A Moment In Which You Demonstrate One of Your Strengths #1
(A/N: These are selected from the chapter Seven Select Strengths of Yours.)
Thorin:
Strength: Stealth
Point of View (POV): Thorin
Well, isn't this a fantastic turn of events? Thorin Oakenshield narrows his eyes at the elven guard sauntering past his cell, silently stewing. Held as prisoners by the king of Mirkwood as if the Company are thieving lowlifes. Ridiculous! Worse yet, he hasn't a clue as to where you are being imprisoned, and this lack of knowledge scares him, though he'd never admit it to a soul. His companions are held behind bars all around him, but the rightful King Under the Mountain can only see a few from where he stands. Some of the younger dwarves who were protesting their captivity and singing boisterous songs that sneered at the elves have gone silent by now. Night has fallen, from what Thorin can tell, but he, nor the rest of the Company, it seems, doesn't feel like getting any sleep.
Footsteps approach from Thorin's left, then murmured voices. At first, he assumes a guard, but then again, why would a guard be conversing in low tones with whoever stood in his neighboring cell? A familiar face appears, hair pulled back in a way he hasn't seen before, before him and Thorin's face splits into a smile as he nearly lunges forward, gripping the bars.
You dangle a key ring before him, smirking in a way that pleasantly ruffles his feathers, and ask, your voice low so as to remain discreet, "Looking for these?"
As Bilbo Baggins slips past with a quick nod to Thorin, probably going to warn the rest of the Company to keep quiet as they're freed, you deftly unlock to the cell and open it with a slight creak of the hinges. Immediately, Thorin wraps you in a hug, surprised at first but then not at all at how he missed your familiar scent and presence.
"Magnificent," he mutters into your hair and takes note when you hand the keys over to Bilbo- he takes this to mean you don't mind his delaying you but want to get going soon. When he steps back, he notices with pleasure how your cheeks have turned pink.
"I am only doing what I should," you protest humbly and Thorin's gaze turns teasingly questioning. "... However, any bit of praise from you is nice."
"And well-deserved." As about two-thirds of the Company gather by Thorin, awaiting his leadership, Bilbo frees the rest and your smile grows at Balin's quick words of commendation. Thorin gestures for his companions to follow their resident burglar's directions downward, but pauses you for a moment more.
His gaze wanders over your face for a beat and, with a small smile, he says, "I like what you've done with your hair. It suits you." Your blush and smile in return make him feel like a young dwarf being heaped upon with adulation, and he dares to touch your back as he nods his head for you to follow the others.
His Current Impression of You (HCIOY): He's quite impressed by your (and Bilbo's) surreptitious ploy, freeing the Company from right under the elves' noses! Whether it was that smirk you gave him as you held up the cell keys, the undeniable feelings in his heart for you, or both, something emboldened his words tonight, and considering your response, he means to keep it up.
Your Current Impression of Him (YCIOH): He flustered you tonight, for sure, but his words and actions also calmed your nerves this risky escape. Not to mention his compliment about your new 'do sent your heart a-flutter. Maybe you'll put your hair up like this more often...
Fili:
Strength: Wayfinding
POV: You
By Mahal- you bite your tongue, though exasperated at the rest of the Company, and examine this ravine with a careful eye. At some point, you've all lost the path through the dense forest of Mirkwood, and now as your companions frantically backtrack, you put your knack for wayfinding to good use. Logically, you consider, if this is a ravine, there has to an end to it to the left and right- but how far? You look up, but the thick canopy hides the sun and prevents any breeze from entering the woods from above. Your gaze does a full flip and you kneel, scanning the earth for any signs. The footprints of the Company seem to angle toward the ravine from your left as you face the cliff and so you rely on luck and instinct to show you the way.
Not bothering to alert your friends in case your suspicion is wrong, you rise and head into the brush, kicking the soil harshly every few steps in case you need to find your way back. A pair of footsteps behind you pauses, then resumes and follows you.
"Mhede?" You don't need to look back to know who it is. "Where are you going?"
"Trust me." He doesn't reply, only speeds up a moment to catch up to you, and you take it that he believes in you despite not knowing why you're headed this way. Sure enough, and to your relief, the path materializes out of seemingly nowhere in just a few minutes' time, and you finally look to Fili as he beams at you.
You thank him for his trust with your eyes and he reaches out and squeezes your hand, replying earnestly, "I knew you'd find the way."
Your smile curves into a half-smirk. "You knew?"
"I knew."
A moment of silence lapses between you two and you feel like the right words to say are just beyond your reach- luckily, a fleet-footed Ori crashes through the brambles and saves you as he starts shouting that you and Fili found the path.
"It was all Mhede," Fili corrects and you smile modestly, and it's only when Kili appears and glances between you and his brother with a smirk that you realize you're still holding hands and let go, a light heat creeping up your neck. The rest of the Company shows up in quick succession and Thorin thanks you for tracking down the path again before you all get walking along once more.
HCIOY: He didn't know you had such strength in deductively finding your way, and considering how you pretty much just saved the Company with that skill, he's very impressed and appreciative. And when you let him hold your hand then- his heart is certainly more glad and hopeful than it was just a short time ago.
YCIOH: His genuine excitement at seeing you succeed has thrilled your heart and made you wonder if that warmth in his eyes whenever you meet his gaze could be meant for you...
Kili:
Strength: Crafting music boxes
POV: You
You squint through the magnifying glasses you're wearing, concentrating hard. Click. A small smile graces your face. There are few things you find joy in as of late, and this is one of them. Slipping the glasses on top of your hair, that of which is pulled into a messy bun with stray locks escaping to and fro, you turn over your contraption and examine it with satisfaction. It's just about done, it just needs a box to go in, with a glass lid. Well, after one final test, of course.
"Tirnethêl?" You turn from your workbench so swiftly, the glasses fall back on your nose and you have to push them back up, blushng a little, to see Kili standing at the top of the stairs to this small chamber. Sometimes you wonder if you're actually full elf, considering your noticeable lack of grace.
As Kili descends the stesp two at a time, his gaze travels from your face to the the objects in your hands and he inquires, his intrigue clearly genuine, "What is that?"
"This-" You smirk as you hold up your left hand. "-is a hammer." He seems surprised for a moment at your joking, but as you go on- "And this, this right here?" -a grin grows on his face, and you blush again at how nice his smile, especially when directed at you like this, makes you feel.
"Yes, that right there, lovely." You don't even hesitate at the complimentary nickname and it's only later that you realize you're used to and comfortable with him calling you that.
