Notes: Okay, so for reals, only one more part of this. What what. I'm excited. Are you people excited? If you're not I don't know why you're here.

Notes2: Anyone who guesses each of the characters I've introduced gets 5 points for each character. They should be mega obvious, but I wanna see guesses anyway. Guessing is fun. Sorta.

Dedication: To my boo. For making me cry. Here's some fluff to ease your TW angst, babe.

Disclaimer: I own all the experiences and none of the characters. Boo hoo.

Live chess was something of a cluster fuck.

It was fun, don't get Killian wrong; it was really, really fun. But occasionally it didn't seem quite like the chess he knew. It wasn't bad, though, honestly, he couldn't reiterate that enough; live chess was the coolest thing he'd seen because of the way the characters interacted and moved and fought. The chess game ended in a board-wide brawl, much like the jousting match had, which the Lady of the Lake called to a cease-fire with a shout. She declared that the chess match would reconvene once the two sides had cooled off and learned to control themselves. Then she strode off the field, her little fairies chasing at her heels, and the crowd golf clapped her away. After that it was a mess of people standing and the announcer declaring that the chess match would continue at two o'clock if anyone would like to join them.

Killian stood up almost before the announcer had begun speaking, glancing over to where Mr. Williams' voice had come from. Sure enough his professor was sitting there, lips quirked in a cheerful little grin. He wasn't really wearing what Killian assumed was the usual renn faire get up, but it suited him. He was wearing a bright pair of red pants that cut off just after his knees, a white shirt, and a yellow vest with shiny brass buttons. He also, from what Killian could tell, wasn't wearing shoes.

"What the fuck," Killian whispered, because instead of seeming really, really weird, like it should have been, Mr. Williams looked oddly right. Sigrid, who had thrown herself into the excitement of the chess match with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm, blinked up at Killian like he was nuts, which probably wasn't far off from the truth. At least he wasn't still nagged by that awful feeling like he was going to burst out of his skin.

"What's wrong," Sigrid asked, going to twist around to look the way he was. He grabbed her without thinking, hauling her up before she could make eye-contact with his professor. For a minute he completely forgot that this was a complete stranger he was dragging around, which was so dumb, she was underage, what was wrong with him, but without a second thought he hauled her up and dragged her away, darting into the small crowd milling around. He wasn't sure if Mr. Williams had seen them, but no one shouted his name at his back, so he ran until they had passed all the stalls with food, only stopping when Sigrid dug in her heels and pulled him to a rough stop.

"You do remember I don't actually know you, right?"

"Um," Killian said. "Sort of?"

Seemingly despite herself Sigrid's lip curved into a smile. She rolled her eyes at him and shrugged her shoulders, glancing around curiously at the aisle of stalls in front of them. "I guess if you're done dragging me around like a ragdoll I should probably go find my mom," she muttered. Killian personally thought she seemed more interested in studying what was in each of the stalls, but he wasn't going to mention that if she wasn't. She glanced down the aisle in front of her and took a step forward.

Killian honest to god didn't mean to step forward with her. But he knew her, he could swear it. Something in him twisted at the idea of letting her walk alone, when anything could happen to her. Sigrid looked at him, surprise obvious in her expression, but before she could object he shrugged at her and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Look," he said, fidgeting a little. "I don't feel alright letting some kid wander around by themselves. I mean, there could be something dangerous around!"

"Something dangerous," she repeated, eyebrows rising toward her hairline. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"Orcs," Killian blurted out. "There could be orcs. So let me stick around until we find your mom and then I'll make myself scarce."

Sigrid burst into laughter, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Make yourself scarce," she repeated skeptically, still giggling. "I honestly don't know which part of that sentence was worse; that, the orcs, or the 'kid' comment." Her nose wrinkled like a rabbit's when she laughed and her freckles stood out on her cheeks like fireworks in the sky. Killian felt himself grinning back at her, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders.

"If it makes you feel better I have a very good explanation for why I ran away from the chess board," he offered. He didn't know why he did it, but he had to. There was something about her, something about the look in her eye and the way she smiled. Killian couldn't shake the feeling, but before he could dwell on it too much Sigrid perked up, interest obvious.

