What The Actual? (LotR x Reader)

Royal Pain Jr

Six months.

You had been in Middle-Earth, for six months.

Six months locked in a cramped, dirty, awful cell.

Six months, save for the many, many, many escapes. Failed ones, of course.

Six months since your terrible crash.

And finally, six months since you met the most irritating, nit-picky, big-headed joke, who just happened to be the prince of Meek-wood. Day in and day out, you endured being dragged back to your cell after managing to slip past a guard and halfway out of the palace. Day in and day out, you suffered his intolerable presence. And for what? Nothing.

Pissing off one of the most powerful beings in Middle-Earth was not on your to-do list. Really, it wasn't. As a matter of fact, it was on your to-not-do list. Right next to falling from the sky, getting thrown in prison, and indirectly setting fire to the entire kingdom of Mirkwood. But, to be fair, anyone could argue arson is one of the pettiest crimes. And if you really wanted to push it, you could argue Mirkwood deserved it--or at least, their King did. Sure, you don't believe people should be lit on fire just for being assholes, otherwise you'd be burned at the stake, but assholes like him only came around every thousand years. And his son was hardly better. If not worse.

This is hardly the beginning, but this is where it shall start.

"I'm bored."

"A pity."

You sat in the tight space, banging your head against the wall in annoyance as you glared up at the cavern ceiling, not surprised in the slightest. It seemed to extend higher and higher into the dim darkness, as if it was struggling to get as far away from the prince as possible.

The dungeons were a dark and dreary place, the grumbles and snarks of the prisoners the only thing that made the lonesome space feel less isolated. You pulled your legs to your chest in a protective huddle for warmth, looking up through the bars at the prince, who remained pressed to the side with his arms folded.

How did you manage six months?

"It really is a crime to keep me locked up, you know. False imprisonment, detainment, whatever you want to call it."

He said nothing, just rolled his eyes like he always did, continuing to stare ahead as he ignored the insults from the other prisoners.

"Ah! Goldie-Locks on guard duty again?"

"Your daddy still wearing dresses laddie?"

"C'mere little nymph boy, I'll show you a good time!"

You groaned louder, leaning back.

"I'm cold."

"Perhaps you should have succeeded in your recent escapade, then."

You scowled at him through the iron bars, his expression matching that of his barren tone.

You weren't even supposed to be in there. Trespassing. Really? Everyone knows that's a fantasy crime, like jaywalking. It doesn't really count as a crime.

~Flashback~

"Dispose of her."

You stared dumbly at the king for a long moment, slowly blinking while unable to process the three words that left his lips.

It was probably the concussion.

Your temples were throbbing while your body ached, and having your head chopped off was not really on your list of things to do either--