"This, right here, is a music box." Your heart flutters at how truly interested he is in this thing you made, that you're proud of, and when he asks to, you gladly let him hold it and look it over. "It needs a box of some sort, to keep it together and safe," you explain as he carefully turns it over in his hands, "and I want to whittle something on that box before I give it to him-"
"Him?" You gesture for Kili to wind up the mechanisms, crossing your fingers behind your back and hoping it will work right, and he does so with the little crank on the side. The first few notes start to play and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back ponderously, and you take the chance to simply stare at him. You only realize you're beaming once the music stops and try to tamper down your grin until you see his smile is just as wide as yours.
"This is brilliant," he says quietly and you blush once more, allowing yourself to believe the awe on his face. "Really, Tirnethêl, this could be it- truly, Thorin will have to see reason- it's beautiful- you're beautiful-" Kili cuts himself off as he sees your smile has faded completely and you glance away, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
"Why does he hate me so?"
(To be continued in the written instance...)
HCIOY: He's incredibly impressed, really, by your creation, and also by how you remembered every note correctly from the single you asked him to sing The Song of Durin to you. Not to mention how attractive you look with your hair done up like that. He believes the loose messiness of it just makes you even more irresistible to him (if that's even possible). Of course, every day he thinks you're beautiful, but today you just have this special something that makes him want to kiss you so badly- ah, that's it: you're smiling, really smiling, for the first time in weeks, and he loves to see you happy. But now there goes your grin and you ask him that sad thing, and he races to think of a comforting response...
YCIOH: Your heart is warmed by how much he likes the music box, but it sinks as you realize there's truly a small chance Thorin will change his harsh opinions of you because of it. All you've done to the Company is help them, you don't deserve his hate; and yet, it remains.
Bilbo:
Strength: Always reliable
POV: You
"By Mahal-"
Bilbo claps his hand over your mouth and you're too surprised at first to swat it away. He glances about with a sharp gaze to see if anyone heard you, but the coast is clear, and he drops his hand as you stare at the object in his grasp, half-hidden behind the front of his coat as if even you shouldn't see it.
"That thing is nothing but trouble," you declare in a hushed voice, your finger trembling as you point at it.
Bilbo crinkles up his nose. "I know," he replies and slips the Arkenstone back into his innermost pocket. It's a clever spot- the folds of his clothes disguise it completely -and you find yourself breathing easier now that the brilliant white gem is out of your sight. Questions come flooding into your mind and you fire them at Bilbo with no warning, but he seems to have anticipated them all.
"How did you-"
"Running away from Smaug."
"When-"
"Again, Smaug."
"You don't want-"
"To keep it? Of course not."
"Then why-"
"Hiding it."
"Why are you showing me and not-"
Bilbo winces and you don't bother finishing your question. You already know why he's hiding the Arkenstone: he believes if it's found, history will repeat itself in this same mountain kingdom, becoming as it was with your great-granduncle. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry, and take in the solemnity of this moment. There are a thousand paths you could take right now, but there are two overarching ways, and you must choose one: either you do or don't give Thorin the Arkenstone. As much as you'd like to believe your uncle's growing madness would dissolve if he were in possession of the Heart of the Mountain, you know it wouldn't be so and nod, just once, at Bilbo, bearing a heavy heart. Your gaze drops to the floor and he draws you into a hug for a long minute, a gesture that you gladly return, thankful for the stability it provides you.
HCIOY: He knew he could count on you to keep this important secret, despite his nerves during the seconds the Arkenstone was out of his pocket, and now as he stands, holding you in his arms, he's grateful for the millionth time to have you in his life.
YCIOH: You're honored that he's trusted you with this, but a small part of you wishes it wasn't your burden to keep. Still, you know what you must do, even if it- Mahal forbid -tears your family apart.
Legolas:
Strength: Learning unfamiliar languages quickly
POV: Legolas
Translation:
Legolas,
There are many things I wish I had said to you before this inevitable separation, and alas, there is only room for a few on this parchment. First of all, keep the Fellowship safe- though I hardly need to ask this of you, I know you will. Second, Frodo will surely be panicking if he didn't track me down already and force me to let him come along. Please tell him I'll be home before teatime and that if he worries himself into a sickbed, it's his own fault. And that I will be as careful as I can when heading into a place of the ilk of Mordor. Third- and I speak from the heart, so beware -I have found myself as of late feeling things I have only heard of in the old tales, and undeniably, I have fallen in love. My heart is yours for the taking, if you'll have it, and it flutters still as I write this. Do remember this is all new to me and, honestly, overwhelming at times; still the simplest way to say it is I love you, so know this: I love you.
Yours,
Firiel
Only news of the immediate apocalypse could put a damper in Legolas' smile right now. Gimli questions if the elf is feeling ill in the head and is answered by a laugh and a pat on the shoulder. The dwarf, bewildered, turns to Aragorn, but the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor shakes his head silently with a knowing smirk. Legolas doesn't pay either of them much mind, but instead approaches Merry and asks, "Why did you keep this from me so long?"
The hobbit sputters on his pipe and protests, wide-eyed, "We were kidnapped, it was all I could do to keep it hidden-"
Legolas' joyful laughter cuts him off and Pippin nudges his friend, grinning. "He's only teasing you, Merry!" Both hobbits share a laugh as Legolas paces circles around the campfire, alternating between whistling and humming, always the tunes of folk songs about love.
HCIOY: He doesn't want to worry about the frighteningly-high chances of you never coming back from your quest right now, his heart is too full of joy, and all night, he stays up imagining his glorious future with you once Sauron is finally defeated.
YCIOH: You are currently on your way to Mount Doom with Sam, Frodo, and Sméagol, but when you gave Merry your letter for safekeeping only a day before Boromir (may he rest in peace) died in battle with the Uruk-hai and the Fellowship's path diverged, you had a premonition that Legolas' reaction would be positive.
Thranduil:
Strength: Your sword skills are on point
POV: You
"Alright, I yield."
You wink at your opponent and offer him a hand up from the floor, which he accepts. Thranduil shakes his head, his lips tugged up in a small smile, as you return his sword to him by the hilt, and he remarks, "I just cannot grasp how you do it." His tone, verging on incredulous, sends a leap of pride through your heart and you give a nonchalant shrug, deftly swinging your own blade in a tight circle as you resume your dueling stance and he does the same.
