#not exactly his kid or even his granddaughter but a young woman whose every step reminds him of lucy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pikemoreno · 4 years

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if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter III: Going Down

a/n: surprise! it’s a little early! well.. technically it’s a week late but you know what i mean... i’m gonna try to get back on schedule now...

taglist is open if you’d like to be added. sorry if you asked and i missed it or forgot. please just ask again if you aren’t on there and would like to be. :’)

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either. this is just fun.

Rick’s was in its usual state of vacancy when you walked in with Marcus, you leading the way as he held the front door for you. The fifteen or so tables were mostly empty except for a couple that held some elderly patrons and one that seated a businessman on his lunch break, his phone held rigidly to his ear.

You and Marcus were sat at a corner booth by a lovely middle-aged woman who Marcus, unsurprisingly, seemed to be friendly with. They engaged in small talk as she distributed two menus-- as if either of you needed it, a simple formality in this case. He asked her about “the kids and grandkids” and she responded “Oh crazy as ever” and they laughed as two old friends exchanging an inside joke. You guessed they kind of were, or at least old friends in the sense that Marcus made anyone into an old friend nearly instantaneously.

You both ordered, not needing any time to peruse a menu, she called it out to the kitchen and continued her small talk with Marcus. She introduced herself to you as Sandra when Marcus introduced you as “his friend from work.” You smiled at that. You discovered that she was the owner and that her husband had been the titular Rick who had passed away three years ago, leaving her to run the place. She finished her story about her oldest granddaughter, one of seven, and how she was adapting to college life and walked off to placate another customer nearby.

Marcus really had a way with people. As he told you more about his friendship with Adrian on the walk over that’d become clear, talking about Adrian as if he’d known him forever. He seemed to have every fun fact from his favorite food to the cause of the scar on his forehead down as if he’d learned them all naturally from childhood. He hadn’t. They met a year and a half ago when Adrian moved to Austin from the Phoenix field office. He really knew how to talk to people, asking lots of questions with real interest and doing everything to make them feel important and included and understood. You had no idea how he did it, how he was just like that. You’d never be able to remember that the granddaughter of the owner of your favorite restaurant was moving into college, nor would you probably ever think to take the intentional time to find that out in the first place. He was something else, truly. It kind of made you want a permanent spot in his circle, to feel important like that too.

But, first, to take care of business.

“Tell me more about Adrian,” you began, “Do you know his type?”

“I’m not really sure if he has one. He’d been with Sam since before I met him. Never took a second glance at anyone else.”

“Committed. That’s sweet. What’d she look like then?” Marcus pulled up a picture that remained on Adrian’s social media. Sam’s tawny brown complexion was certainly not an exact match to Wendy’s warm umber; Wendy had sharper features where Sam’s were rounder. But their hairstyles were similar, if he was into that, and they both had deep brown eyes. You wished Marcus had more for you to work off of, but you knew looks were nothing but a first impression and Wendy, being the beautiful goddess she was, would certainly catch Adrian’s eye no matter his “type.”

Now to just get to that point.

You handed his phone back to him as your food was brought out and laid in front of you.

“So what’s he into then? What’s his scene?” you gestured vaguely with your fork.

“Well, he’s a big social guy. Not a hard partier necessarily, but likes going to bars-- the loud ones?” Marcus seemed to wince from personal experience. “He likes being out late and having fun and meeting new people. Big extrovert.”

You sighed. That was not Wendy. Wendy was a classic introvert. She’d rather spend an evening reading a book or walking a deserted museum, maybe having a drink with a friend or two. She was kind and loving, but not one to meet everyone in the room. She was confident in an unassuming, quiet way, not feeling the need to work a room. Daniel had been the perfect socialite in their relationship. You wondered if Adrian would be too similar to the jackass-- minus the jackass part.

“I couldn’t drag Wendy to a crowded bar on a weekend if I tried. Would Adrian maybe be interested in an evening stroll in a quiet museum?”

“Definitely not,” Marcus stated emphatically, “I would though.”

