation,” Thorongil said with a little glint to his eyes. “I am sure his reputation was what just motivated you to act.”

She blushed.

“Be careful, my lady,” Thorongil added quickly. “He is a man who has seen much, been through even more, and whose heart is darker than it seems.”

“I see darkness,” Maerwyn was quick to say, as if defending her own choices. Though, she knew, that one needn’t defend one’s choices to Thorongil. He was kinder than most: a man who had seen much and been through more. A man who, perhaps, could understand Thorin better than most. “But I don’t only see darkness. He can get out of it.”

“Few can.”

“Indeed.” Maerwyn put the cup down and gave Thorongil a pointed look. “Sometimes, with a little help, a person can do surprisingly much.”

Thorongil bowed his head. “Just be careful. You’ve only just met.”

Thengel watched Maerwyn and Thorongil walk away for a little bit before turning his gaze to Thorin. “Few dare come uninvited to a Coronation of an unallied King.”

“Yet here I am,” Thorin replied.

“Here you are…” Thengel said, pretending to ignore the three Dwarves behind Thorin tensing up, ready to step in and help. “Might we speak in private? Outside, perhaps, on the balcony?” Before Thorin could even respond, Thengel was already leading the way through the crowds. With a look back at Balin, Dwalin and Ori, Thorin offered a disgruntled look at Thengel’s behaviour, before following the new King.

The balcony was positioned to offer a view of the vast fields that made up Rohan. Hills upon hills of green grass that had sickened into a beige colour now that autumn was here.

Far, far away, the outlines of mountains surrounded them. Helm’s Deep, Thorin recalled from his studies, was somewhere there. Among many Rohirrim dark secrets one needed to pass to get to the lands of Gondor the quickest.

Thorin had to admit that the vast openness of the lands of Men made him uncomfortable. Sometimes, Thorin thought to himself, when he stepped out of Erebor, he thought the Sky would fall down on him, or that he himself would float up toward it. It was strange not to have anything above his head.

So whilst he could understand how this was a beautiful view, he didn’t quite share in admiring it the way Thengel was.

Though, something told Thorin that Thengel was merely biding his time so he could gather his thoughts and speak his mind without… offending Thorin too much. A bitterness surrounded Thengel. No man should be too overjoyed by a crown burdening their shoulders, or they would become bad kings, but this much bitterness revealed more anger than a king should have.

“You come here… uninvited,” Thengel began, repeating what he’d said earlier but with agitation in his voice. Thorin joined the man by the railing of the balcony, eyes only just managing to peak over at the view. He tried to stare at it to keep his mind at peace, to try and listen rather than see what Thengel was feeling. To anyone who might catch a glimpse of them, it didn’t look like there was any tension between the two. But oh… there was. “And you demand things of me.”

“Demand?” Thorin asked, astounded and surprised. “I merely wish for a fellowship between our people.”

“Fellowship… Wish…” Thengel grunted under his breath. “People always want things from me. It is never a courtesy call.”

“The burden of a king-“

“The burden of Thengel,” he was quick to interrupt and correct, glancing down to the Dwarf beside him. Thorin raised his chin, eyes curious, and also slightly annoyed at being cut off. “No man ever simply speaks to me. I was and will always be my father’s youngest son, destined to bring news to him of lords and ladies who did good deeds and who would like, very much, to be invited to his court. I escaped to Gondor to try and find peace. Yet it was only worse.”

Thorin understood his meaning. “And now you are back here.”

“And with only more people demanding things from me.”

“I demand nothing,” Thorin tried to reassure him. “I merely wish-“

“Wishing is the lordly way of demanding, is it not?” Thengel muttered. He turned to face Thorin, eyes crueller than they had need to be in this situation. But his trauma spoke for itself, taking control over Thengel in this moment. And quite honestly, out of everyone to understand that, Thorin would be highest on the list. His past did not come without its fair share of trauma. To remain King under the Mountain meant dealing with the Dragon Sickness that never quite faded, a constant vicarious battle between reality and his own demise. Yet, he couldn’t say anything to help Thengel.

Because Thorin’s belief was that there was no one who could help Thorin but Thorin himself. And therefore, there was no one who could help Thengel but Thengel.

“I will think on it.” Thengel interrupted what had turned into a really long silence where both Kings had stared into each other’s eyes. “But I guarantee nothing.”

Then, with a sigh, Thengel waved his hand and offered Thorin and his company a place to stay whilst they recuperated, and to enjoy the feasts and blah blah… The man was done with niceties. He was no fit for a king, but there also was no sight of any of his brothers. No one, it seemed, wanted the crown.

As Thengel left Thorin’s side, Thorin thought hard on Thengel’s words. A troubled man, indeed. But not without cause. If only Thorin had the communication skills to offer his sympathies, but he had a feeling nothing would come of it but two stubborn men butting heads. He wished, for a split second, that his dear friend Bilbo might be there by his side to do the talking for him. Alas, he was enjoying a peaceful life in the Shire, away from politics and kings.

Good.

The Hobbit deserved as much.

“He is troubled, he means no harm.” The voice surprised Thorin, who turned and watched that curious ranger who seemed to be in the shadows during this feast, yet stand beside Thengel on his throne, approach him instead on the balcony. Hands behind his back, rugged black clothes and cape hiding a toned body, Thorongil remained a mystery to Thorin.

“And who are you?” Thorin asked, his voice a little too pointed to call it a kind question.

“Thorongil is the name people seem to use.”

“Yet it is not your name?” Thorin asked with a furrow brow of annoyance. It was a normal question to ask. Why not answer it?

Thorongil stayed quiet, an amused look appearing on his face. He pretended to watch the view as well. Men really were fascinated by these green open hills, weren’t they? Thorin doubted they’d offer his halls the same admiration, as cruel as that sounded.

“How do you know Thengel?” Thorin asked instead.

“We met in Gondor. We fought together during battles at the borders of Mordor.” Thorin’s spine shivered at the mention of that foul place. “We became friends, I suppose. I never asked much of him.”

There was something in his words that made Thorin tilt his head.

“It seems to be the way to his heart,” Thorongil added. He glanced down at Thorin with a pointed look.

“You mean to tell me I should simply not ask anything of him? Have no purpose for being here? And what, leave without an allyship?”

“Your purpose would be to welcome a new king to your neighbouring realm.” Thorongil gave Thorin a pointed look. “Support will take you a long way, Thorin Oakenshield. I suggest, for now…” Thorongil turned to glance over his shoulder. When Thorin did, he’d only caught sight of Maerwyn’s dress flowing as she rushed away. “For now, you simply enjoy the company.” With a knowing look, Thorongil left Thorin alone.

Men were confusing. Worse than Elves, it seemed.

These were going to be some long days spent in their company.

Part 3: Early Mornings, Baking and Courting – All Somehow Wrapped in One

The festivities died down a long time ago. Yet, Thorin could only hear noise. Noise from his own mind.

He tossed and turned in his bed, far too big for a Dwarf to begin with. He felt like he was being swallowed by some deep dark hole that would drown him in screams and anguish and growls and pain and dragons and gold-

Thorin sat up with a sigh, rubbing the thoughts and the gold away from his eyeballs.

Sleep would not come to him that night.

With a cold sweat shining on his skin in the faint glow of candles, Thorin stood and put on some clothes that would render him anything but royal looking. Dark robes and a large hood to pull over his head. He meant to walk the halls until morning. To occupy his body and get rid of the restlessness that persisted in his bones whilst his mind surged with dark thoughts.