"It's all in predicting your opponent's moves, knowing- or, at least, guessing -his and your strengths and weaknesses, and a good deal of intuition." A flash of metal and this attack, meant to catch you off-guard, finds him with both his and your blades against his neck.
You grin as you once more return his weapon and he says, chuckling softly, "Then your intuition must be a sixth sense, Silevel." Every time he speaks your name lately, you feel a shiver go up your spine, and now is no exception.
"Really," you insist as you circle each other, waiting for an opening, "it's just about having the right-" One quick flip, a sweep of your leg, and a faulty dodge from him lands you nearly sitting on his chest, your blade above his throat and his sword clattering across the pavilion. "-timing." You unintentionally pause for a moment before getting up and something in the air shifts between you two. He retrieves his sword in silence and you tear your thoughts away from how, ah, risqué that position could have become.
"Another match?"
Your gaze flicks back up from your shoes and your confidence reappears. You smirk.
"Ready to lose again so soon?"
He winks back. "Not this time."
Unsurprisingly, you win again.
HCIOY: When you get all cocky like this, he almost loses his self-control and almost confesses all his love for you in a string of rambling nonsense- but he holds onto his wits somehow and carries on sparring with you. That moment when you pinned him to the ground, though... It's a good thing you got up when you did, or he might have up and pulled you in for a (deep) kiss right then and there with no warning.
YCIOH: These hours are some of your favorite, dueling with him, just the two of you having a fun time together. Lately, these occasions have held more meaning for you, however, as you've been taking this time to search for clues that he might return your affections. There was something in his eyes when you paused while kneeling on either side of his torso, but you're torn between thinking of it as desire or simply surprise.
Lindir:
Strength: Playing the harp
POV: You
The lovely notes of the harp waft through the open pavilion as you deftly pluck the strings of the tall, broad instrument. You aren't playing any song in particular, but the music you create could just as well be one. Elrond claps as he enters the area and you turn to smile at your father but still don't miss a note.
"Beautiful," he commends you and you blush at the praise. "I am glad to see you showing off for once." You blink at him, surprised and confused, and he gives a glance behind you. Lo and behold, you look to see what he's now smirking about and find a pink-cheeked Lindir, leaning against a column and smiling sheepishly.
"I, ah, didn't mean to eavesdrop," he says, but the way his lips tug up at the corners makes you think he doesn't regret. You narrow your eyes at him, shy about demonstrating your talents to him, and he rubs the back of his neck. "Alright, I suppose I should have spoken up."
"Instead of lurking."
"Yes."
You sigh, shaking your head, but by now your own mouth bears a smile and you allow yourself to be proud of your skill. Your father coughs and you blush, turning your gaze back to him quickly.
"Lindir, did you receive the third copies of the ferrymen's income from last month yet?" Elrond shoots a wink at you and you pay close attention to Lindir's response, intrigued.
"Yes, my lord, they are on your desk, I placed them there myself just this morning." Ah, right, those papers- you feel your cheeks redden and glance at Lindir, consequently surprised at how his own complexion is quite crimson.
"And are they safe from inkwells and rivers?"
You shoot an astonished and embarrassed look at your father, but he just smirks at both you and his adviser.
Lindir answers, clearly abashed, "Yes, my lord, they are safe."
"From what, though?"
"Inkwells and rivers."
Elrond grins and nods at him. "Splendid." He then takes his leave and you let out a sharp breath at his uncharacteristic teasing.
"You are quite skilled with the harp."
Your gaze snaps to Lindir as he starts to edge toward the door your father left through and you thank him in a quiet voice, still flustered. As his hand reaches the doorknob, you speak up once more and ask, "Why did you need the first copies redrawn?"
He hesitates. "I spilled ink on them."
"Why?"
He's halfway through the door, but still, he pauses again. "I was lost in thought."
"About what?"
He finally looks back and gives a sigh. "I won't be able to avoid answering that for long, will I?"
"No, you won't."
Lindir blushes and your eyebrows raise from you'd just lowered them with teasing curiosity.
"Fine, I was daydreaming about-" He's turning away again as he replies and you just barely catch the "-you." before he's swiftly on his way.
HCIOY: Well, the secret's out. Now he can only hope for the best- which, to him, would be something along the lines of you reacting positively to his admission, telling him you love him, and maybe even letting him kiss you. Alas, he doubts his words will have any effect on you besides providing you with something to tease him about.
YCIOH: Woah, did he really just- he thinks about you, no, not just that, he daydreams about, imagine that! It's too bad he left so quickly, you wish he could have seen the grin on your face. If that didn't give you hope, nothing will, so it's a good thing you've taken his words to heart already.
Elrond:
Strength: You often sense danger before anyone else nearby
POV: You
You haven't been on a hike since that day a few months ago when you stole out of Imladris to go stargazing from a mountaintop, and truthfully, you've been avoiding mentioning the idea because of that embarrassing expedition. Today, however, Elrond approached you and asked if you wanted to go for a hike with him this morning, just the two of you- of course, you agreed. Now, you hum to yourself as you trek up the winding trails of the Misty Mountains, heading up to one of the shorter summits. The sun is warm despite how the summer has faded into Autumn and your spirits are high as you follow Elrond, chatting with him on all manner of things.
"-who, I suppose, you've heard of."
"Yes, the life of Fëanor crossed his for many a year, did it not?"
"Absolutely correct."
You share a smile with your companion as you discuss the old elven kings of the world. Elrond's gaze doesn't stray from you for a beat more, but he keeps walking, and something strikes you as wrong, dangerous. Immediately, you leap forward and grab his hand as the bridge he's just taken a step on creaks. You pull him back, into your body, just in the nick of time, and the rope on the right side of the bridge snaps with a sharp nose; the left rope abruptly follows suit. If Elrond had remained on that plank for just a moment longer, he'd be far below at the bottom of that ravine right now.
He'd probably be dead.
You shiver at the thought and realize you're still holding him to you protectively, but he doesn't seem to mind. Still, you let go and give a low whistle at the near disaster, looking over the edge of the cliff with a frown.
"Thank you," Elrond says, laying his hand on your shoulder, and your own hand comes up to rest on his there. "If it were not for you, I would be-"
"Don't talk like that." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and you feel your neck go pink. You don't want to imagine him dead, not ever, and when you glance back at him with a softened gaze, he seems to understand. And so, you turn around and start back down the path together, leaving the summit to reach another day.