"You better have a good reason; you nearly took my arm off when you grabbed me," she told him, wandering forward slowly. Once he joined her, step for step, she picked up the pace a little bit, drifting closer to some of the stalls as they passed them. Her eyes wandered around, but Killian got the feeling she was paying more attention to him than she seemed to be.

So Killian told her about Mr. Williams and the flyer and the way he didn't want to talk to his teacher just yet. He almost mentioned the familiar tug he felt towards strangers, but just as he opened his mouth to jump into that mess they rounded a corner and the teenager spotted her mother standing at the glass blower's stall. Sigrid made a face, muttered something that sounded a lot like we don't need any more ridiculous glass animals, dear lord before giving him a lopsided smile.

"Thanks for keeping me company," Sigrid said, already turning to go towards her mother. She twisted around, walking backward for a few steps as she gave him a wide sunflower bright smile. "I hope you're able to evade your teacher, though," she added. Her mother twitched slightly at the sound of her daughter's voice, calling Siggy excitedly over her shoulder. The teenager grimaced, nose scrunching again, and called back, "One sec, mom," as she offered Killian a wave.

"See you at the next chess match," he asked, raising his voice slightly. He was a grown adult (technically) and the thought of wandering around the faire alone shouldn't have suddenly bothered him, but it did. Killian had been alone most of his life, with few close friends, so it was common familiar ground. Several times throughout his life he had even declared that he liked it better that way, but something about the immediate connection with the teenager left him aching for more human contact.

"I'll definitely try," the teenager promised. "Bye Killian!"

"Killian," he heard her mother say, finally turning. "Who's Killian?"

Not wanting to be called out as a giant creep (even though he sort of was) Killian darted further down the aisle, skipping past an elderly couple who were strolling peacefully down the dirt path. Once he was sure he was out of sight of Sigrid's mother he slowed down, shoving his hands in his pockets once more. The stalls around him didn't interest him that much, so he wandered aimlessly until something caught his eye. However that didn't happened until he had almost reached the end of the aisle, his interest peeking finally at the sight of a weapons stall. Unlike the other stalls around, the weapons stall was completely shaded inside, the tent itself a dark material, the front flaps pulled up to the sides to let people in. Killian could already see quite the range of weapons available from the outside, but he wandered in nonetheless, his interest in medieval weaponry rearing its head.

The stall keeper was conversing with someone off to the side, so Killian was left alone to glance over the items around at ease. There were several other people in the stall with him, all of them younger, all of them with the reckless gleeful gleam of youth bright in their eyes. Two teenagers even younger than Sigrid were gushing excitedly over the wall of katanas off to the right side of the stall, but it was the left side that drew Killian's attention, past the movie replicas and the anime pieces positioned so that they caught the dim light nicely.

The set of blades that had drawn his eye were wide, stout blades, the kind you didn't see in movies and TV shows. It was a set of nearly ten blades, all of which had some geometric quirk or another to mark it as completely different from its companions. Among the blades were a few flat-head axes, one of which seemed to be some kind of odd triangle that Killian had never seen in any kind of textbook or painting. But there were two blades among the batch that caught his eye the most, despite the fact that they were one of the simpler designs of the batch. They were short swords, Killian realized, the kind that had been wielded in each hand. The design was a little bit odd, because usually one of the blades would have been shorter and slimmer than the other, but as far as Killian could tell they looked to be the same size and shape. They were like slanted rectangles, with one tiny point ending at the far end of the blade while the rest sloped down into a more familiar sword point. There was also a strange triangular point in the center of the blade, which was mimicked in the designs dug into the metal, looking like a little hook that would bite into the skin of the thing that was being fought off. Killian couldn't image the statue of the person wielding the weapon, how strong they would need to be, how deft with both blades to make up for the lack of shield.

