LOTR/Hobbit ~Collection of Preferences~

He Defends You

Thorin:

(A/N: A backward version here- you defend him. Just thought it would work better with the storyline for this one.)

Throwing flaming pinecones at the vicious enemies surrounding you isn't nearly enough to hold them back- Thorin is about to be decapitated and you can't believe no one's doing anything about it. Summoning your courage, you leap out of the pine tree you've been sheltering in, Ori behind you shouting with alarm. You draw your sword and charge as fast as your short legs will take you toward the orc about to kill the rightful king of Erebor, giving a fierce battle cry fit for any grizzled warrior, despite how your heart races with adrenalin and panic. In moments, the orc is dead, but its many, many comrades are not, and you have certainly upset them. Though your hand trembles, your resolve does not waver, and you stand before the badly-wounded Thorin, daring to protect him. With ferocious, guttural roars, you are charged at by three Wargs at once and wildly swing your blade, a sense of hopelessness overcoming you at the observation that you are clearly outnumbered.

You manage to beat two of the monstrous beasts back, but the last lunges forward and claws out your left eye. As it gives a howl of triumph, you give a yelp of pain and fall to your knees, covering your now-empty socket with one hand as you feebly point your sword, still defiant, at the enemies before you. You're sure your death is to come soon and painfully, and you are swamped with despair that you were likely not able to save Thorin. Surprisingly, no further attack is waged upon you, and you wince as you force open your remaining eye to see a giant bird swooping over your head to gently pick up Thorin in its talons. You, trusting that he'll be safe- what other choice do you have?- close your eye and slump onto the ground, letting the pain lure you into that darkened, dreamless place of between sleep and consciousness.

His Current Impression Of You (HCIOY): He can't believe you would dive forward like that to same him- but you just did, and at such a great personal cost. He watches you as he is carried away, another great eagle carefully picking your limp body up and following its flock. Why would you sacrifice your eye to save him? And how, if ever, can he repay you for this noble deed?

Your Current Impression Of Him (YCIOH): You are very glad he is not dead and hope he will recover from his wounds soon. You believe that the impulse that drove you to save him was fueled by a growing connection you've felt to him in the last month or so- and now, as you drift in and out of awareness, cold wind streaking across your face as you are carried through the dawn sky, you ponder.

(A/N: the rest of the stories from here on will be as specified in the title, he defends you.) 

Fili:

A short way into your journey to Erebor, you discover the loss of two of the Company's ponies and decide to prove your merit to the rest of the group by finding and retrieving them all by yourself. Following a suspiciously obvious path of disturbance through the forest, you sneak up on a trio of vulgar trolls. As you eavesdrop on their discussion on how best to cook the Company's missing steeds (whom you've spotted tied up nearby), you discern that they are fairly stupid and creep around the back of the crude pen and start untying the knots keeping the ponies captive. Just as you slip free the last end of the rope, one of the trolls reaches over, not looking down, and you shove open the gate, shouting for the small equines to flee. The troll snatches you up by the back of your cloak and you frantically try to wiggle free, but the large, foul creature has too tight a grip. You draw your sword, swinging heatedly at the hand holding you, but the troll growls and flicks your only weapon out of your grasp. You curse at the three smelly grumps and they, already unamused at you setting free their supper, unanimously decide to cook you alive instead.