HCIOY: That was a close call, and his heart still shudders this night when he recalls the seconds before the bridge snapped. The moment after sticks in his mind more so, however, and he keeps catching himself wanting you to pull him against you like that again. Your closeness, protectiveness, and control- his cheeks redden at the slight heat shimmering in his chest.
YCIOH: You're very tired tonight and you head to bed early, but find yourself thinking about those few seconds when you held him close over and over before you fall asleep, blushing and cuddling a pillow as if it were him (although you'd never admit that aloud).
Gimli:
Strength: 'That Smolder'
POV: Gimli
Your brother is missing, hordes of orcs are swiftly approaching Helm's Deep, and patience and hope in Rohan's troops run thin- still, here you stand before scores of men, some still boys, delivering a rousing speech with a determined gaze. Gimli watches from the back of the crowd and Legolas appears at his side just as you are finishing up and receiving cheers from the soldiers gathered.
"Aren't you ever going to kiss her?" teases the elf and the dwarf is about to reply when your gaze snaps into a look he's only seen you give once before. He is rendered speechless. A few of the younger men at the front of the group actually swoon as you stare at nothing and everything so strikingly and Legolas starts to chuckle as Gimli's jaw drops and his eyes lock onto your face. You blink after a beat and raise another round of spirited shouts, but Legolas has to wave his hand, still laughing, in front of his dwarven friend's face to snap him out of the trance your Smolder™ has put him in.
"Well?"
"Well, what?" the flustered Gimli grumbles back, not much liking the smirk on the elf prince's face.
"You've already forgotten my question!" Legolas teases and nudges Gimli's arm as you make your way through the crowd toward them, stopped every other second by a well-wishing or thankful soldier.
"What was it?"
"Nothing." Legolas winks at him and steps back to speak with King Théoden, leaving the dwarf to greet you alone.
"That was an excellent speech." Your smile sends his mind all fuzzy again and he misses what you say next, distracted. Your eyes flick over his shoulder and you give a cry of relief, hurrying around Gimli to embrace your bedraggled-but-alive brother, and he suddenly remembers Legolas' question.
Of course he will- just as soon as he finds the right, ah, vantage point to do it from.
HCIOY: Oh, Mahal, that Smolder™ you do just strikes with a feeling that makes him blush, though he insists his pink cheeks are just from the sun.
YCIOH: You didn't even realize you were giving that look of yours until you blinked out of it, and now, realizing Gimli's reaction, you make a saucy mental note to 'employ' it near him again.
Merry:
Strength: Whittling
POV: Merry
For the last few weeks, you've been very focused on a project of your sole invention, taking most of the evenings after supper to whittle away at chunks of wood you find about the trail on the Fellowship's journey. It's become commonplace, during this time, for one of your companions to catch you staring intently at him, lost in your concentration. For a few nights, it'll be Pippin, then Aragorn will shift awkwardly under your scrutiny, then Gimli poses 'majestically' as you squint at him. The past few evenings, Merry has found himself at your eye's mercy, but your gaze seems softer on him than the others. He's also the only person who winks at you and you'll blink out of your staring to smile and wink right back. Tonight, it seems you've finished, as Merry finds you chipping away at a few sharp points on a carving of Legolas' face after he returns for from fetching firewood. A strikingly-accurate carving, he notices with wide eyes, impressed.
Sitting himself down beside you, he asks, "Is this the finale of all your work lately?" The grin you answer him with is infectious and he smiles right back.
"Indeed!" You study the carving for a moment more, then nod, apparently satisfied, and stand up. The pouch you carry over your shoulder- or, more accurately, the objects inside -clatters as you walk over to Aragorn. Merry watches, glad that you seem proud of your impressive creations, as you gift your carvings to their respective models. Merry receives his last as you plop back down beside him with a contented sigh. The reactions of your companions, especially Merry's, are those of positivity; all are impressed and grateful. Examining his carving more as you cheerfully eat your supper of stew, the hobbit finds something carved on the bottom. It appears to be a word, but he doesn't recognize the language and so is puzzled.
"What does this mean?" he asks you, but you just chuckle at him and keep enjoying the stew. He gets up and asks Legolas if it's a form of Elvish, but he shakes his head and directs him to ask Gimli. All the while, he can feel your eyes on him and his curiosity only grows. The usually-tough dwarf smiles warmly as he reads the inscription and Merry can see delight dancing in his eyes.
"What is it?" the hobbit asks impatiently and Gimli glances at you across the clearing. Merry looks over to see your shrug in response and waits, tapping his foot in his eagerness, until the dwarf in front of him offers a reply.
"It says 'Kibilalê', which means in the common tongue, 'my charmer'."
The hobbit's face immediately breaks into a grin and he turns to face you, but you appear to be no longer paying attention and he gives a soft laugh. You glance up and wink at him before returning to your stew and leaving Merry with high hopes and a gift he knows he'll treasure forever- not because the carving is of his face, but because of the inscription on its base.
HCIOY: He thinks you're incredibly skilled with a blade and wood, not to mention impressive in a hundred other ways, and attractive, too. And adding that word on the bottom was a clever way to flirt- because, surely that was flirting with him. 'Kibilalê', huh? He could get used to that.
YCIOH: You are quite satisfied with your final products, especially Merry's- not just for the inscription, but its lifelike accuracy, if you do say so yourself. And his reaction was splendid, of course- the memory of his beaming smile keeps your spirits up for the few days.
Pippin:
Strength: You can look good in almost anything
POV: Pippin
Just a few minutes after Pippin caught you in such a hurry down the hall, he quickly closes the door of the room you've led him into, panting and grinning along with you at the thrill of escape. Your father's guards won't spoil your fun today! As the hobbit catches his breath, he looks about the clearly-long-unused room and sees you opening a chest a few feet behind him.
"Achoo!"
As you raise the lid, dust rises in a cloud and you sneeze- and what a sneeze it is! Pippin thinks it's adorably loud, but seeing as you blush and murmur an apology, he decides maybe he should keep his opinion quiet this time.
"Look!" you say after a moment, smiling at the contents of the chest, and Pippin leans over your shoulder (which he can only do when you're kneeling, like now) to look too. Inside are piles of clothing, most of it wrinkled and faded from years of disuse. "Costumes," you explain, "from when my mother used to hire performers to put on plays and the like after supper when we had guests." Your smile turns sad for a moment and the hobbit beside you stays silent in respect to your mother's spirit. After a second or two more, you stand, leaving the chest as it is, and your excitement returns as you and Pippin fling upon the doors of two wardrobes in sync.