"Like those, do you," someone asked, almost in Killian's ear. He muffled a startled yelp for the second time that day, whirling to face the stall keeper, who had, at some point during Killian's drool fest, ended his conversation with the other person and wandered over toward him. Killian meant to say something, something about the craftsman ship, something about the odd design of the blades, but the same kind of familiarity that had struck him again and again over the course of the day swamped him then, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"You okay there, lad," the stall keeper asked. As he frowned wrinkles appeared on his brow, causing deep lines to echo his dark eyebrows. His hair was past his shoulders, wavy and dark with a few silver streaks visible here and there, tied loosely back with something that looked like a thick piece of brown cord. His beard was the same dark color as his hair, with just a hint of silver and grey speckled through, trimmed close to his jaw so that he looked somehow clean and wild at the same time. The man was wearing a shirt that had probably once been white but due to something Killian heavily suspected was soot and sweat had turned almost grey, its long sleeves rolled up to his biceps. He was the biggest man Killian had ever seen, or maybe it was just the man had such a powerful presence. Killian felt small, like a child standing in front of a statue, and he knew without a way to stop it that his mouth was hanging open a little bit as the breath vanished from his body. He knew this man. He knew this man with his long dark hair and his solemn blue eyes, but how?

"Lad," the man repeated. There was some emotion in his face, some glint in his eyes that Killian couldn't piece together. It reminded him of the expression Bo had worn as he mentioned orcs, similar but still different. Killian swallowed and nodded, wrestling his emotions under control as he tried to make himself respond verbally.

"Yeah," he said eventually, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, I'm find. I just, uh- It's a little hot out."

The man didn't seem convinced at first, but he seemed to let the matter slide reluctantly. "It is very hot," he agreed, glancing at the ceiling of the tent as if he could see through it and into the sky. He scowled a little bit, as if the weather offended him, before snorting quietly to himself. "I can't stand the heat myself, but I've come to accept that sunny, warm days are better than rainy, cold days. Or at least that is what I have been told, again and again."

"You'd rather it be cold?" Killian didn't really like the cold, but he didn't dislike it either. His favorite time of the year had been spring, back up north when the cool weather slid away slowly. Down south where he lived now it was cold one day and then hot the next, hardly any in between. The big man shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips almost reluctantly.

"Let's just say when I fell in love the topic of our favorite weather wasn't high upon my concerns," the man said, eyes twinkling as if he was telling a joke. Killian didn't see what was so amusing but he felt himself smiling anyway, suddenly relieved. The man looked as if he could turn grim and depressive at a moment's notice, so the thought that he had someone to love and keep him cheery was a comfort.

Christ, Killian thought, now I'm taking comfort in strangers' love lives. It's probably time to turn around and go back to the dorms so I can pack up, because this place is obviously making me crazy.

"Did you really make all this," Killian asked, sort of desperate to distract himself. The bearded man hummed quietly, nodding as he did so. Killian felt a little bit awed, twisting to look at every corner of the room so that he could try and wrap his mind around that. "Do you make all kinds of weapons or just blades?"

Something glittered in the man's eyes, something Killian's couldn't pin down. "I've been known to whittle out a bow or two sometimes, though I often leave that to the archer's themselves. But blades are my specialty." The man paused, seeming to weigh something in his mind. The next time he spoke his voice was thick, some double meaning behind the words that Killian could not catch. "Are you any good with a bow, lad?"

Killian shook his head and the strange look in the man's eyes dimmed a little bit, his mouth turning down almost as if in disappointment. "I've never had the chance," he explained, shrugging his shoulders. Suddenly the man brightened, blinking rapidly, fingers twitching as if he was trying to contain his excitement.

"There's a few targets set up just around the corner," the man said, pointing out of his tent and toward the dirt path that veered to the right. "There are people there who would be more than happy to let you give it a shot."

"Pun intended," Killian asked, grinning suddenly. The man frowned for a second before groaning, face twisting into a grimace. Killian laughed a little bit at the man's reaction to his own words, watching as the man ran a hand over his hair, frowning and gruff.

"Thomas," someone called out. The man who had been announcing the jousting match stuck his head in through the back flaps of the tent. He scanned the tent with his eyes, spotting them almost immediately. He started to say something else, something that started with, "Oliver says he-" before he cut off his own words abruptly, as if he was choking. His eyes went wide and his mouth snapped shut. With a muttered curse the big man disappeared back behind the tent flaps, the clattering sound of something metal hitting something else metal echoing after him.