Fili, his blessed nephew who seemed to always have a third eye for his uncle’s moods, awoke in his drunken sleep. He and Kili had enjoyed last night’s festivities to the fullest.

Groggily, Fili turned and glanced at Thorin. “Uncle…?”

“Go back to sleep, Fili.” How Fili could sleep with Dwalin and Kili snoring as much as they were, Thorin had no idea. But the vast amount of mead Fili had had most likely offered some help.

“Are you alright?” Fili pushed.

“I am just fine. I simply want to go for a walk.”

He didn’t convince his nephew. That much was obvious. But Fili gave in and put his head back down onto his pillow. He fell back asleep instantly. Most likely, Fili wouldn’t even remember this conversation come morning.

Heading out, Thorin wandered the halls, as he had planned. His mind was still clouded, dark, and he truly had no idea where his feet brought him. He found halls that were riddled with cobwebs, unused. He found basements and servant quarters and large libraries. A crypt, too.

But he didn’t explore any of the areas. He simply… wandered.

Until suddenly, he collided with something soft. In his half asleep state of panic and anxiety, Thorin had not noticed someone roaming the shadows, much like him, dressed in dark clothes, much like him, and collided with the figure upon both taking the same turn.

“I apologise- My lady?”

Her hood had fallen back as she’d stumbled against someone. Shocked, Maerwyn stared down at Thorin. “Oh! My Lord!” Her cheeks blushed. Pale skin tinted with emotions she was not used to. “I humbly apologise…” She curtsied.

Thorin smiled. “Please, I should be the one apologising. I was not looking where I was going. I was a fool for not seeing your beauty a mile away.”

Shocked by his words, her beautiful green, almost yellow eyes flickered hither and tither for a moment as she tried to compose herself. “I… I thank you for your kind words, my lord. But I must ask… what are you doing out of bed at this ungodly hour?”

A chuckle arose from Thorin’s chest. Oh… that felt nice. It had been quite some time since someone earnestly made him chuckle. “I might ask the same of you.”

She blushed again.

He liked seeing that blush.

“I was on my way…” She interrupted herself. Her eyes betrayed her as it was obvious she suddenly got an idea. “Might I ask you to accompany me, my lord? If I may be so presumptuous, but I feel you might gain quite a lot from this…”

That was mysterious.

Thorin always thought that he had had quite enough of adventures for a lifetime. He’d dealt with dragons twice too many times in his life; he’d travelled Middle-earth in search of a home far too much… Though, he never quite tired of visiting the Shire.

But Thorin had little else to do that night, and wanted nothing more but to bask in this lady’s beauty for a little longer. So he nodded and gestured for her to lead the way to this mysterious thing that would help Thorin.

Edoras Hall was built atop a hill, with a view over not just the surrounding Rohirrim fields, but also a view of the town itself. It was perhaps in no way the same beauty as Gondor, with its vast history and great, white walls; but it was, to Thorin, the most beautiful sight in the world. At least right now. He was biased though, as the town presented itself to him as a backdrop to lady Maerwyn. Anything would be as beautiful as Erebor’s halls to him when lady Maerwyn was present.

Her golden hair braided to the side escaped her large, black hood which was cast over her head to prevent people seeing her leave. Why the secrecy, Thorin had no idea. But he found it elicited some sort of youthful rebellion inside of him that only further made lady Maerwyn enticing.

He was unaware that, already, his mind was distracted away from the worries of trying to create a friendship with the kingdom of Rohan, and the dark nightmares that plagued him.

Down the steps they hurried, into the sleeping town with shadows cast over their faces. The sun was beginning to wake, and although there were already a couple of people awake, Thorin felt himself escape himself. As if a freedom permeated his surroundings, hidden as he was. As if for once he wasn’t King Thorin, or Thorin Oakenshield, but someone Thorin had missed being a great deal; a younger, less known Thorin who could stand beside his father and grandfather and not be noticed too much – who could wander the merchant stalls in Erebor with his friends without anyone treating him differently.

And as they approached a little house in the middle of town, and lady Maerwyn removed her hood to glance back at Thorin, eyes making sure he had kept up with her fast pace, Thorin felt that although he was no one with a special title at the moment, hidden as he was, Maerwyn still found him special.

He’d never felt that way before. Accepted for who he was. Even Dwalin, his closest companion, could not see him without his titles. And although that was not a problem in and of itself, Thorin felt… warm. Nice. When seen as just him for a moment.

Taking off his hood as they entered the house, Thorin found himself, to his surprise, in a little bakery. The sweet scent of freshly baked goods and bread was already all around them. Bakers were amongst the first to wake in most towns. Here it was no different.

However, Thorin found that the owners looked a little more stressed than bakers usually did. Still, as they saw lady Maerwyn, they took the time to pause and smile in a greeting.

“Oh how I’m glad you’re here, my lady.”

My lady. So they knew who she was. Thorin was a little dismayed that his anonymity might go away- “And who is this with you?” Oh!

Maerwyn gestured toward Thorin, and to Thorin’s surprise, she answered for him: “This is a dear friend of mine. He wished to help.”

“I’ve never had a Dwarf in my shop,” the owner, flour all over their apron in her hair, said. “Sorry, that’s a strange remark to make. Please! I need all the help I can get.”

Maerwyn smiled and led Thorin toward the back of the shop. Washing her hands in a little basin, she got straight to work. This woman knew what she was doing. Baking bread was no difficulty for her. Thorin found this curious.

But he didn’t comment on it just yet. Instead, he was focused on his own work because…

He might be a skilled blacksmith. He might be a skilled warrior. And on the road, he was not a stranger to hunting with a bow and making some good meat stews. But… baking was not something he’d done much of. Bread was not something Dwarves never ate, of course, but… it just wasn’t something he’d baked himself before.

And so as he awkwardly tried to mimic what Maerwyn was doing, he found his dough lacked… Well, it lacked everything. It wasn’t really a dough. More of a piece of slime.

And much to his dismay, he caught Maerwyn glancing at his work and giggle.

“It’s alright. Here… just add some more flour.” Thorin watched her, finding his gaze locked on her instead of what she was saying and showing. Her teachings went over his head, blinded as he was by… well, everything about her.

So once she glanced at him with expecting eyes, clearly waiting for him to try once more but with the addition of all she’d just taught him, Thorin stumbled once more and created, again, a slime.

She chuckled. And blushed, clearly aware what had just transpired. “How about you just knead the dough? Your strength will do you good here.”

He did not miss her eyes subconsciously glancing at his arms, the muscles which hid beneath his tunic.

And oh was he suddenly extremely motivated to show her that, yes, he did have strength.

He kneaded the doughs so keenly and with such motivation that he most likely looked a fool. Yet, Maerwyn smiled at him and only encouraged and praised his work.

Before long, another person entered the shop: that ranger who was always lurking around Thengel. Thorin’s heart sunk a bit, not because Thorongil would ruin anything, but because Thorin had enjoyed having Maerwyn’s complete attention.

And why was he always around where Maerwyn was?

Jealousy.

Thorin was quick to realise that what he felt was jealousy. Truly, it was unbecoming of him. This lady next to her, arm sometimes brushing up against his, sending shivers down his spine, awakened sides of Thorin that had laid dormant for so long whilst he had done nothing but try and survive. For decades, his life was all about the Dwarves under his charge. His people’s redemption. His people’s survival. His own throne’s return. Now, suddenly, he cared about kneading dough and a lady’s arm brushing up against his.