After two more sneezes from you (at which Pippin giggles and you push him into a pile of moth-eaten pillows, pink-cheeked), together the Steward's daughter and the hobbit who's smitten with said girl try on various outfits from these better-preserved collections. The better part of the afternoon is spent like this and Pippin is pleasantly surprised how you manage to make everything you put on look good. Doesn't matter the color, or style, or if it was meant for a masculine body to wear, you rock it. His favorite of the selections you piece together are a red ballgown with yellowed white gloves and black heeled boots, a pirate-like outfit, and the garb of a knight from Gondor but without the full armor.
Pippin grins up at you from the aforementioned collection of pillows, boasting a top hat on which is stacked a short-brimmed cap and a pointed cone of parchment, and you make a game out of your little skill. It's not much of a 'fair' decision-making, as Pippin is the only judge, but he has fun with anyway and it seems like you do too. Time flies and before either of you know it, the sun is halfway set and it's time to sneak off to the kitchens, seeing as you've missed supper.
HCIOY: He loves spending time with you, and the hours together this afternoon were just splendid. He feels good about knowing you're comfortable enough to change in the same room (behind a thick curtain, of course) and hopes it's a step forward in whatever feelings these are that hover between you two, unspoken.
YCIOH: What a fun time you had with him this afternoon! His compliments, those of which came frequently, have still got you blushing hours later and have instilled in you a strong hope that he returns your affections.
Sam:
Strength: You have the best frickin' smile
POV: Sam
There they are. The gates of Mordor. Gollum seems skittish and hops back and forth behind a rock, muttering to himself. Sam reaches for your hand instinctively and you take it your palm cold and your fingers trembling. Sam meets your gaze and swallows back the lump of worry in his throat. Your eyes betray your fear and he squeezes your hand to reassure you, but also himself. Frodo turns to you both and blinks for a moment, wordless. Sam looks back at you and you muster a smile- and although he doesn't know about Frodo, the hobbit who's loved you for so long feels much better at just that simple thing.
Your smile.
You draw Sam closer and reach for Frodo, and the three of you hug it out for a few seconds. Gollum coughs like he's spitting up a hairball behind you and Sam might have laughed at your face of disgust if the situation weren't so dire.
"Ready?"
Sam shares a look with Frodo and when you smile once more, although it is nervous, he finds the resolve in him to answer, "Ready." Frodo echoes the word right after and your trio of unlikely adventurers turns to Gollum, as prepared as you can be for what's to soon come.
HCIOY: That smile is one of the hundreds of reasons he fell for you. It always, always, raises his spirits, and you seem to know just when he needs to see it, which he appreciates very much. Now, he hopes you'll have a reason to really smile again soon, once you three save the world.
YCIOH: You are so very scared of this dark, wicked place and what lies within, but it isn't much like you have a choice on whether to enter or not. Although you managed a smile or two for Sam and Frodo's sake, you feel queasier than ever as you follow Gollum to a secret passage he claims to remember. For all you know, he could be leading you straight into a trap, which doesn't help your nerves at all... At least Sam's here beside you, holding your hand.
Frodo:
Strength: Ambidextrous
POV: You
Ever since you burned your hand in that embarrassing incident recently, you've had to use your other hand to do most tasks. It's hardly an issue for you, as you've always been proficient with both hands, but in the last few days, you've noticed Frodo staring at your burned hand and then your able one as if he's impressed. You ask him about it over supper tonight and he replies with a question of his own:
"How did you adapt from one hand to the other so quickly?"
"I've been wondering that, too," adds Sam and you blink at them for a moment.
"What do you mean? I've always used both hands..." You look back and forth between them and when Frodo responds, his tone is one of mild intrigue.
"I can only use one so well as you use both." Sam agrees and you are further surprised.
"Really?" They both nod and you lean against the boulder behind you, somewhat taken aback by this mostly-meaningless discovery. "Is it like that for everyone?"
"Most people," Frodo concedes and you give a 'huh'. The conversation shifts to other things and you soon forget you ever thought everyone was both-hand-adept like you, your understanding of Frodo's impressed looks cementing itself in your brain.
HCIOY: Well, that would explain why you switched so fluidly from using your burned hand to the other. Come to think of it, he noticed this trait of yours months ago, but it just wasn't as apparent as it is now, and so he must not have fully registered it. Still, he thinks it's a cool skill, hence his reaction.
YCIOH: No wonder he seemed impressed- most people apparently aren't like you in this regard. Not that you minded the attention. Awe of any degree looks good on him, especially when it's directed at you, you think, and so you'll take what you can get of it.
Faramir:
Strength: You know the name if every shade on the color spectrum
POV: You
"And that vase is..?"
"Cerulean."
"What about the curtains?"
"Gamboge."
Faramir points at the wax of a candle. "Alabaster."
The two-tone rug. "Aubergine and periwinkle."
His hair. "Carrot." You both laugh. "No, helianthin."
The Steward's son shakes his head, grinning. Today is a good day. He has the strength to sit up for extended periods, even walk to and fro from his bed to a loveseat by his window and the door to his small walk-in closet. Across the room, untouched by either of you all day, is the couch where you've been sleeping the last two nights since Faramir left the healer's wing of the castle and moved up here to his chambers. You've slept here as if it's your duty to, but the head healer said you could take a room across the hall, and offer which was unknown to Faramir and one that you refused, blushing at the time.
"How do you do it?"
You laugh softly and shrug at his tone of incredulity. "My older cousin is a painter and, as a child, I took an interest in art. He had a notebook where he'd write all the names of the colors he painted with, and I would flip through while he worked on his latest piece. He only came to stay a few times each year, and there were always new pages for me to memorize." As you speak, Faramir gestures to your hair and you nod, moving to sit in front of him on his bed. He starts to braid your hair, something you mutually enjoy, as you continue.
"And that was how we bonded. It helped me to learn how to read, too, that notebook." You chuckle. "My tutor gave me the most boring of history tomes when I was young, so I never had the desire to learn to read until that notebook." A small smirk creeps onto your face. "At least my tutor didn't pretend to be asleep whenever I came for lessons." Faramir pauses, his fingers still pleasantly tangled in your hair, and gives a sigh.
"Éalryth."
"And he never became jealous over something I did not feel."
"Éalryth."
"And he certainly didn't turn as red as a cherry when I made him admit he was jea-lous-"
Faramir grabs you around the shoulders and pulls you down on his lap, holding you down as you laugh and trying to hold back his own self-aimed amusement. "Éalryth, I swear, if you keep going on about that, I'll-"
"You'll what?" You wiggle your eyebrows at him. "Do your worst!" He doesn't respond and you tilt your head at him, smile fading. "Faramir?"