“Are you interested in being set up with Wendy?” you joked. He gently shook his head.

“Can’t say I’m looking.”

You hummed noncommittally in response. It had sent a pang through your chest that you couldn’t name.

You moved on.

“It sounds like our best option is to get them to meet in the office somehow.” You held your thumb between your teeth as you thought and laughed as your next thought came to you, “Maybe we should get them to meet like we did. Steal all the coffee, make them go find some, hope it’s love at first sight?” Marcus tilted his head at you, his face unreadable. “That’s a long shot though,” you huffed. “It doesn’t mean they’d end up together… Obviously.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “We need a meet cute. Every great romance starts with a meet cute.”

“Get them stuck in an elevator together?” he suggested after a moment of considering. You blinked at him, a little dazed at the sudden solution. His eyes moved from where they’d been looking out at the city street to meet your blinking gaze. “What? I’ve seen the movies. That’s a classic.”

“So how do you suggest we do that?”

“I think the security desk has control over the elevator. We’ll convince them to help and then we just have to make them get in the elevator at the same time.”

“Easy,” you chirped sarcastically.

“Do you have a better idea?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to offer something, but you simply shook your head. “Great. Let’s go stop an elevator.”

Step 1: Convince The Guard

Walking back into the office, the two of you made a beeline for the security desk, casually stopping in front of the guard whose eyes were fixed on the screens that provided various views around the building, including the sought after elevators. He looked new to the job: young, bright-eyed, eager. You hoped that wouldn’t work against you as you tried to convince him to break a couple of rules in the name of love. Marcus took the first crack at talking to him. You watched his eyes dart to the guy’s name tag before he walked up so he could address him by name. Marcus flashed him a smile when he looked up.

“Kevin, right? How’s it going today?” You groaned internally. He was laying the charm on way too thick and, frankly, it was giving you second-hand embarrassment to watch. Kevin looked even more concerned, his eyes wide and fearful.

“Good, I guess, Agent um--” he spared an unsure look at his tag, pushing up his tortoiseshell glasses slightly, “Pike.”

“Great. I have a little favor to ask of you, Kevin. Would you be able to control and shut down an elevator for just a few minutes?” Kevin looked impossibly more frightened, his voice frantic and quick when he spoke.

“Is-- Is there a problem with the elevators? I can just--” his fingers hovered over the glass encased button that was labelled ‘elevator shut down’. You guessed it would be the button to lock down all of the elevators into their security threat mode. Not the goal of this endeavor. Marcus calmly stopped him.

“No, no. We don’t need it all shut down.” Kevin’s hand slowly retreated from the button. “We just need you to manipulate the elevators a little to get two people in one and have it shut down for just a couple of minutes.”

“But I’m only supposed to stop elevators in an emergency situation.”

Oh yeah, this guy was fresh out of training.

“You’re so right, Kevin. But this is an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency? If there’s a problem with security or the elevators I should already know about it,” he shook his head, “I don’t know about this. I don’t want to get fired.”

Marcus sighed. He was going to have to change his approach. He was not anticipating the security guard for the day being a new hire that he didn’t know and who cared this much about the rulebook still. That usually didn’t last long. There were few major security threats coming into the building that the agents inside didn’t already know about. When you work security for a building already filled with FBI, your job is surprisingly uneventful. When your job is that uneventful, you tend to start being willing to fudge the rules a little. Marcus had counted on that. He leaned an elbow on the security desk.

“Have you ever been in love, Kevin?” Marcus’s eyes almost had a sparkle to them when he spoke, the charm really kicking in. Kevin bought it, he shrugged, a little bit of a blush forming on his cheeks.

“Yeah… Maybe… I guess.”

“Great. Then you’ll understand what we’re trying to do. How did you meet this potential love of yours?”

“I met him in college four years ago. We’re struggling through long-distance now, but I think we’ll make it work.”

“That’s beautiful.” Marcus’s smile was genuine, despite the over-acting of much of the rest of the conversation. “The reason we’re here is that we have two friends who were both in love-- much like you are-- but they both got their hearts broken. So we’re trying to set them up with each other.”