It was… a welcoming change of pace.

And he did not want it to be disturbed.

“My lady,” Thorongil greeted. Maerwyn smiled and greeted him back… “Sire,” he greeted Thorin.

And then, to Thorin’s surprise, Thorongil took off his rings, washed his hands, and began helping the both of them too.

A comfortable silence fell over them all, and Maerwyn’s little smiles and blushes toward Thorin never stopped. Thorin found it curious, and his mind suddenly realised that he had no idea why he was making bread.

“My lady, my good sir, might I ask of you… why we are helping the local bakery?” Thorin asked as kindly as he could. He’d learned from his nephews that sometimes he was a little too… gruff. Grumpy was actually the word Kili had used, but he hadn’t liked that. Grumpy was what one called someone old. And Thorin surely wasn’t old yet?

Maerwyn giggled when Thorongil blinked in surprise. “You’ve not told him?”

“I fear I quite forgot,” Maerwyn chuckled. “My brother wished for all the people to have freshly baked bread come morning, as a token of his gratitude and as a celebration for their new king. But I’m afraid my brother has always lived the life of a nobleman, even in Gondor or out on the road, so he didn’t quite realise how much work this would be on the bakers. Thorongil and I decided we’d help out. But working with one’s hands can have quite a therapeutic effect, and when I saw the look in your eyes, my lord, I thought I’d bring you here too.” Maerwyn, a bit of flour on her cheek, glanced at Thorin with sheepish, almost worried eyes.

Had she gone too far?

Thorin smiled. No, she had not. Perhaps he might have reacted differently in another circumstance. Perhaps he’d even reacted differently had it been anyone but Maerwyn who had said these words to him. But Maerwyn with her beauty was a welcomed person to dig deeper into Thorin.

And as a matter of fact, Thorin was a little surprised that she’d seen through him so well. He’d not even realised himself that during these hours, Thorin had not once thought of Erebor or its riches. He felt lighter. Lighter than he’d done since he’d taken on the burden of being King despite the Dragon Sickness in his heart. It felt… nice.

She felt nice. Too nice, for him. He didn’t deserve that after all he’d done. Yet, here she was, put on his path to offer her empathy.

He didn’t want to let her go.

“I thank you, my lady,” Thorin replied.

The Dwarf King caught a look between Maerwyn and Thorongil. A conversation Thorin had not been privy to seemed to suddenly come to an end. Thorongil bowed his head in defeat at her, and Maerwyn looked a little prideful. Thorin adored that look on her face. It made her glow. She should be proud all the time, Thorin thought. Someone should make her feel like a queen. He would, if only to see that look again.

The bakers had bowed and thanked the three of them so much that it had taken them five minutes just to leave the bakery. Once outside, all three of them put their hoods back on and walked back to Edoras Halls in peaceful anonymity.

By now, the morning sun was shining down on the town, and people had awoken. The bakery’s freshly baked bread was a scent that prevailed in the entire town. And when Thorin glanced back before beginning to ascend up toward the halls, he noticed young boys and girls, given a pretty penny to help out, deliver loaves wrapped in cloth to the people.

It was a good day for the townspeople. And, truthfully, Thorin found a newfound respect for the king. Despite Thengel’s demons speaking for him, causing distrust toward Thorin, a kind and well-meaning person was revealed to him through this very ordeal. No king would have thought of spreading food to his people as their first order. Most kings would have thought of themselves.

Thorongil walked ahead, offering Thorin and Maerwyn some privacy. Whether this was intentional or not was not difficult to read. Thorongil had offered a knowing look to Maerwyn before suddenly picking up his own pace.

“I hope you feel better, my lord,” Maerwyn said, breaking the silence between her and Thorin. “You looked so forlorn when we bumped into each other earlier. I wanted nothing but to help you.”

“Few would feel that way,” Thorin admitted.

“Why? You deserve help.”

Thorin grew quiet.

“You speak not very highly of yourself.” The walk up those steps toward the hall made Maerwyn slightly out of breath, yet as she walked beside him, skirts in her hand to keep from tripping, she took deep enough breaths to speak to Thorin clearly. She wanted him to listen. To hear. “You saved your people. You gave them a new home. You defeated a dragon.”

“There are details no one speaks of,” Thorin intervened.

Both paused as they reached the top, turning to face each other. Thorongil disappeared inside ahead of them.

“What details?” she boldly asked.

“I am not myself.”

“We all have darkness.”

“You should not grow comfortable around me. I have days I am no person. There are days I have to lock myself in my room as greed and desire are all I feel. There is, and always will be, a curse on the wealth of that Mountain. And my family, my bloodline, is its prey.”

Maerwyn’s brow furrowed in worry. Not disgust. Not fear. But worry. Worry for him and his wellbeing. Thorin almost wanted to wave it off and tell her to stop being naïve, as he did with Dis, Fili and Kili.

But it wasn’t naivety, and Thorin could see that much.

She meant it.

“Then I will endeavour to find more ways to help you.”

More?

“This was for me?” Thorin asked, gesturing back in the direction of the bakery.

“The baking was for the people. But letting you help was for you, yes. There should be more things that could aid you. I will figure it out. I promise.”

“You have no reason to promise anything to me.”

“And yet I am promising,” she persisted, smiling. “The stubbornness of Dwarves is true, it seems. Yet, the stubbornness of women is equally as true.” She stepped closer, as if wanting to reach out, but her confidence failed her.

Thorin had wished she’d done what she’d wanted.

“You have some flour on your cheek.”

Because it would have meant her touch his cheek.

“So do you, my lady.”

And it would have meant he’d been able to touch her too.

Thorin and lady Maerwyn did not have many more moments where they could speak in private. So they made their own time to do so.

Somehow, without saying a single word about it, both had found a routine in going to that very corner where they’d bumped into each other each early morning, for a stroll around the halls and some peaceful conversation.

Sometimes, Maerwyn came with some new ideas to distract Thorin from the darkness inside him. She presented painting to him, though he really did not want to even try his hands on that. He was a blacksmith. Painting was too delicate for him.

She also presented writing to him. He did try his hands on that and so one fateful morning…

“I have tried my hand on writing something.”

Surprised that Thorin had done this, not because she did not believe in his artistic abilities, but because she was truthfully not sure he wanted to help himself, Maerwyn had paused in their walk to turn to him. “Have you?”

She wore a nightgown underneath a thick, large cardigan. And she looked as heavenly as always, to Thorin.

With a nod, he assured her that he had indeed done some writing, before presenting a note from the inside of his coat. “I would like you to read it and let me know what you think.”

“I am no writer,” she was quick to say, shying away from the note.

“You do not need to be to see what can be improved upon,” Thorin reassured her.

Slowly, she took the note from him and opened it to reveal his writing. “I adore your writing style,” she praised him immediately. Thorin smiled and watched her. Maerwyn had this peculiar way of finding the positives in everything. The beauty. The good. The kind. And then she would also voice it, whether in praise or to alert someone to what they were good at. It was quite a beautiful thing, and perhaps it looked like nothing out of the ordinary to most – why a little praise was just kindness, and many had kindness! But to Thorin… when paired with her beautiful lips speaking the praise… it was perfection.