"Viridian."
"What?" He lets go of you and you sit back up, your head still turned to look at him.
"The color of your shirt." He smiles, but only half as much as he was a minute ago. "I bet you didn't think I knew the word," he teases, and you wink back.
"You bet me what, exactly?"
He pauses again. "And the chest of drawers is sorrel." He's avoiding answering you, but you just nod and, against your curiosity, let it go. He starts braiding your hair again and asks to know more of your childhood, so you ignore the tremor in your heart and begin telling him of the time you stained your father's favorite chair with an entire jar of black ink- the chair, unfortunately, was beige...
HCIOY: He almost blurted it out twice: "Or else I'll kiss you" and "I bet you a kiss". Now, as he listens to you talk, he only half-pays attention and wonders what your reaction might have been. Next time, he'll just go for it, he promises himself, or maybe the time after that.
YCIOH: You wish he'd gone on with at least one of his replies, as you have a strong suspicion his words would have been about kissing you. If only he'd said so, you'd have gladly done it, and you hold back a sigh, half-heartedly brushing away the thought that maybe you're wrong in your hopes that he returns your affections.
Boromir:
Strength: You can fix pretty much anything materialistic
POV: You, then Boromir (~~~ indicates switch in POV)
Yesterday, you found Boromir frowning over something in his hands as he paced on the balcony of his room. It was his horn, that of which was of Gondor, and it had been broken in the battle against the Uruk-hai. When you asked him about it, he said he wanted to send the horn to his father and brother back home at Minas Tirith- the issue is, if he sends a broken horn, they will think him dead, as is customary. So that evening, you stole- no, borrowed- the pieces of the precious item from the top of his dresser with a sleight of hand when you said goodnight.
Your intentions were good, however, and you stayed up all night fixing the horn, finishing the final touches just as the sun starts to rise this morning. Exhausted, you carefully place the seamlessly-rebuilt single-note instrument on your desk before making it halfway to your bed, then falling asleep on the settee by the window instead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Boromir is panicking. He could have sworn he left the horn of Gondor right here, on top of his dresser, last night. His thoughts turn to burglary, then who last saw it, then you. But why- you know how much it means to him, even splintered- it's worth a try. He hurries down the hall to your room and, finding the door cracked open, slips right in.
"Levim, have you seen-" The first thing he notices is you fast asleep, draped on a settee in what cannot be a very comfortable position, then the second is his horn, on your desk by the door. He quickly picks it up and is about to wake you, annoyed at your having taken it without his permission, when he realizes something and halts with a start halfway across the room. Boromir looks at the object, so dear to him, in his hands and turns it over. It's as if the horn never broke, but when he glances over the tools out on your desk, he realizes (roughly) how you did it.
He's nearly overcome with appreciation and awe and sinks down to sit on the end of your bed. He stares at you sleeping, cradling the repaired horn in his hands, and it's only when you grow blurry that he notices he's crying. You did this. For him. Boromir's breath catches in his throat as his heart fills with love for you and he smiles. He carefully places his horn on your desk again and then goes over to you, picking you up in his arms and laying you in your bed so you can sleep properly. As he pulls the blankets over you, he debates just outright kissing you, but settles on giving you a peck on the forehead instead. He takes one last adoring look at you before leaving your room, horn in hand and with a full heart.
HCIOY: He's just amazed that you would do such a thing for him, and there is no denying the love he feels down to his very bones for you. And you repaired the horn so perfectly, he doubts anyone who didn't know it was broken could guess as such. Not to mention you look so sweet- no, strong -when you're asleep.
YCIOH: It's only when you wake up around midday that you learn of Boromir's gratitude through the fierce hug he gives you and- get this -the kiss he presses so lightly to the top of your head you bet he thinks you won't feel (but you certainly do). You're very glad you've done a good- great, really -job in his eyes and hopes your work last night has brought you two closer together.
Aragorn:
Strength: You know a bit of magic
POV: Aragorn
The battle for Helm's Deep is over, the Rohirrim and their allies emerging triumphant, though hardly unscathed, from the conflict. Aragorn rises from where he's been kneeling the past five minutes, mourning Haldir's demise over his body, and swallows back the lump in his throat as Legolas appears. The elf bows his head in grief and Aragorn gives him a moment, then asks where Legolas' aunt- you -is in Sindarin. "Nei feleg," is the response, and the rightful king of Gondor thanks him and leaves his friend to his sorrow to go find you.
You are, as Legolas said, in the middle of the cavern where the women children, and elderly sheltered during the fight. The princess Éowyn, whom you and he have come respect, nods at him as he passes her, a grim but proud gleam in her eyes. She is bandaging a wound on the arm of a young man, barely out boyhood, and Aragorn appreciates her resolve even in these dark times. He knows you do, too. And speaking of which- leaning against an age-worn pillar, he watches you entertain a group of at least two hundred children, likely more. It seems all the youth in this cavern are gathered before you, and for good reason.
You are telling the old folk legend of Beren and Luthien, a classic in elven tales, but you aren't simply speaking, no. As you relate how Beren called to his sweetheart by her elven name, a scene in colored smoke and mist appears before you, playing out the events visually. Through green wisps of leaves and brown streaks of wood, a hazy figure runs, his hands cupped around his mouth as he silently shouts to the slender blur that is Luthien, or as she also called, Tinúviel. Aragorn can see most, if not all, the children are enraptured by the story, and he certainly understands why. You are an excellent storyteller, for one, and the visuals you are creating before you only enhance the tale. And these children are undoubtedly seeking a distraction from their fear and worry, which is exactly what you are providing. The number of those in the group likely feels safe for many, which further calms their nerves.
One girl, at the front of the gathering, bursts out crying and leaps to her feet, running toward a man who has just come in and is leaning on the support of a younger fellow who looks akin to him, probably father and son. A good deal more kids react as such in the next minute or so and the group who is left wanders back to their family, half of them crying over still-missing uncles and brothers, fathers and cousins, and the other half blinking as though this is all just a bad dream. One little boy comes up to you and reaches for a hug, which you gladly give him before allowing a girl with the same sandy-blonde hair as the boy- his sister, perhaps -to lead him away. Aragorn finally approaches and gladly wraps you in his arms when you reach for him to do so.