“And you need me to--?”

“We’re gonna tell them both to come down here. We need you to make sure they end up in the same elevator and then shut it down. Just long enough to get them interested in each other.”

“A classic trope.” Kevin looked excited.

“Exactly,” Marcus grinned back, then looked to you, “See? He gets it.” You rolled your eyes.

“So will you help us, Kevin?” you pleaded. He bit his lip a moment, looking at the elevators on the screens in front of him and then back to you, considering his options.

Does he aid in true love at the risk of his job?

“I’m in.”

Step 2: Text The Lonely Hearts

You and Marcus both had your phones at the ready with messages asking both friends to come downstairs, simply saying that you’d “explain when they got here.” What would you be explaining when they made it? Well, that was a then problem. That bridge would be crossed after you succeeded in bringing the lovebirds together. You counted down together.

“3… 2… 1... Send.”

The messages notified that they were delivered and the two of you huddled around the screens with Kevin, closely observing the 6th and 7th floor elevator lobbies.

Step 3: Meet Cute

Adrian made it to the elevator lobby of his floor first.

“That’s Adrian. Don’t let one stop on his floor, send one up to Wendy first,” Marcus called out.

Kevin hit a couple of buttons and all of the elevators passed Adrian by, one of them stopping at the 7th floor, waiting just for Wendy. She came on screen a minute later and the elevator opened for her the second she pressed the button. Then it made it its way down to the 6th floor, opening for Adrian. All three of you held your breath, watching as they both stood in separate corners of the elevator, both on their phones.

“C’mon guys. You’re two hot young singles! Interact!” you groaned. “Alright Kevin. Do it.”

The elevator began to make its way down and then abruptly stopped at Kevin’s command. An alarm made a long beep and then the whole thing shut down, the emergency light kicking on. You had Kevin turn on the security camera audio that was usually muted, it was fuzzy, but just audible enough.

But you didn’t even need to hear. The look on Wendy’s face said it all.

“Oh no. No no no no no,” you could hear her utter, her hands in a death grip on the metal bar on the back wall of the elevator. Adrian had looked startled before, but looked decidedly more startled at Wendy’s panic.

“Are-- are you ok?”

“Not really,” she gritted her teeth.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll just--” He hit the call button. Kevin let it ring. Wendy looked to be seconds away from hyperventilating.

“You didn’t think to mention the fact that Wendy is claustrophobic?” Marcus muttered to you.

“I didn’t know! How should I know that? Let’s get them out of there Ke--”

“Wait, wait. Look! Adrian is making a move,” Kevin interrupted, pointing your attention back to the screen that held his enraptured attention.

Adrian hesitantly stepped a little closer to Wendy. “Is it the enclosed space? It’s ok, it’s ok. We’re gonna get out of here. We’re totally safe. We just have to wait for them to get it fixed.” Wendy waved him off.

“Not helpful, but thanks,” she breathed, keeping her focus straight ahead.

Not a great start to the relationship.

“Alright,” Marcus sighed, running a hand down his face, “This isn’t working. Let them out, Kevin. We’ll have to figure something else out.”

Step 4: ???

Now what?

This was only supposed to be three steps. Now they were both leaving the elevator and you were no closer to getting them together. All you did was give Wendy a panic attack. You and Marcus waited on opposite ends of the lobby, ready to receive your friends with bogus excuses as to why you called them down. Wendy practically knocked you down from how freaked out she still was, babbling about what had just ensued. You caught Marcus’s eye as you discussed separately with the two lonely hearts, the look you exchanged over their shoulders was a resounding “What do we do now?”

Time for a Plan B.

It needed to be foolproof this time.

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d3-iseefire · 4 years

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Princess of Shadow Chapter 4

Bilba stood on the balcony of her grandfather's office and stared down over the plain separating Erebor and Dale. The armies surrounding the mountain had pulled back, allowing her to see the ground for the first time in what felt like ages. It should have filled her with a sense of hope, but all she felt was trepidation.