Those very words were what Thorin had written in that note of his. Those very words were what lady Maerwyn were reading right now, her green eyes dancing over the words with a speed that spoke of a well-read mind…

And then she blushed and shifted on her feet, not out of uncomfortableness, much to Thorin’s relief, but… joy.

“Are… Do you mean these kind words?” she asked him quietly. “Do you really find me…” She trailed off, blushing.

“I find you beautiful, yes,” Thorin said quietly, but confidently.

She brought the note to her chest, pressing it close to her heart to show her appreciation. A smile graced her lips.

And then both simply continued their walk. But they walked closer to each other…

And their morning walks turned into their own private courting.

Part 4: The Battle of Love (and Alliance)

“Good morning.” With a curtsey and a smile, Maerwyn, dressed in a green dress that flowed in seamless gentle waves from her waist down to the stone floor, joined her family at the breakfast table. Guests were offered breakfast in their rooms, so these moments were the only ones they had between just themselves.

Theoden and Theodis sat whispering to each other about their day’s plans, clearly looking mischievous. Something told Maerwyn that they were going to spend the day following Fili and Kili again. The two younger Dwarves had turned into the children’s favourite guests quite quickly. And Maerwyn was pretty sure Theodis had a little crush on Kili, which was adorable.

As they caught Maerwyn’s curious gaze, both began to giggle maniacally until their mother told them off. Thengel sat in pure silence, not even having acknowledged his sister’s presence.

Queen Morwen kept sending worried glances to her husband, but kept her head held high and pretended in front of the servants that nothing was wrong.

But Maerwyn was not like the Queen. Silence and patience were not her virtues. So, she reached a hand over to Thengel’s arm, dressed in a silk shirt. “Brother, what is wrong?”

A servant shifted between them, forcing Maerwyn to lean back again, missing the agitated clench of Thengel’s jaw. As more tea was poured into Thengel’s cup, Maerwyn pleasantly busied herself with buttering a piece of bread. A smile graced her lips suddenly, remembering her Dwarf King now each time she saw bread.

“That,” Thengel said. The servant had left, and Maerwyn turned her gaze to her brother again to find him staring at her with a less than pleasant look in his eyes. He was almost scolding her. “That is my issue.”

“What?” Maerwyn asked, her smile gone. It seemed to calm Thengel down.

Thengel did not elaborate on his words, he only quietly seethed in his seat as he said: “I will not agree on a partnership with the Kingdom of Erebor.”

“What?” Maerwyn asked once more, this time astounded at what she was hearing. “But brother-“

“They are here for their own purposes. I am not blind to the reports of darkness up in the north. Things are stirring. Changing. And I know they are here for our support. I will not sacrifice my own men for the sake of Dwarves.”

Maerwyn stared at Thengel in shock. “What has their race got to do with this?”

“They can bury themselves deeper into the mountains if they wish.”

“That-“ Maerwyn took a deep breath. Her brother was a kind and honourable man. Truly. But he was so, so broken and so unsure of himself… She’d hoped Thorongil’s presence would lessen that, but Thorongil was not here right now. “I don’t understand, my lord. There are also Men in danger in the city-“

“And you know this how?”

“I have spoken to the Dwarves.”

“You have spoken to one Dwarf, you mean.”

Maerwyn grew quiet. “I don’t understand your point.”

“You are my sister. You should be on my side. This is a political game. Everything is. No one wants anything from us unless it has something to do with what they can gain from it. Don’t you see? He does not want you. He wants soldiers. Protection.” At this point, Thengel had leaned in closer to hiss the words straight into Maerwyn’s face. “He does not care for you, only for his own skin. He is using you, Maerwyn.”

Promptly, Maerwyn stood up. The chair scraped behind her loudly. Servants paused and stared at her. Theoden and his sister watched her in surprise. Morwen looked sympathetic, but she stayed silent. And that hurt Maerwyn.

“I will not have someone tell me what is and what is not true in my own relationships,” Maerwyn said as curtly as she could, her voice barely above a whisper as she desperately tried to keep her emotions at bay. She’d not noticed how her hands had fisted parts of her skirts in desperation. “Especially not my brother. And not my king. You have it all wrong. You are too blinded by your own self-centred view on life to see how your hurt is hurting others. Not everyone wants something from you. And not everyone will use me to get to you.”

She turned to walk away.

“You will not talk to him ever again!” Thengel ordered angrily, his own chair scraping behind him as he stood but Maerwyn didn’t turn to show she’d heard him.

Tears flooded down her cheeks as she walked with her head held high, as far away from her brother as she could...

Her hands still clutching the skirts, Maerwyn found Thorin waiting for her in their usual spot later that day. A walk before lunch, around the small but still lavish garden that existed on the top of that hill, overlooking the Rohirrim fields like most views.

Yet, as Thorin bowed his head to greet her with a smile gracing his lips, he found she did not return a smile. In fact, she did not even pause her stride. She stared straight at him, well aware that he was there, but seemed to have arrived with a purpose and a determination that was not going to stop her.

It was part of what Thorin admired about her but-

He was not prepared for what was to come.

She strode over to him with such confidence and sad purpose he found no words. Nor did he find words as she leaned down and kissed him straight on the lips. Her fingers, which had clutched so tightly to her skirts earlier, held onto the sides of his face with a desperation yet gentleness that he’d never thought he’d feel before. Her touch seemed to activate some desperation hidden deep within himself, and he kissed her with a passion he’d never have used for their first kiss otherwise. It was on the brink of inappropriate.

But just as soon as they’d kissed, it was all over again as she recoiled in surprise at her own actions and stared at him with wide eyes.

“My lady?” Thorin asked, genuinely a little worried what might have prompted this.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered out aghast, before turning and rushing off.

It felt wrong to run after her, something in the way she’d looked at him told him so. So Thorin stayed put, trying his best to think of some reason for why this had occurred even if his mind was more on the kiss itself than anything else.

It was not until later in the evening, when Thorin sought Maerwyn out in her own chambers after not seeing her at any event during the day, that Thorin found out what was going on.

He knocked on her door and was let in by a maid who excused herself instantly, most likely on orders by Maerwyn. Said lady was sat in her windowsill, forlornly staring out over the Rohirrim fields and mountains. Curiously, her chambers were in the direction of Erebor, north.

“I apologise for this improper action, my lady, but when you did not attend lunch nor dinner, I worried for your wellbeing,” Thorin said, staying a courteous half a room away from her.

She at first didn’t react, nor did she turn her head to acknowledge that he was there.

She truly looked… sad.

“My brother is not going to agree to an alliance between our kingdoms,” she uttered monotonously.

Thorin sighed. “I know. He told me so earlier.”

Maerwyn turned to glance at him now, surprised at first, then even more sad than she’d looked earlier. Clearly, she’d hoped something she’d done might have changed his mind. “I am sorry. I think I am to blame.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to look surprised. He crossed the room to reach her, gingerly taking her hand in his. “And why would that be?”

“I let myself get carried away. Thengel believes everyone is out to get him. Now he extends this anxiousness toward me.” She moved her hand away from Thorin’s. “He believes you are using me. I am sorry.”

Thorin soured a bit and grabbed her hand once more. “Then that is his issue and burden to bear. My original reason for being here is no more. I am here now, for you.”

A little smile graced her lips, but she didn’t dare to fully smile just yet. “But what of the darkness you spoke of?”

“Whatever is brewing in the North in those foul lands will brew no matter if we have extra support or not.”