"Haldir..." you murmur, your voice breaking, and Aragorn closes his eyes. He feels no shame in crying, but he thinks if you see his tears, you'll start too, and he can sense you don't want that.
"I know." You tuck your head into the curve of his neck and your breath tickles his skin. "His death was not in vain," he reminds you, though he too needs to hear reassurance, and you give a sigh as you step back.
"I will miss him."
"As will I." Your hand still lingers in his and you gently squeeze his fingers, offering a small, watery smile. Éowyn and her brother Éomer walk up and ask both of you to join them and their father, as well as Haldir's second-in-command, for a vital meeting concerning the aftermath of the battle. Of course, you agree, and you take the first step forward, but don't let go of Aragorn's hand. You glance at him as if to see if it's alright, and when he gives a nod and a soft smile, your own lips curve up a little and you walk side by side, neither of you letting go until you enter the room where the meeting is being held.
HCIOY: He had a faint idea you know some magic, and today, he has been impressed by the ethereal images you created out of thin air and, as he often is, by your compassion. Even after a long, hard-fought battle, you found the strength and patience to look after a good deal of children, and he admires you for that (as well as for a thousand other things). You would be a great mother, he thinks, not for the first nor the last time, and an excellent monarch, though you already are the latter to some extent.
YCIOH: The hug he gave you was the only thing that kept you from bursting into tears at all the darkness in the world, especially the losses of this battle. Now, you appreciate his presence beside you as this sad but necessary meeting takes place. You dare not reach for his hand again, but maybe once you've left this room, you will...
Bard:
Strength: You are able to make the best of most less-than-ideal situations
POV: You
A soft humming reaches your ears and you look up from where you've been tending to Beorn's lilacs for the past half-hour. The sound immediately stops and you look around, then realize, blushing, it came from you. With a sigh, you resume pulling weeds and lapse back into humming, only half-noticing you're doing so. The past few weeks have passed in peace, relatively, and you've felt happier here than you have in months. Beorn has come to treat you like a daughter and you love caring for the many plants he grows at his homestead here, just beyond the borders of Mirkwood forest. The animals the skin-changer calls friends are trusting of you to some extent by now, even the shy deer and the nervous mice.
As you wipe a drop of sweat from your brow and stand, intending to water the daffodils now, you start to reflect on all the good things in your life right now. It's been warm and sunny all week. The bluebird whose broken wing you set with a tiny twig and string three days ago is recovering quickly. Your health is good, you are free from Specs' nightmarish influence, and one of the elves you met in Mirkwood when passing through send you a letter asking if you'd made it safely to Beorn's and adding that you are welcome to visit her in King Thranduil's wary kingdom anytime. You just may take her up on that offer, it would be nice to have a friend nearby. Of course, Laketown is only a week's journey away... But you won't soon be returning there.
Your spirits are still high all that afternoon and by suppertime, you've drafted a letter back to Filegeth (for that is the friendly elleth's name) asking if teatime this coming Thursday would be available. You notice halfway through your meal that Beorn isn't eating and so ask him what's wrong.
He takes a moment before replying, "How do you remain so good-natured despite what you have been through?"
It is now your turn to hesitate. "I suppose I like to look on the bright side of things whenever possible," you reply and the skin-changer smiles.
"Do you miss him?" You both know who he is talking about.
"Dearly, but it can't be helped. Only some grave tragedy could bring me back there right now, but let us hope that never comes to pass for his and his children's sakes." Beorn nods in agreement and finally starts to eat, and you finish your plate of bread with honey and fruit wondering if it's really that hard for other people to find the light in darkness like you do.
HCIOY: Back in Laketown, he is sorely missing your fierce optimism. The Master of the water-bound town has recently raised taxes and his cronies are on high alert for any rebellious behavior. Bard is in a bout of uncertainty- he wants to fight back, but he doesn't dare for he knows his children will face the consequences too, not just him. He wishes, more than most things, that you were still here to reassure him, to take the stand he cannot, and by the heavens, he misses you.
YCIOH: Every time you think of him, a rush of feelings dances through you- first longing, then love, then sadness, regret, determination, and finally, resignation. To say you miss him would be an understatement. You hope he's doing well and that by the time you see him again, you're not elderly with little time left; just the thought of that sends dread piercing into your heart and a shiver up your spine.
Haldir:
Strength: You have a strong affinity with deer
POV: Haldir
Patrol has been slow today. Nothing is amiss in the lands Lothlorien, and this afternoon, Haldir has caught himself daydreaming about you more times than he'd like to admit. He never daydreams, about anything, so, he concedes, he must be quite bored. And infatuated with you. One of the elves on with him raises her bow and nods a grove beyond a thicket of bushes. Immediately, the group of seven goes on alert and Haldir leads the way. A flash of brown and white and skin dashes by and- wait, skin? Motioning for his companions to lower their weapons, he squints into the woods, and across the path a good hundred yards ahead bounds an elleth in sky-blue dress, barefoot, flanked by no less than fifteen deer.
This is likely the first and only time these six guards will see Haldir with his jaw dropped and eyes so wide. The figure waves at the patrol before starting to run off again, the deer moving along with her, and the elf who initially noticed them clears her throat. Haldir snaps his mouth shut and turns around to address her and the other elves with him.
"Nothing to worry about," he declares, "Her Highness likes to wander."
One of the male guards gives a low whistle and is met with a reproachful glance. He raises both eyebrows and says defensively, "I have never seen something so-" He searches for the right word. "-awesome." Haldir nods and the group resumes its patrol with no further interruption.
HCIOY: That evening, when he asks you about the encounter, you simply smile, shrug, and reply that the deer just like you for some reason and you enjoy running with them. Now that he thinks of it, he's seen deer around quite a bit- that would explain the bleating you spoke of waking from the other morning outside your window. He thinks it's so very amazing, this almost-familiar connection you have with deer, and he hopes he'll be able to see you like that afternoon again, so graceful and swift and natural.
YCIOH: You've never much thought about your affinity with deer before today, but now that you do, you're kind of impressed with yourself. And so is Haldir, it seems. You should take him out to see your cervid friends sometime, you decide to yourself. Yes, you really should.
Éomer:
Strength: Sketching
POV: Éomer
The Riders of Rohan have need to break camp early this morning, so Éomer has come to your tent to wake you just before the sunrise. He lifts the flap, lantern held before him, and peeks his head in. A gentle smile grows on his lips. You are sitting up in your cot, clearly asleep, three pieces of illustrated parchment spread on your lap. A quill, one that he recognizes as the red-feathered one he lent you last week, lays on the blanket, is loosely held in your dominant hand, and a jar of ink, lacking its stopper, has luckily not spilled beside the quill.
