Renacida || Fili x MGIME OC ||

Oaths

Oh, god.

What had I done?

I doubted I had ever been so fucking stupid in my entire life. And that was saying a lot because I often suffered from a case of Major Dumbass.

I just...I just wanted Bilbo to be happy. But it created a major lapse in judgement, and now neither of us might ever be happy again.

When I opened my eyes again, Bilbo stared back at me, waiting for an answer that I could not give. But he wanted to know everything—everything about the Ring and what it did to me and why and all that awful shit he wasn't supposed to find out for another hundred fucking years.

With great effort, I placed both hands on Bilbo's shoulders, but I didn't have the warmth to squeeze them.

"Listen to me, Bilbo."

"Valeria..."

At the sight of my steady gaze and unsmiling mouth, Bilbo turned incredulous, then despondent, then stubborn.

"No, no" he started, vehemently shaking his head. "If you dare suggest that, that I cannot ask—that I cannot tell anyone what just happened—"

"I am," I cut in. "I'm suggesting exactly that."

Bilbo took in a breath, but before he could argue with me more, I moved my frigid hands up to cup his cheeks. His jawline had become more pronounced ever since Mirkwood.

"Your hands, Valeria," Bilbo croaked, worry and fright returning in him, and he placed his own over them in an attempt to provide some heat. "They're so cold. What manner of dark magic caused this? Please—tell me. I beg of you."

"I can't," I replied, then let out a helpless breath at the look he gave me. "Bilbo, what just happened—it wasn't supposed to. And now it can't be undone, a-and it's all my fault, and I have no fucking idea what to do."

"It wasn't your fault," he whispered, and his lower lip trembled. "It was not your fault. It was mine."

Desperation bled into my words. "It doesn't matter. You can't tell anyone about this, and you can't—you can't ask any questions to me. Please. What happened will stay here on this balcony. You...you will keep the Ring with you—"

"I won't—"

"—You will, and that's final. Do you understand me? You will never speak of this again."

Bilbo despairingly said, "You cannot possibly expect that of me."

My mouth twisted, tears surging, and a new set of tremors threatened to unstitch me at the seams.

"I'm...I'm so scared all the time, Bilbo. I want to get it all right. I have to get it all right. But more often than not, I think I'm doing everything wrong. This just—" A stab of pain lanced through my neck with the soft sob, but I winced and spoke through it. "This just fucking proves it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made you part of this mess. It wasn't...it wasn't supposed to be like this. But it is. And now all I can do is ask you to not tell a single soul. Please."

He stared at me, weepy with blood faintly stained in strand-shapes on my gaunt cheeks and shivering too much, made a soft noise in the back of his throat, then embraced me.

"Oh, Valeria," he whispered as I buried my head into his shoulder, furiously biting my lip to keep from openly bawling.

The confession, so despondently exposed and unlike everything I built up around me and the words I spoke, rattled Bilbo more, and he held me tightly to abate the uncertainty. I didn't blame him for not wanting to be kept from the truth; if our roles were reversed and I saw him suffer through the same thing I just did, I would have shaken him until he spilled everything.