Her eyes went to the small pavilion that had been set up between Erebor's front gates and the invaders. From where she stood all she could make out was the faint shadowy movement of distant figures.

"I thought they'd be closer," she said, crossing her arms nervously. "Can the archers reach them from here?"

The words sounded so odd as she said them. It wasn't that she wanted anyone to be struck by an arrow, barbarian invaders or not. She just...wanted them to go away. Ingram said the archers were only there for effect, though, to make sure the armies stayed back while the hostages were brought inside.

It would be fine, she told herself sternly. It'd work

Somehow.

Ingram stepped up behind her. “Are you ready, Princess?”

“No.” She suppressed a shiver. She’d stopped by her rooms to have Josie redo her hair and add her tiara and then touch up her makeup. She needed to appear her best if she was going to hope for any respect from whatever Durin had been sent to negotiate.

Her stomach churned, and she let out a slow breath. She hadn’t told Josie about what she was planning to do. She knew the other girl wouldn’t approve, and she was already anxious enough without having to listen to a list of how everything could go wrong.

She knew things could go wrong, but what other choice did they have? At least Ingram had a plan that didn’t involve simply giving up. She couldn’t stomach the thought of surrender. Not just because of the question of what would happen to her, but what would happen to everyone in the mountain? She doubted the Durin heirs would allow the hobbits to continue living in Erebor. Would he kill them, or simply throw them out as winter approached?

Ingram put his hands on her shoulders, and she flinched in surprise. He squeezed and then began to massage the bare skin. Bilba knew he was trying to help her relax, but it made her even more tense. Her grandfather had driven home, repeatedly, the rule that no one was allowed to touch her in any way without his express permission.

Said permission was usually reserved for his allies or, more recently, Lord Grima. Their wandering hands and leering grins always made her skin crawl, and what Ingram was doing was far too similar. She had the horrifying thought that, at any moment, her grandfather would appear to scream at her for her wantonness. She didn’t actually know what the word meant, but her grandfather always made it sound very bad indeed.

She took a step, enough to pull free from him, and turned to face him. She grabbed the ring resting against her collarbone and held it tightly between her fingers. Her grandfather had believed in her, she told herself firmly. Or at least he’d believed her capable of holding off the invaders long enough for him to get away. If she succeeded at driving them away entirely and saved the mountain in the process…

She wouldn’t be the useless granddaughter anymore, her only use in her looks or ability to be used as a bargaining chip.

He might even be proud of her.

“You’ll do great, Princess,” Ingram said with a cheerful smile. “Don’t worry. Just do exactly as I said, and everything will work out.” He held his hand out. “Shall we?”

She gave him a tight smile and then obediently held out her hand to allow him to escort her. As they crossed the floor her eyes drifted over her grandfather’s desk and she frowned. She’d stood before it often enough to know her grandfather was almost obsessively neat, every paper and pen perfectly straight and squared off. Now the surface was a mess, papers strewn about, several pens on the floor and even a few drawers pulled out. “I’m surprised he left it like that.”

“He was in a hurry,” Ingram said with a shrug. “He was more concerned with his own safety than in leaving things neat for the usurper.”

That made sense, Bilba thought. They reached the door and Ingram pulled it open. Outside four hobbits in guard uniforms waited to escort her. Bilba didn’t recognize them, but most of the palace guard had already been killed on the battlefield or left with her grandfather and his council. She was mildly surprised at how young and fit they all were as she’d thought everyone of fighting age had long since been sent out but, perhaps, they were simply older than they looked, or even younger, which was a distressing thought.

Ingram led her out and the four closed around her to escort her to the front gates. She received more than one confused look as she passed by lesser members of the nobility, and even a few higher ranked ones her grandfather hadn’t seen fit to take along. With each one she stood straighter and walked with a surer step.

She’d managed to make the guards listen to her, and Ingram respected her. Once she’d managed to successfully help take one of the Durin’s hostage it would show all of them. Her grandfather, her people and the nobility, Sigrid and Bard and everyone who’d turned on her without so much as a backwards glance.