Entering the little tent fully, Éomer puts the lantern down on the ground beside your cot and blows out the dwindling candle in your own lantern, that of which is hung up in the center of the tent. He then carefully moves the ink jar and quill from their precarious positions and places them on the small, foldable desk across the grassy floor. Crossing to you a third time, he now lays a gentle hand on your shoulder and nudges you awake. The sleepy smile you give him as you blink yourself out of slumber warms his heart and he nearly leans in to kiss you good morning- nearly.
Instead, he explains why you have to get up so early- a horde of Uruk-hai was spotted on the move just south of the camp -and nods when you ask him if the Riders intend to hunt down the beasts.
"It is our duty," you remark, apparently gladdened by the affirmation, and he nods once more, another smile appearing on his face.
"It is," he agrees, and his gaze flickers down to the drawings in your lap. You look at them as well and give a soft sigh. Éomer expresses his genuine gratitude admiration of your work and you blush, though it's hard to tell in the shadows made by things obstructing the light of the lantern on the floor.
"This is the Baggins' home, Bag End," you say, pointing to an incredibly-lifelike sketch of a burrow house with round windows and a similarly-circular door. When Éomer asks you if this is how all hobbits live, you give him a smile, perhaps amused by his naïvete, and say it is so for nearly all your kind. "And this is the bridge over the Brandywine River," you go on, showing him the second parchment. Again, the drawing is very good, very realistic, and Éomer tells you so, bringing another blush to your cheeks.
"And this-" Your smile fades, and consequently, so does Éomer's. "-is my brother Sam. Samwise. I must have fallen asleep halfway through it." The imagery in question is an incomplete portrait of a young hobbit man with round cheeks, bright eyes, a wide smile, and neat waves of hair. Half a jaw, as well as the full neck and both ears, is missing from the face, and as Éomer looks closer, he notices tear stains on the parchment. When his gaze moves to your face, it softens at the sadness in your eyes and when you reach to him for a hug, he gladly gives it to you.
"I miss him," you murmur into his shoulder, "and I am truly afraid of what's happened to him." You haven't spoken to Éomer much about your brother since the day you decided to stay with the Riders, so now is really the first time he sees how much you are hurting. He squeezes you for a beat in the hug, sympathetic, and you thank him in a weary voice. He offers to help you gather up your things and tent- you all really do have to get moving -and you accept with a slight smile, getting out of bed to begin the packing.
HCIOY: He thinks your skill as an artist is unparalleled to anything else he's ever seen, and safe to say, he is impressed. Very much so. Still, he's concerned for your mental state- all this worrying cannot be good for the spirit -and, by extension, your brother Samwise. He earnestly hopes some stroke of luck will send positive information his way considering the hobbit fellow, for your sake, and if he could, he wouldn't hesitate to scour the whole world for your missing sibling, just for you.
YCIOH: You appreciate his compliments on your sketches, but more so his comforting embrace. You really, truly, miss Sam, and you can't seem to shake the gnawing feeling in your heart that he's in great danger. You don't know what to do other than hope you'll see him again, alive and safe.
Bofur:
Strength: Luck
POV: You
Today feels like it will be an odd one, you've noticed.
First thing this morning, the Company woke to find all their rations torn into by scavenging animals overnight- all except yours. Now, helping Bifur and Gloin bundle up everyone's bedrolls, you hear a rumble and a cascade of little rocks comes pelting down off the cliffside above from the movements of a curious wolf. Bifur and Gloin voice annoyance at the bruises sure to form on their skin, but you don't say a word until Bofur kindly asks if you're alright. You respond with a shrug and reveal that you weren't hit at all, to your companions' surprise.
Only a few minutes later, you are walking side by side with Bofur when he stops short and jerks his leg. His boot is stuck in deep mud, and he just can't seem to get it out, so he reluctantly steps out of it to leave it there- but then you kneel, not sinking in at all, and give his shoe a few tugs before it comes out of the muck.
Not even a half-hour passes before more misfortune befalls the group when Bombur trips on a root while you all are edging along a cliff's ledge and knocks over everyone except you, who decided to step to the side at just the right moment prior. After a brief bit of panic considering Bilbo having fallen off the edge and needing help back up from the rocks he's clinging to (for the second time this journey), the Company of Thorin Oakenshield is once more on its way.
Midway through the morning, it rains, and you are the only one already under the shelter of the lip of a cave's entrance. As your companions dry out, you notice something carved on the stone wall at the same moment as Bilbo, and when you both step closer for a better look, the ground below crumbles- a pit trap, for bears, most likely. You manage to grab the hobbit's hands just in time and scramble back, pulling him up to solid ground with the help of Fili and Kili.
Speaking of Thorin's nephews, around noontime, the pair come running out of the forest, lacking the firewood they're supposed to be gathering and shouting about bees. Sure enough, a swarm of the honey-making insects appears after them, and with a blanket, you shoo away the bees without a single sting to your body. The brothers are not so lucky, however, and are wincing at their small yet numerous injuries for the rest of the day.
As the sun descends into the western horizon, the Company is met with further miseries, though you evade each and every one of them. That evening, as Oin searches for his missing hearing horn, Nori tries to untangle a bush's worth of burrs from his beard, and Thorin grumbles about dropping his very important key into a stream and having to send half the group in to look for it with him (you were the one to find it), Bofur sits down beside you, his left boot still caked with mud.
"How do you do it?" he asks, marveling, and you give a smirk.
"Do what?"
"Mahal blessed you today, Dhamir." You laugh.
"It seems so. Maybe I am simply lucky, though of course, the powers that be would know that better than I."
Bofur shakes his head, chuckling. "Every single mishap today, you either avoided, fixed, or both."
You grin. "What can I say? I suppose I'm just one fortunate dwarf."
HCIOY: Indeed, you are fortunate, almost incredibly so, and Bofur is half-impressed and half-hopeful that some of your luck will rub off on him.
YCIOH: You don't often consider it, but truthfully, you are a surprisingly-lucky person. It's rare that you find yourself in a less-than-ideal situation that you can't count on chance to get you out of, and although it may just be the world's whim, you still send a silent word of thanks to Mahal tonight for your fortunes.
What comes next: His Expression When He First Met You vs. How He Looks At You Now (GIFs); also known as HEWHFMYvHHLAYN.