Thomas, the stall keeper, sighed. "Excuse me," he said, scowling at the back of the tent. He started to make his way around the tables laden with weapons, hands brushing along the metal as he moved, before drawing short and turning back. "Go check out the archery stalls," he insisted. There was something compelling about the idea that gripped at Killian and he nodded, offering the stall keeper a little smile as he did so. "Good," Thomas the stall keeper said. He turned and made his way out the back flaps then, shouting to someone named Darrel.

Killian assumed the Scottsman was Darrel, though Darrel wasn't a very Scottish name to him, and left the tent, stealing a few more glances at the odd geometric blades as he did so. The sunlight was bright and warm against his skin, making him wish he could stay in the shaded tent for the rest of the afternoon. Despite that he wandered out anyway, walking the last twenty feet of the stall aisle with his hands in his pockets, before coming to the T in the dirt path. In front of him was a building, bathroom available on the side, and to the left seemed to be another aisle that lead back toward the food stalls and jousting ring. Past that there was another aisle that stretched out along the top of the T, passing by some enclosure that seemed to have a small elephant and camels for people to ride on. And to his right was the archery.

Killian studied the set up as he drew closer. There were a line of people, kids mostly, holding bows as if they were live things, wiggling about in their hands. Next to them were instructors, gesturing and teaching the kids as best they could. Past them were the dummies the kids were aiming at, propped up human shaped things in tied together armor, and among the dummies were a few actual people, coated head to toe in armor, each of them holding a shield and calling out to the kids who shot at them.

It was five dollars for ten arrows and Killian paid without a second thought. He was handed the ten arrows, all of them with flat padded ends, and a bow his size, which he took carefully. The woman sitting behind the table smiled at him as he ran his fingers over the bow and asked him the question of the day again.

"You ever shot a bow, love?"

"Nah," he said, plucking the string lightly. "Never had the chance."

"Well now you do," she said cheerfully. She pointed at a shaggy haired red-headed man who was standing without a child to instruct, her smile kind. "Enjoy!"

Killian had had a friend in high school who had been ridiculous at the drums. She'd always been tapping away at something, fingers against the desktop, foot against the floor, pencil against her leg; the rhythm never stopped with her. She'd been fantastic at it from the get go apparently, having picked up the drumsticks and run with it to her middle school band director's delight. She'd tried to describe how it felt to him once after he'd asked about her lightning quick love for the drums.

"It was like I had been looking for the drums all my life," she had said. She had been tapping against his knee, both of them curled under an oak tree behind the gym as they skipped calculus. "Like… Like I had been born with a pair of drumsticks in my hand and had them taken away and I was looking to find them again. I don't know, Killian; I just held them and knew."

Killian thought of her then, holding that bow as he walked over to stand next to the big red-headed man. The man talked, but Killian couldn't make himself listen, some kind of whistling sound filling his ears. One of the armor wearing, shield toting men out among the dummies was staring at him, angling himself so that Killian could shoot at him if he wanted. The man tapped his shield with one finger, the metal of his gauntlet rapping loudly against the wooden shield in the direct center of the crest painted there.

"Alright lad," the man said. "Give it a try."

Killian picked up the bow, tucked an arrow between his fingers, and notched it. The string drew back between his fingers and he angled his elbow up, eyes completely focused on the man in front of him with the shield. His heart pounded, the sound loud in his ears, and after taking a long, deep breath Killian let go of the string.

The arrow hit the center of the crest and fell to the ground with a dull thud. The man jerked as if surprised, his actions mirroring Killian's as he flinched. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on his head, chills rushing down his spine as everything came back to him. The man dropped his shield and yanked off his helmet, his blond hair falling loose around his shoulders. He had dark eyes, the same blue as sapphire, and the beginnings of a beard along the hard line of his jaw. Killian's breath caught, his world flipping upside down.

"Kili," Fili said. The next thing he knew his brother, blond and whole and human, was rushing across the distance between them, flinging himself over the barrier to wrap his armored arms around Killian's shoulders, and then suddenly Kili was home.