She’d be a hero. Her grandfather would be able to come back and he’d be so impressed that he’d call off the engagement to Lord Grima and perhaps let her marry Lord Berold instead…

Her face flushed and she lowered her eyes to her feet as if her thoughts could be read on her face. Ingram hadn’t made any promises, she reminded herself firmly. He’d implied, but that could have just been him being kind. There were so many young women who fancied him, most if not all prettier and smarter than she was. She’d count herself lucky indeed if he chose her.

They arrived at the ground floor and she was struck at how eerily silent it all was. Usually, there was a bustling market down there, filled with vendors from both Erebor and Dale. Now, it was empty, darkened booths appearing as little more than abandoned husks, filled with the debris and litter of past splendor.

Near the gates, which had barely been opened wide enough to allow a single person to pass through, she spotted a small group of ponies waiting for them.

Five to be exact.

“Is that all?” she asked in disbelief. They were going to be fairly far from the mountain, and literally in the camp of the enemy, and all that was before they took a hostage. How in the world did Ingram expect four guards to handle all that?

“There is no one else to be spared,” Ingram explained, the slightest hint of censure in his voice. He nodded toward the top of the gates and Bilba saw a few archers lounging against the battlements. “Our real force will be in them. They’ll keep you safe, Your Highness, and protect your retreat.”

“Of course,” Bilba said quietly. Mahal, but she was dense sometimes. Of course she couldn’t expect an entire entourage to escort her. Hadn’t she just been thinking how strange it was for her four guards to be young?

“No one looks to a princess for her brains,” her grandfather’s voice lectured. “Best to keep your mouth shut, and let your looks speak for you.”

Ingram spun her to face him suddenly and she gasped in surprise. He put his hands on her waist and she barely had the change to place her hands on his shoulders before he was lifting her up to sit sidesaddle on one of the ponies.

It wasn’t her pony, Bilba noted immediately, a slow, lazy creature whose chief goal in life was to sleep. This pony was young and eager, moving about and tossing its head the second she was seated. Bilba tensed, but one of the other guards grabbed the reins before she could reach for them and roughly dragged the pony’s head around. “I’ll handle it.”

Bilba nodded shakily. “Thank you.”

Ingram grabbed the pony’s bridle. “You’ll do fine, Your Highness. I have faith in you.”

Bilba forced a small, but genuine smile. She looked toward the slit in the gate and spotted the distant image of the pavilion waiting for her. She let out a slow breath to try and, unsuccessfully, calm her nerves. She was a princess, she reminded herself firmly. She’d been trained her entire life to be in the public eye.

She nodded at the guard holding her pony’s reins and, as a group, they moved out.

She could do this.

***

“I can’t decide if they’re deliberately trying to be insulting,” Frerin said casually, “or if they’re just that stupid.”

Beside him, Bard frowned. “It’s possible they don’t have enough people left to muster a proper guard.”

“If that’s true,” Frerin said, crossing his arms, “it still falls into the later category. Only an idiot would tip his hand this badly.”

Bard didn’t answer. The two of them were standing a few feet in front of the pavilion that had been thrown together. It consisted of little more than a table, a few chairs and the tent around it. That had been put in place so Frerin only had to watch his back from one direction. Dwalin and Vili stood at either side and more guards were ranged past them and behind the pavilion.

All of it completely unnecessary apparently, given the ridiculously small group coming toward them.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bard said suddenly under his breath.

Frerin frowned. “What?”

Bard nodded toward the approaching group. “That’s the princess.”

“The princess?” Frerin had forgotten about her. He was aware there was a princess but knew next to nothing about her. Everything Nori had provided painted the portrait of a vapid young woman obsessed with fashion, wealth and her own status. He’d heard nothing of her personality, assuming she even had one, or her character.

As the group neared, he straightened, wanting to get a better look at this princess. She rode in the center of the four guards, all young men who appeared to have been chosen more for their looks than strength or ability.