“You might need us-“

“We will find some other way to beat it.” Before Maerwyn could try and say something anxious again, Thorin shook his head, “We will find some other way.”

She gave in and glanced down at their hands, letting her fingers intertwine with his. Two different people, two completely different sets of fingers, yet it felt so natural and perfect to hold onto him.

“I still am sorry.”

“None of this is your fault,” Thorin reassured. “Yet, you look sad not just because of this. Why did this hit you so hard, amrâlimê?”

“I wanted to help you…”

“You did.” Thorin smiled.

“And I’ve been trying to help my brother. But he is… If I cannot help, there is no purpose to me-“

“Do not say that,” Thorin was quick to interject. “My love, your purpose in life cannot be others. I appreciate what you have done and continue to do. But if you do not value yourself as highly as you value those that you help, you are going to go down a dark path.” He was quiet a moment, watching Maerwyn take the words in. “Disregard the King’s need for help. What is it you need right now to feel good?”

She squeezed his hand, staring deep within his eyes.

Thorin did not have to hear her words to know what she needed for herself, and from him to help her. With a smile, Thorin nodded his head. “Then come with me back to Erebor.”

…

Two Days Later.

…

Thorin kneeled in front of King Thengel. His nephews did the same a step behind him, whilst Balin, Dwalin and Ori were standing with their heads bowed. A public declaration of gratitude for the visit was occurring, and as King Thengel spoke his pre-practised speech, Thorin only half listened.

The tension that was in the hall was not just from everyone being fully aware that Thengel was going to publicly declare his denial to help Erebor and the people of Dale.

There was also tension because Thorin and Maerwyn would declare their own decision…

Secretly, Maerwyn’s maids were smuggling her luggage out through a back door and down to the horses and ponies. It was not like Thengel would or could force Maerwyn to stay. She was but a sister, so to speak, to the king and there were no laws granting him that privilege over her. However, Thengel might grow angry and Maerwyn’s kind heart would feel conflicted leaving on such notice. She and Thorin had already discussed it. It would be better to have the opportunity to simply leave whilst he was yelling at them rather than be forced to walk back and grab her belongings, giving Thengel time to use sympathy to make Maerwyn stay with him.

It sounded awful. Neither Thorin or Maerwyn wanted to talk like that about Thengel, truthfully, but his hurt and his trauma was evident in his actions. And they would be stronger than his love for his sister.

As silence fell over the hall, Thengel’s speech done, Thorin and his nephews stood back up again. The two kings bowed their heads at each other.

Then… “As for the proposed friendship between our peoples…” Thengel cleared his throat. Beside him, Morwen encouraged her husband with a smile. On the other side, Thorongil was peacefully watching.

Perhaps those two peoples’ reactions should have prepared both Maerwyn and Thorin for what was to come. But they were so adamant that they had all the information that they fell blind to what was happening right before their eyes.

“I publicly declare that the Kingdom of Rohan is now an ally of the Dwarves of Erebor and the Men of Esgaroth!”

A silence followed his words. Until he smiled and laughed at everyone’s shocked reactions, and people suddenly cheered and roared. Lords and ladies clapped their hands in ecstasy, because an allyship was always good.

And Thorin… Well, whilst his nephews elbowed him in the side with happy looks on their faces, Thorin still was not quite sure this was real.

Not until Thengel approached and offered his hand to Thorin.

Slowly, Thorin shook it, and the two kings nodded their heads at each other.

“What changed your mind?”

“People told me to weigh the consequences. I’d not only lose an ally, I’d also lose family.” He smirked. “You thought I wasn’t aware of your and Maerwyn’s plans? I am King of these halls. I hear everything.” He sighed, letting go of the handshake. “I am trying something new, King Thorin. I hope you can prove to me that this something new will not end up as bad as I think it will.”

Thorin bowed his head. That was a promise he could keep. “Thank you, my lord.”

Thorin glanced to the side where Maerwyn stood, stunned and with her hands over her mouth in shock still. But she looked happy. And so he smiled at her, along with Thengel who had turned to check what Thorin was looking at…

Hand in hand, Thorin and Maerwyn led the entourage of Dwarves down the steps from Edoras Hall. The towns people had gathered to clap and wave the guests and their new allies off. Most looked shocked at the sight of their lady Maerwyn going with the Dwarves. But it was a silent message to all that Thengel’s sister had found her home.

Before either of them took the reins of their horses from the two stable boys standing at the end of the steps, Maerywn and Thorin turned to each other and kissed in front of all. A gentle kiss to publicly declare the truth.

Behind them, Theodis was waving at Kili with a blush on her own cheeks. Kili played along and sent an air kiss her way.

With people cheering them on now, Maerwyn and Thorin turned to Edoras Hall standing proud on the hill, and waved one last time at King Thengel, Queen Morwen, their children and Thorongil.

Helping Maerwyn up on her horse, Thorin took the reins from the stable boy to his own pony, but paused to glance back to this Thorongil one last time, curiosity in his eyes.

But he found Thorongil was suddenly gone, nowhere to be seen. As if his goal had been accomplished and he’d left the scene to keep doing whatever a ranger did…

Shaking his head at that, for some reason thinking that this was not the last time Thorin would meet Thorongil, Thorin climbed up onto his pony. He reached out for Maerwyn’s hand and rode with her beside him down the town of Edoras. Maerwyn glanced back once to wave goodbye to her family. A big smile was on her lips.

“Will you miss them?” Thorin asked her.

“I don’t think so. I have all the family I need right here.” She leaned over to press a kiss to Thorin’s lips…

comment cheat code:

❤️ - I loved it! 💛- Please write more for this pairing/fandom!! 💙- HOW DARE YOU?? /lh 🤍- don't reply to my comment, please (I'm shy/anxious/don't want to talk today/don't like the feeling of being acknowledged when reading on AO3) 🤎- showing support for this / extra kudos 💚- twas okay 🖤- meh... have read better

#my tolkien writing #thorin spring forge 2024 #thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #thorin x female oc #the lord of the rings #the hobbit #the hobbit fic #everybody lives AU #lotr #my writing #tsf24 #tolkien event

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apalapucian · 24 days

Text

green light (2024 ver.)

an: old fic rewrite; the war is over, everybody lives AU. (well, not everybody everybody, but the potter family + sirius + remus + even peter* live.) entire fic under the cut. also on ao3 (better formatted there lol). * = you'll see.

—

1982

saying certain names out loud still hurts, so they don't.

they wake up early. a nervous hush settles in the whole house, the kind they thought has gone over the past year, but — well, it is october 31st. it's bound to return. not to haunt them, exactly. just remind them maybe. that they ought to stop a bit. commemorate. they owe it to their friends. they owe it to — frank and alice.

frank and alice. water beats down james's bare back and he leans a hand against the tiled wall before him, the other reaching up to massage his nape. he breathes deep slow breaths through his mouth, watches rivulets chase each other on the floor. thinks, what does it take to wash all the guilt away? frank and alice, frank and alice...

he steps out of the shower and stares his reflection down in the bathroom mirror. frank and alice.

yeah. still stings.

he holds lily's hand under the table throughout breakfast, and lily smiles — soft, fond, if a bit incredulous — at his one-handed attempt to eat.

it's still dark when they step out. they don't leave harry. they can't.

they apparate before old rusty gates, harry's tiny fists balling up and clutching james's shirt at the racket, but otherwise staying asleep in his father's arms. he looks so calm, their harry, so content in slumber. james strokes his hair and kisses the top of his head. he's sorry for everything else, he really is. but he's not sorry that harry's here, safe and close and breathing against his chest.

the graves look new. augusta, james guesses with a pang. lily stoops down to press a hand over alice's name, brushing away a stray leaf. they don't say anything. lily sniffs, and james puts his free arm around her.

the walk back out is better, lighter. lily's hand is no longer dawn-cold. harry stirs again, his usual wake-up time now, opening his eyes at the sound of the gates creaking close. for a moment it seems like he's going to cry, but the sun breaks over the horizon, and in awe he watches the light spill onto the dewy graveyard over james's shoulder.

