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Title: The Beginning of an End
Author: Evandar
Fandom: The Hobbit
Rating: G
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Bard/Thranduil
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: The aftermath of Smaug's death is filled with temptation. Bard can only resist for so long.
Author's Notes: A continuation of my Vampire!Bard AU, and still very much inspired by Dracula: Untold.
The clouds he controls boil overhead in mimicry of his mood. He stares across the lake and tries not to think of blood and burning. He can smell the death surrounding him, and his fangs are extended - they press into his lower lip, drawing beads of his own blood to the surface. The taste of it is better than nothing; better than the taste of his people.
He'd abandon them if he could. He'd slip this humanoid form and flock to the forest, roost under its haunted boughs and find Thranduil. He'd sink his fangs into the Elvenking's slender throat and feed from the Elf's pleasured moans as much as from his blood. The temptation to do so is stronger than anything except the desire to see his children safe. They are what tethers him here; the only thing keeping him in the world of Men, and he can feel even that bond weakening.
He can hear the whispers. There is no shelter and little food and winter came early this year. The Master is mourning his lost treasury; Alfrid sneers and snaps and tries to keep power in the Master's hands; the people speak of the dragon and of Bard himself. There is change in the air.
The clouds boil overhead, reflected in the surface of the lake. They hide the body of Smaug from view just as much as they hide the sun. The mountain too is reflected there. Bard studies it, weighing up the likelihood of the Dwarves having survived. The chance is a poor one. The mountain will have shelter enough for all his people, and halls for Bard to haunt. It will have darkness and shadows, and Bard knows that he will not be able to keep the sun hidden forever. He needs the dark. He needs peace.
But the mountain is further than the shore from Thranduil, and Bard swore never to feed from his own people.
"Da?"
He doesn't know what Sigrid sees in his face when he looks at her, but whatever it is, she draws her coat tighter around her body in an attempt to defend from it. Bard tries not to study the pale column of her neck too hard, but his gaze catches the flickering pulse just beneath the skin and his hunger grows.
He cannot do this for much longer. The dragon took too much of his strength with it when it fell. Bard hadn't realised how much effort it would take to pierce that hide until he'd done it, and now that Smaug is gone, he is the greatest predator in the valley.
"What is it?" he asks.
"There's... Some of the men, Da. They're saying you should be King."
He can't imagine anything worse. He looks away from her, back to the reflections of the mountain and the sky. If he looks hard enough, he can see a glint in the water that might be Smaug's eye, still hating him even now.
The Master will have already heard these whispers. It won't be hard, he thinks, for him to raise a mob. The truth is too close to the surface - Sigrid's reaction is proof enough of that. Slaying a dragon will never stop him from being a monster, and no matter what Thranduil says, neither will any of his other acts.
He can still try.
The mountain peak is a blade of white, ethereal in the gloom he needs to survive. It is their only chance.
"We need to move," he says. "North. To the mountain. Tell anyone who will listen."
He hears her leave; he focusses on hiding whatever horrors are in his expression before he too leaves the lake shore.
He can only hope that Thranduil will think to look for them now that Lake Town is gone. He cannot do this for much longer.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: The Hobbit
Rating: G
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Bard/Thranduil
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: The aftermath of Smaug's death is filled with temptation. Bard can only resist for so long.
Author's Notes: A continuation of my Vampire!Bard AU, and still very much inspired by Dracula: Untold.
The clouds he controls boil overhead in mimicry of his mood. He stares across the lake and tries not to think of blood and burning. He can smell the death surrounding him, and his fangs are extended - they press into his lower lip, drawing beads of his own blood to the surface. The taste of it is better than nothing; better than the taste of his people.
He'd abandon them if he could. He'd slip this humanoid form and flock to the forest, roost under its haunted boughs and find Thranduil. He'd sink his fangs into the Elvenking's slender throat and feed from the Elf's pleasured moans as much as from his blood. The temptation to do so is stronger than anything except the desire to see his children safe. They are what tethers him here; the only thing keeping him in the world of Men, and he can feel even that bond weakening.
He can hear the whispers. There is no shelter and little food and winter came early this year. The Master is mourning his lost treasury; Alfrid sneers and snaps and tries to keep power in the Master's hands; the people speak of the dragon and of Bard himself. There is change in the air.
The clouds boil overhead, reflected in the surface of the lake. They hide the body of Smaug from view just as much as they hide the sun. The mountain too is reflected there. Bard studies it, weighing up the likelihood of the Dwarves having survived. The chance is a poor one. The mountain will have shelter enough for all his people, and halls for Bard to haunt. It will have darkness and shadows, and Bard knows that he will not be able to keep the sun hidden forever. He needs the dark. He needs peace.
But the mountain is further than the shore from Thranduil, and Bard swore never to feed from his own people.
"Da?"
He doesn't know what Sigrid sees in his face when he looks at her, but whatever it is, she draws her coat tighter around her body in an attempt to defend from it. Bard tries not to study the pale column of her neck too hard, but his gaze catches the flickering pulse just beneath the skin and his hunger grows.
He cannot do this for much longer. The dragon took too much of his strength with it when it fell. Bard hadn't realised how much effort it would take to pierce that hide until he'd done it, and now that Smaug is gone, he is the greatest predator in the valley.
"What is it?" he asks.
"There's... Some of the men, Da. They're saying you should be King."
He can't imagine anything worse. He looks away from her, back to the reflections of the mountain and the sky. If he looks hard enough, he can see a glint in the water that might be Smaug's eye, still hating him even now.
The Master will have already heard these whispers. It won't be hard, he thinks, for him to raise a mob. The truth is too close to the surface - Sigrid's reaction is proof enough of that. Slaying a dragon will never stop him from being a monster, and no matter what Thranduil says, neither will any of his other acts.
He can still try.
The mountain peak is a blade of white, ethereal in the gloom he needs to survive. It is their only chance.
"We need to move," he says. "North. To the mountain. Tell anyone who will listen."
He hears her leave; he focusses on hiding whatever horrors are in his expression before he too leaves the lake shore.
He can only hope that Thranduil will think to look for them now that Lake Town is gone. He cannot do this for much longer.
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no subject
Date: 2015-01-05 02:36 am (UTC)From:(Also, flying to Mirkwood bat-like to drink from Thranduil, mrow yes please)
no subject
Date: 2015-01-05 05:05 am (UTC)From:(Mmmmmmm, bats. Yessssssssssssss. It must be done)
no subject
Date: 2015-01-07 08:32 am (UTC)From:I am so happy to see you continuing this idea that I can't express myself coherently. Great job! I hope you decide to continue this someday; I really would like to see where it goes!
...Gandalf's reaction to Bard, among other things (the bats. Oh, how the war-bats would suddenly - crease to be a problem) would be - interesting.
no subject
Date: 2015-01-07 10:46 am (UTC)From:There's more to be written, definitely (the bats! All the bats!) but I'm not sure anything will ever get longer than a long-drabble/ficlet.
OMG I hadn't even thought about how Gandalf would react. That would really be interesting - especially if Thranduil happened to be around at the same time.
no subject
Date: 2015-01-11 12:07 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2015-01-11 09:30 pm (UTC)From:Ask and you shall receive. The next instalment is called From the Ashes and is posted here (http://hikarievandar.livejournal.com/85196.html)