The princess herself looked…well, ridiculous if he were being honest. She wore a massive gown that nearly enveloped the pony she rode, so saturated with gems and other fripperies it was a wonder she or the creature could stand under the weight. Her hair was done in an elaborate style that must have taken an obscene amount of time to create and was also liberally covered with jewels. The tiara she wore could probably be used as a weapon if she focused the sun off it correctly, and her face had a level of makeup on it that he felt anyone would find overdone.

She was older, probably the same age as Dis or Jayde if not beyond them. Unlike most of the rest of the hobbits, who’d appeared increasingly thin as the weeks went by, she appeared to still be in the prime of health. Her expression was flat, and she looked past them all as if they weren’t even there.

The ponies drew to a halt and she sat tall in her saddle, head up so she could look down her nose at them. He saw her eyes light on Bard, Thranduil and Gandalf, before settling on him. Her brows furrowed fractionally, and then it was back to the blankness again.

Gandalf stepped forward. “Your Highness. It’s a pleasure to meet you again, my dear.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she replied, her voice quiet. “It would seem you’ve returned a traitor to Erebor, along with those we once thought our allies.” Her eyes shifted for a moment to Bard and Thranduil and then away again.

One of her guards dismounted and went to help her down, an act that proved challenging with her dress draped the way it was. She slid off but her gown hooked over the back of the excitable animal, causing what, in any other circumstance, would have been quite the amusing struggle to free it while maintaining some semblance of dignity.

Scratch that, Frerin decided, it was amusing regardless.

The move was completed finally, and the princess stepped forward. She stopped in front of Frerin, the tip of her head barely reaching the bottom of his chin. He knew that hobbits were generally smaller than dwarves, but she took it to an extreme.

“Your Highness,” he said, a deliberate mocking tone in his voice.

She flushed, or at least he thought she did under the layers of makeup. “I assume you’re the one they’ve sent to negotiate?”

Frerin sketched an overly dramatic bow before settling on what he knew was an outright smirk. “Frerin, son of Thrain, son of Thror at your service, Your Highness. Might I ask why your grandfather hasn’t seen fit to come?”

A flicker of sunlight off her collarbone drew his eye and he frowned at the sight of a ring she wore on a chain. He’d never seen it before but had heard it described often enough to recognize it.

The Durin family ring. Stolen from the hand of the rightful king of Erebor after he was betrayed and murdered by the treacherous hobbits. The ring was a family heirloom, and she was wearing it like some sort of trinket.

It was a very good thing, Frerin decided, that Thorin hadn’t come. He was angry at the sight. His brother would have been far less forgiving.

“My grandfather has better things to do with his time,” the princess said imperiously, hands clutched in front of her. She seemed to be trying to ignore all of them simultaneously, which would make negotiating rather hard he thought. “He sent me to negotiate in his place.”

“That doesn’t seem like him,” Bard said from where he stood a few feet away. “Though, to be honest, the idea of negotiating at all doesn’t seem like him.”

The princess turned her head away, behaving as if the other man weren’t even there. Frerin made a mental note to convince Thorin that Kili needed negotiating experience. Let him put up with petulant princesses the next time around. He nodded toward the table and chairs. “After you.”

She nodded and then swept past him toward the chairs, giving him her back and leaving her guards rushing to catch up.

Frerin caught Dwalin’s eye and saw the other dwarf raise an eyebrow in question. Frerin shook his head in response. The woman had practically handed herself over to them but taking her into custody would do no good with her grandfather still in the mountain.

“This is ridiculous,” Bard murmured from next to him. “She’s the last one he would send for serious negotiations. They have no intention of surrendering.”

Frerin watched as the princess stopped next to her chair, clearly waiting for one of them to pull it out for her. “Which begs the question,” he said, keeping his own voice low, “of just what the Thain is up to.”

Bard started to speak, only to cut off as the distant sound of a commotion came from the front lines located behind the pavilion.

Before Ferin had a chance to process, two other things took his attention. One was the slightest widening of the princess’s eyes as her gaze lingered on something just over his shoulder.

The second was the barest movement of air across the back of his neck.