—

1983

james is asleep, and lily rolls over to her other side to stare at the window. it's a wider window, and there's a different tree silhouetted against the dark, an unfamiliar picture framed in the night-dimmed white wood. the insects are quieter here, and the stars are... hmm. shier. although it might just be the weather, of course. the lone desk in the room is devoid of her potion books, of her research notes. no quidditch posters are tacked on the walls. no gryffindor things. the shelves, too. the list goes on and on, a disorderly parade of bullet points going too fast, so fast that even james's quiet breaths from behind her can't catch up and calm her down this time: the floors creak in different places. the staircase is longer, wider — not by much, still nothing to james's family house, but the difference is still stark. there is a patch of mildew in a corner of the kitchen ceiling. the cupboards are empty, two spare rooms are unfurnished, they need a new couch, maybe a coffee table, yellow roses in the garden...

she closes her eyes and sighs. for now, she reminds herself. mostly empty for now. and there's nothing wrong with that. there's nothing wrong with coming here, leaving godric's hollow. they needed this. she and james and harry. godric's hollow was home, but it was home during the war, and try as they all did to sweep away the remnants of battle from its corners, it stayed in the air and taunted them every time the house got too still, too quiet. echoes of terrible midnight news lingered, and the constant attacks of... of uncertainty, of terror still. god, the terror. of being shut up forever. of getting fucking murdered when they step out. of losing everything at any given second.

they needed this. this is right. it will be a better home.

a short, stuttering creak cuts through the silence, startling lily's thoughts. she turns, and harry is in the doorway. (they leave the door open so they can hear the house and harry, a habit they haven't shaken yet.) in the dim room, lit only by what little light spills in through the window, lily makes out her son's furrowed brows and the jutted-out bottom lip.

she raises a hand to beckon him in, but before she can speak, james says, "hey, mate," without any indication of having been sleeping at all.

she sits up to survey her husband in surprise, but his currently specs-less eyes are fixed, squinting, on harry, who shuffles into the room feet bare and glasses askew and hair a mirror of the same storm on his father's head. he stops at the foot of the bed and says in his tired little voice, "can i sleep here?"

"of course," says james, who's sat up now as well. "d'you want us to go to your room then?"

"daaadddd," groans harry, and james laughs, and he and lily scoot to the sides so harry can cuddle in between them. the pillows are righted and the sheets are pulled up to harry's chin. his glasses are laid beside james's on the bedside table.

"okay, i think i can sleep now," says harry, eyes already closed.

they all go silent then, james and lily just staring at each other in the dark over their son; wearing the same content, worried, happy, tired, everything almost-smile.

james reaches out for lily's hand, tracing circles against her knuckles with his thumb. harry shifts a little beneath, mumbles, "all right, mum? daddy?"

and their almost-smiles crack into full sigh-smiles of relief; an exhale of happiness they didn't know they were holding in.

"yeah, we are."

"sweet dreams, harry."

—

1984

she wakes up late and james is not beside her when she does. her heart skips a beat, but the panic doesn't last long anymore, and she feels more sure of her steps and the floor and their presence here than she ever was.

three years. three whole years, and it's really, really gone, isn't it?

there are yellow roses on the kitchen table. a cup of coffee charmed to keep warm for a time. a scrawled "morning! :) –james & harry" on a scrap of paper, the torn bottom of a receipt for... milk, she finds. and strawberries. harry was signed by harry himself, and lily wants to cry at the shaky strokes, the crooked lines. she can hear them in the other room where james's window seat project is almost finished. harry is laughing. he asks questions, mocks his dad's shabby handiwork, drops the things he's asked to hand.

roses and handwritten notes and coffee and giggles nearby. this is her life now. she skims the flowers, the sun itself in her heart.

—

1985

"d'you think moony's okay?" sirius asks, sat all thoughtful and cross-legged on the counter, and james wonders if he realizes that this isn't the first time he's asked him this. not even the second time.

"dunno," says james, feigning distractedness. good thing it doesn't take much at the moment. he looks at his reference sheet for recipe number three, taped on the wall, barely making out his own handwriting. cooking without magic is such a hassle. but he's in charge of it this year, and — because he's a proud dumbo, an arrogant toerag — he asked lily and harry to get out of the house while he cooks up the greatest dinner of their lives, so that none of lily's interventions or harry's endless bouts of 'taste-testing' ruin it. yeah, he thinks, because he's ruining it on his own just fine, thank you. "hey, will you pass me that jar — no, not that — yes. thanks..."

silence. james glances at sirius without moving his head, and is filled with exasperation at the look on his face. he asks, "look, why don't you just owl him?"

"he might still be mad at me," says sirius, and the immediacy of his response is proof, yet again, of how much he's been thinking about this.

not that james hasn't been. it's just — moony needs it. he needs to be away and sulking or whatever right now. but he'll be back. james is sure. till then there's nothing to do but wait.

which sirius sucks at, apparently. "d'you think i shouldn't have said anything?" he asks.

james stalls by ticking off two more instructions, probably getting the measurements wrong, but what the hell. "i don't know," he answers eventually.

sirius rolls his eyes. "loads of help, you are."

he gets a puff of flour in the face for that. james didn't need to look at him to aim. he smirks when he hears him cough and swear.

and then, later, while sprinkling salt (that's definitely way too much salt than just the required 'pinch'), james adds, quietly, "no, i don't think so."

"huh?"

"i think it's good that you — " james repeats, but he is distracted, because he looks up and notices how clean sirius looks. james is like, marinade-smeared and flour-dusted all over. "you know," he starts, "you're no better help than harry around here. at least he doesn't ask stressful questions while i work."

"first of all, you're not working," sirius retorts. "you're — i don't know, bullshitting this. second of all," this he says with a hand held up to silence james, who was about to talk back, "so it does stress you out. i knew it. you were trying to be all cool about it but i knew."

"oh, shut up. of course it stresses me out, padfoot, you always stress me out. you're an extremely stressful person. and this is even especially stressful. you're my best friends. but — like i said, i don't think it."

"don't think what?"

"that you shouldn't have said anything. i think it's good that you told him. otherwise it would have been this big wedge between you two, and no one would like that. not me, not lily, not you two."

sirius frowns. "so you like that he's not talking to us?"

"he talks to me," james points out, "and lily."

sirius arches a brow at him.

"fine, i don't like that you two aren't talking. but you obviously still feel guilty. you're always so... polite. so careful around him. you don't think we don't notice? and that wouldn't change unless he forgives you, which would never happen if he didn't know you had an offense to begin with."

"yeah, well. now he knows, and he hates us."

"just you, mate."

