bakerstreet | High fantasy, higher affection.

Entry tags:

[meme] shipping

High fantasy, higher affection.

𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢, further back in years than anyone alive could remember, there is a land that even time has forgotten, filled to the brim with magic and mystery both good and ill. This is where you make your home. Who you are in this kingdom - or many kingdoms - is as varied as the blades of grass that spread over this lush terrain. You could be a petulant princess, a delving dwarf, a highway man with more than a few secrets, a devoted knight, a mage of ancient spellcraft, or even an ageless elf. No matter your station, though, one thing is for certain: whatever life you lead, it's about to get a great deal more exciting. There is a war brewing, somehow, somewhere, and the peace of your homelands is at stake. You are the only one who can set things right and go on a quest to save everyone.

Still, what is an adventure without an adventure of the heart? You are not alone, and you'll find that trying times can forge ironclad emotions. Of course, you'll find that the path of love is no easier here than anywhere else, be the person you admire an arranged fiancé you're not too fond of at first, a forbidden object of desire, a traveling companion, an enemy, a lifelong friend, an ally...or another species from you entirely. Yet, in any case, this is no time for romance, is it? Only moments can be stolen, and you must set aside your feelings for the greater good.

In this time, in this place, will you get your happy ending, or will this story prove to be a much darker fantasy?

Comment with your character, information, preferences, and any AU you might want to do with your character if they're not from an applicable setting.
Reply to others.
Thread with them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

m/f

m/f, bilbo exception.

[ don't try and tell me the supersoldier serum wasn't magic ok ]

[ I see him as a weaponsmith or a royal knight, tbh. ]

[ It is said that the Firstborn do not often mingle with the other races; not from prejudice (although, in Tauriel's opinion, there is plenty of prejudice there no matter what some might claim) but simply because there is little point to forming attachments with mortals who will soon die. When one lives an ageless life, the span of sixty years passes as quickly as the blink of an eye. A friendship forged with a child turns quickly into attending the funeral of an old crone, and so many of her people shun attachments to the mortal races and instead turn inward.

That is all well and good in theory, but in practice, an entirely insular community will not survive for long. The Greenwood has had trade routes set up with Dwarves and Men alike, and a large part of Tauriel's early duties as a lowly foot soldier had been collecting and then returning the barrels of wine that came through Laketown's port. She had never quite managed to befriend any of the Men she met during the course of her duties, never having seen them enough to bother attempting to forge a friendship, but now that she has been banished from her home, things are quite different.

After what has been deemed the Battle of Five Armies, a rather self-aggrandizing title in her estimation, Tauriel had made her way West, seeking shelter in the mountains. Perhaps Thranduil would have rescinded his banishment had she gone crawling before him to beg his forgiveness, but one of Tauriel's many faults is her damnable pride, and she could not stomach the thought. So, collecting her weapons and a small pack of supplies, she set off on her own and chose a place to settle almost at random.

It would be a lie to claim she did not know there was a blacksmith who lived just one clearing over, close enough to the main road to be able to catch the eye of passing travelers, but secluded enough to ensure some privacy was afforded him. She had not bothered him much in the beginning, merely introducing herself and purchasing a few nails so she could erect a more permanent structure for herself to live in, but almost without any effort from her part, she had forged a tentative friendship with the Man.

It helped that she was a very poor builder, and had more than once been reduced to trading meat she hunted for some assistance with the construction of her cottage. Duncan, for that was his name, had at least been polite enough not to comment on her terrible attempts, and had simply taken matters into his own hands whenever he felt compelled to. Between the two of them, it had not taken long to have a perfectly serviceable dwelling place to call her own, tucked beneath the boughs of a giant pine tree, hidden far more thoroughly from view than his smithy.

Tauriel has started to come up with other excuses to seek the man out, each one of them flimsier than the last. It is not her fault, surely. She is just lonely. And for all that he is not an excellent conversationalist, Duncan intrigues her, and spending time in his company means not spending time lost in her own thoughts, which is worth more than she can properly articulate. ]

Duncan, [ she announces, slipping through the smithy doors on entirely silent feet, knowing better than to simply appear at his side without warning, ] I have need of more arrowheads.

[ Like she doesn't dutifully track down each and every arrow she shoots so she can salvage the pieces of it she can. ]

[ Duncan was quite happy living alone in the loft above his workshop. He makes a good living when people who live nearby travel for his services instead of going somewhere else, a testament to his talent, and he's left alone for the most part. There's women here and there, but none stay long. Which makes Tauriel all the more interesting when she first starts to show up.

Generally, he's wary of newcomers and doesn't say much and the fact that she never pries for more information from him when he doesn't want to give it is refreshing. He doesn't even mind when she starts showing up more often. And even builds her abode close enough to his that he can watch her some evenings from his loft.

It's kind of nice, having a neighbor. He was happy to help her erect her shelter so it wouldn't be blown over with a strong gust of wind, too, and the time they spent together working on it even afforded him a few smiles and laughs.

Now, it was almost routine. She was welcome in his space like no other. And when she was gone, Duncan often felt her absence as well as lingered on the scent she left behind.

He spends his free time crafting the things that she likes. Arrowheads, that she always needs, sharpening her knives whenever she comes over unannounced. Whatever she might like. Everything that he doesn't make for an order has a little bit of her in it, even if he'll never admit it.

He's especially thankful that she's stopped sneaking up on him. He has a bad habit of drawing weapons on people when he's startled, something she had learned the hard way. But when she returned his threatening stance with one of her own, he fell in love with her a little more. ]

You always have need.

[ He's teasing, of course, smiling as he walks over to the workbench where he's got a stash of her very favorite kind. He never sells those to other patrons. Her own private stash.

He also likes the game she brings him that she's surely killed with those arrowheads. It seems romantic, somehow. The circle of life. ]

These are all I have now. I'll have to craft some more.