He had his sword half drawn and was already turning when a soft thwip and a burst of wind raced past his ear. The thunk of an arrow hitting home, followed by the thud of a falling body came next. Frerin completed his turn, sword in hand, to see one of the princess’s guards lying dead on the ground. There was an arrow protruding from his chest, and a dagger lying next to his hand.

A few feet away, Dwalin had the second guard on his knees, sword at his throat. Vili had already nocked a fresh arrow and was pointing it at the ground, the mere presence of it enough to cow the third guard while another of the soldiers had taken control of the fourth.

That left the princess. She was standing completely still, eyes now very wide, and mouth slightly agape. Her eyes flicked toward his and then away, toward the mountain in the distance.

“Don’t bother,” Frerin warned. “You won’t make it, especially not in that dress.”

She chewed on her lower lip, considered and then, in one move gathered as much of her skirts as she could in both hands and bolted toward the mountain.

“Seriously?” Frerin muttered. Her skirts hampered her movements so badly he considered simply walking after her. A shout from Vili, however, had him lunging forward to grab her arm and wrench her back under the pavilion, just as an arrow slammed into the dirt mere inches from her feet.

She screamed in surprise and froze again, which gave Frerin just the time he needed to pull her hands behind her back and hold them. Dawlin approached with remnant of the rope he’d used to secure the other guards and Frerin quickly secured it around her wrists.

The action seemed to snap her out of her stupor, and she jerked, struggling to get away. “Unhand me, you beast!”

Frerin pulled her around to face him and held her by her upper arms. “Beast?” he asked mildly. “I’d have expected you to think kindlier of the person who just saved your life.”

She rolled her eyes. “That arrow wasn’t meant to hurt me. It was to protect me while I escaped!”

“Was it now?” Frerin asked. “Someone has poor aim then. It would have gone right through your chest had I not grabbed you.”

The princess scoffed but the barest hint of uncertainty flickered in her eyes.

Vili approached. “There’s no way they sent that all the way from the gates. Where did it come from?” As he spoke, he kept his eyes trained on the plain between them and Erebor, watching for any further attacks.

“A very good question?” Frerin mused. He raised an eyebrow at woman in his grasp. “Care to elaborate, Princess?”

She jerked her head away from him and strained to pull free of his grasp. Frerin tightened his grip and pulled her away, toward the back of the tent and the small flap that would allow them to exit and return to the front lines.

“You better let me go,” the princess demanded ago. “We’ve taken one of your relatives hostage, I think, and if you don’t let me go you’ll regret it.”

Frerin fought the urge to laugh. “You think? I think I’d disown any of my relatives foolish enough to let themselves be taken hostage by your forces.” He pushed open the flap and made a show of looking out toward the open land between them and the front lines of soldiers. From where he stood, he could see a commotion had died down already. “And, pray tell, princess, how exactly would your people have gotten a hostage from there back to the mountain without anyone seeing?”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t say,” she said, mockingly, “how do think they got from the mountain to the front lines to begin with?”

Frerin paused. From a few feet away he heard Bard swear under his breath. Gandalf shifted and appeared to speak but stopped when Frerin held up a hand.

“That,” he said quietly, “is an excellent question, Your Highness. One I’m sure we’ll be discussing in great detail.”

He hesitated and then grabbed the ring lying against her collarbone and yanked, easily snapping the chain it sat on. She gasped in surprise and gave him a dark look but didn’t comment as he shoved the ring into his pocket. His brother was bound to be angry enough without seeing her wearing a royal heirloom like a pretty bauble.

As he steered her out of the pavilion, Bard stepped up on her other side and gave him a pointed look before taking her other arm. Vili arrived on his other side and frowned.

“Do you suppose they’re lovers?” he asked in Khuzdul, nodding toward Bard and the princess.

“I hope not,” Frerin answered. That sort of complication was the last thing they needed.

“The wizard doesn’t seem happy either,” Vili added, but Frerin simply shook his head.

“One thing at a time.” He tightened his grip on the princess’s arm as she tried, yet again, to pull away, and firmly steered her toward the front lines.

Time for the usurper’s granddaughter to meet the rightful king of the dwarves.

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