"thank you, prongs."

james drops what he's doing. "of course he'd react this way! you did tell him you didn't trust him. that you thought — "

" — i thought he was the spy, yeah. but that was before, you know that. you know it, don't you?"

"i do know it, padfoot."

"now i know — for sure — that i can trust him with my..."

"your life?" james prompts, when sirius leaves the sentence hanging.

"well, no. i don't know. my motorcycle, maybe."

"same thing."

" — true."

they stare at each other; sirius drags his gaze away first to pull his god this is so stupid face. "why did i have to fucking tell him? it's long over. we're all okay now. i should just have kept it to myself. forever. god."

"stop beating yourself up. you — hm. you get a point for honesty from me."

"it wasn't even honesty. it wasn't like anyone asked."

"well, you were drunk. we all were a bit."

"i screwed up."

" — yes, you did."

sirius looks scandalized. "wow. you didn't even hesitate."

"i've already made two excuses for you and i'm this close to dumping this casserole over your head," says james. "let's give him a week, okay? no — three more days. if he still doesn't talk to you then, i'll talk to him. but let him stew for now, yeah?"

sirius sighs. he doesn't say yes or nod or anything, but james can tell when he concedes. they leave the topic at that, and sirius begins his three-day wait by finally jumping off the counter to help. he briefly surveys james's dish (or what atrocity has become of it), narrows his eyes at the godawful handwriting, and then thumps james on the head. "you forgot number four, master chef," he points out, jabbing a finger on his cheat sheet.

"oh goddamn it..."

—

1986

harry goes missing. sirius picks remus up from hogsmeade and they drive to the potters' on his motorcycle, sirius barging in before remus can knock.

"how long does it take you two to change?" sirius scolds james and lily, while they all rummage around harry's usual hiding places, finding nothing. "you got fucking distracted, didn't you? i swear to god — "

"he wishes," snaps lily. "he was being an idiot."

"oh i'm being an idiot — " begins james, but remus and sirius cut him off.

"you were arguing?"

they (that is to say remus) find harry in the cramped cupboard under the stairs. he fell asleep. with james's invisibility cloak, which he procured without the knowledge or permission of his parents, as it turns out, and honestly sirius doesn't know whether to be admonitory or proud about that, and is only glad that it's not his business to be either.

"i was only going to scare you," harry says, looking properly guilty. "but you took so long to come down! i fell asleep."

"you succeeded, mate," says remus. "we were all very scared."

"never ever disappear on us like that again," lily tells off harry, but she's hugging him so fiercely, and james is still raking his fingers through his hair, wild-eyed, but is now also looking at his wife and son like he's forgotten whatever petty fight held them up upstairs. as he should, really.

james kisses her long and hard on the doorstep before she leaves to meet some important guy for work or some other. remus, who's leaving with her as he's supposed to go back to hogwarts now that the problem's solved, rolls his eyes while he waits for the gross affair to finish. sirius is staying in the house with james. he fakes retching gestures at the conitnued kissing, making harry giggle.

later, in the living room, sirius and harry swap chocolate frog cards. james is in the kitchen, doing the dishes. in the late afternoon lull, harry softly confides to sirius that while waiting in his nook earlier, before he fell asleep, he thought his parents might never bother to try and find him anymore.

"nah, they'll always find you. did you see them? they were all — " he makes exaggerated expressions of anguish. harry laughs again.

"but i was 'sleep then. what if i wasn't? what if i'm just lost?"

"they'd still find you."

"even if i have the cloak?"

"why are you lost and wearing the cloak?"

"um. i dunno."

sirius nods solemnly. "even if you have the cloak."

"even if it was under aunt petunia's stairs?"

sirius laughs. "even if you were under my mum's stairs."

harry grimaces at that. and then, "uncle moony found me though," says harry.

"does it matter?" says sirius, rumpling harry's hair. then he gently rights his glasses. "he just beat your dad to it. and me. and your mum. but one of us is always, always going to find you... oh, look — " he fishes a card from his deck, trapping it between index and middle finger and then flicking it neatly towards harry's pile. "it's your granddad!"

the longer harry stares at it, the deeper the lines between his eyebrows get. "why is... um, my hair's not gonna be like that when i grow up, is it?"

—

1987

lily shifts in her seat so she can look miss cole square in the eye. beside her, james squeezes her hand, but she doesn't know if he's just being twitchy. "i just don't see how anyone can turn someone else's hair entirely blue," explains lily, "without the other's... ah, full participation."

"and eyebrows," james reminds her, nudging her side.

lily nods. "and eyebrows, yes. thank you, james."

"you're welcome, lily."

miss cole looks positively pained from behind her desk, with her lips pursed mcgonagall-thin and her beady eyes sinking beneath her frown-lines. she inspects james and lily and harry, the last standing beside his seated father and is still glaring in contempt at the other boy in the room. kevin. big burly kid who could so easily have been dudley's twin brother, if not for his hair (and eyebrows) being the most vivid shade of lapis lazuli at the moment. his parents (filthy rich from what they've heard) are not around; he's accompanied instead by a furious, flustered, really bewildered nanny named (nicknamed?) baby.

"kevin says he did it," says baby, pointing a wrinkly-knuckled finger at harry. she speaks in this loud spitting hiss that's her attempt at 'keeping quiet' after getting told off so many times for being so loud. "kevin would never do this to himself — "

"oh, why not? it looks amazing on him," says james, straight face and amazement and concern and all. harry's glare breaks, but he has the sense to bite down on his lip to keep his laugh in.

harry doesn't get in too much trouble for it, thank god, mostly for lack of evidence. lily had a point, and miss cole is driven to just conclude that the boys must have just agreed to mess around and color kevin's hair, and kevin initially agreed, except now he looks (even more) ridiculous and he's not happy about it. (what happened, really, if anyone wants to know, was that between morning break and maths kevin wanted to give harry a free haircut, because he thought his classmate 'four-eyes' looked stupid with his 'mop-head'. he stole harry's glasses, cornered him, held him by the collar and loomed triumphantly over him with a pair of scissors — then harry grappled blindly at his head and his hair was just — suddenly. all. blue.)

harry and kevin mutter their respective apologies, as asked of them by miss cole, and harry glances warily at his parents when the counselor asks them to shake hands. lily nods; james smiles at him, puts a hand around his shoulders and urges him forward. harry swallows at the glint in kevin's eye when he takes his small hand in his hammy fingers, ready to retaliate — but then james cocks his head to one side and — lily couldn't entirely see, standing behind, but she's pretty sure james just gave kevin the look. not the glare, he reserves that for equal grounds. it's the look; that calm, icy, smug, unhinged james potter look that knows it can't lose and dares you to try. it has made fully grown adversaries waver in the past, so lily can only imagine how downright terrifying that could be to a seven-year-old.

kevin drops harry's hand in barely two seconds. he's out of the office in five.

james glances back at lily to smirk. she smirks right back.

—

1988

the parlor is crowded, but they find an available table for two in the patio, under the shade of a giant green umbrella. halfway through his ice cream (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts), harry adjusts his glasses and opens his mouth to say something, but his uncle moony beats him to it: "the answer is no, harry."

"i wasn't gonna ask again!"

"alright. what is it then?"

"i was only going to say... that i promise not to tell anyone. i promise. not even daddy. or mum!"

remus laughs. "d'you think they don't know?"

harry's eyes widen, and he actually drops his spoon in disapproval. "they know what your boggart is? why won't you tell me?"

"because i don't want to lie to you. you're a grown up now, as you're so constantly reminding us — and we're friends! but i also don't want to tell you what it is yet."

"but — "

"come on now, harry."

"but now you're missing the list."

"i'm truly sorry about that."

harry pouts, digs in again, and then, "okay, what about your patronus?"

remus considers this for a moment. "wolf," he says quietly.

"cool."

remus beams at him. "yeah, cooler than your dad's. and padfoot's."

"oh. hm. well, i don't know about that," he quips honestly. "i do like that dad's is a stag... hey, uncle moony?"

"yeah?"

"what about uncle padfoot? does he know? i won't tell him, if you're worried about that."

remus chuckles, leaning over to wipe chocolate off harry's nose. "i'm sorry, he knows. look, how about i take you to hogwarts next sunday? i'll take you to the kitchens. that'll make up for being the lame uncle, won't it?"

harry lightens up. "really?"

"yes."

"yes! yes, please. thank you."

"alright then."

"can we go on saturday?"

"ah, no. the joke shop's opening on saturday."

"oh, yeah..."

ice cream is finished and the walk home is a quiet, autumn-colored calm. when the crowd thins on a particular stretch of the road, harry nudges remus's side. "hey, uncle moony."

"i really hope you're not going to ask me again."

"i wasn't."

"go on, then."

harry grins up at him. "i don't think you're lame at all."

—

1989

"you're kidding," says james, reverent and awestruck, and lily knows she's made the right decision.

"we're not," she replies in sing-song.

"but this is... this is the latest comet." he runs his hand along the smooth length of the new racing broom, mouth still open in amazement. "how — "

"we all pitched in. sirius and remus and — "

"and me!" says harry, jumping in and hugging what he can reach of james. he's been bursting since the idea came forth, and it's a miracle, really, that he managed to keep the secret in until now. "i pitched in! i broke mr. jupiter!"

"you broke mr. jupiter?" says james, torn away from the moment at once. "but mr. jupiter was for your broom! and you love mr. jupiter! you loved his smooth pink butt!"

harry giggles. "mum bought me another one. it's a tardis piggy bank! it's bigger on the inside. and uncle moony said hogwarts has brooms there i can practice with, dad, and uncle padfoot said he'd buy me a broomstick himself once i'm a really, really good flier. and, dad, they said — you're going to play in the world cup."

"oh. i — who said?"

"all of us," says lily, smirking.

"that's... the world cup. huh."

"yeah!" says harry, almost yelling now, practically bouncing in excitement. "you're going to play for puddlemere united, aren't you? i mean, the wasps are fine too, and i suppose the magpies would be excellent as well, but — "

"easy, harry," says lily. her grin is ear-splitting.

james holds up a hand. "alright, back up one second — but, lily, your work — "

"they've given me permission to work on the potions research at home. i can use the spare room upstairs — don't worry, harry and i have it all sorted out. right, harry?"

"yeah, we have." harry holds up his palm for a high-five, lily gives it to him, and james grins at them fondly.

"there's also that prophet column still going," continues lily, "and the boys already said tom can handle the joke shop just fine on his own now. i just thought... you haven't forgotten, have you? i know you always tell me it's okay, but i see you when you play with harry, and... it's always been your dream. you can now, james. go for it."

james exhales a shuddering sigh of disbelief, overwhelmed. and then, shaking his head at... them, at the feeling of being with them here, now, god — he drops the broom and takes his wife's face into his hands. her lips taste like flying, like winning, like lily evans under the beech tree by the lake that very first time, and so, so, so much more —

"good thing uncle padfoot's not here," remarks harry, righting the broom up from the floor and watching his parents in equal euphoria. "you guys are disgusting."

—

1990

kingsley shacklebolt is minister for magic, and james doesn't have to (re)practice his patronus charms, because it's a tall, bushy-eyebrowed auror who leads him down the poorly lit corridor and not a swarm of hooded barbarities who want to suck out his soul. the auror leaves him by a cell almost to the end of the hallway, and there's nothing at first, just varying shades of darkness everywhere james turns, the echoing beats of water dripping, the muffled rage of waves around the island. he thinks he can hear laughter from somewhere close; a cold, high-pitched female giggling, and he considers just walking out because — christ. this place is mad. but then there's movement from the corner, behind the bars, and then he's in front of him, and james... doesn't know. feels a lot of things. wants to punch him, most of all.

"prongs," says wormtail. no — peter. peter pettigrew. his voice is a scratchy whisper, his face sunken and his hair a long wispy dead mess. he's thinner than james has ever seen him.

"shut up," says james, voice low. he feels the urge to back away one step, not expecting peter to cling on to the bars and hungrily squeeze his face through them to see him.

"prongs." he says it so reverently, like a god's name. "i'm — what are you — " he's surveying james up and down, drinking in anything he can from beyond azkaban. "prongs, fuck, i'm so happy you're here — "

"i said shut up. i didn't come here for you."

peter looks surprised, then hurt, then his grip on the metal loosens as a maniacal grin starts to spread on his lips. "clearly, you did. you can't help it. dear god, i can't believe i almost gave up."

james blinks at him in incredulity. "what?"

"i am sorry, prongs. i am. and i knew you'd know that, i knew you'd come back for me, but it's been so long — "

james starts to laugh. "are you insane?"

peter shuts up.

james looks at him, really looks at him, and the anger threatens to bubble up the surface again. but he holds himself down, keeps his clenched fists on his sides. he takes a deep breath, licks his lips, and then: "we're happy."

"i'm — sorry?"

there. that's why he's here. not to lash out, but to... to drop the last of what's still been weighing him down. and now that he's said that, we're happy — he didn't know it's what he was supposed to say, didn't plan it. it just sort of came out. but now he does feel like he just rid himself of the last of it. the last bad thing.

his hand slackens. he thinks of his first world league match next month, of sirius and regulus talking again, of remus getting promoted in hogwarts. lily and harry brewing potions in the spare room. idle evenings eating ice cream at the town plaza fountain. the joke shop's first anniversary. that time they danced to the weird sisters' new song in the rain... "we're happy," he repeats. "me and lily and harry. sirius. remus. everyone left is happy, pete. everyone alive."

peter opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

"and i don't know if i've forgiven you. maybe i have, or maybe... i don't know, maybe i just stopped going back. i certainly haven't forgotten, but trust me, i will. soon enough no one will even remember you anymore."

"i'm..." but there's nothing peter can say now. maybe he really is sorry, and maybe it'll never be enough, but james doesn't care. and he knows that peter knows this, sees it on his face, because his former friend cuts his sentence short. "james..." not a god anymore.

"i'm done with you," says james, knowing it in his heart to be true. "goodbye, wormtail. from all of us."

and he's sure then that he really isn't angry anymore, that he's okay, truly and finally, because the name no longer hurts so much as it did years ago.

the same way, he thinks as he walks down the halls of the most desolate place on earth, feeling so strange to be so... so full of light, in a place like this — the same way frank and alice (and marlene and dorcas and benjy and gideon and fabian and all the others) haven't stung in a long while.

fin

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆˙⟡٠⭑.

bookmark/kudos/leave purple hearts on ao3? :) thanks for reading!

#jily #jily*#jily lives au #everybody lives au #jily au #jple #jily fanfiction #jily fanfic #jily fic #wolfstar as cute uncles because. pls #domestic fluff #HAPPY ENDING!!!!!!!#apalapucian*

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