Prologue

-Bree, Year 2941-

It was a rainy evening, when this cloaked figure, short and robust, splashed his boots on puddles of water, on his way to the Prancing Pony Tavern. Once in, the warmth of the place greeted his body. He lowered his hood, revealing a mane of long dark brown curls with a few silver strands. He had twin braids that hung from each side of his bearded face, with iron clamps to the end of each. His eyes, large and blue like a summer sky, had a long engraved sadness about them. His nose was long and pointy, projected forward, and his lips were a thin line framed by a thick mustache. Although his features were very pronounced, he was quite handsome for a dwarf. There was an air of royalty about him, but he wore no crown or circlet.

The place did not look very inviting, since its clients were people of all corners of Arda. Travelers of all kinds with appearances that were less than stellar. Some looked mysterious, some looked scary. It was a hostile environment for lack of a better word. The handsome dwarf sat at one of the tables near the hearth to keep warm. At that moment, a barmaid wench approached to take his order. He was preoccupied with thoughts of his lost father, and came to Bree looking for clues that could lead to him, so he dismissed the barmaid quickly after his request.

It did not take her long to bring his meal. She was not too tall for one of the race of men, husky build and curly dark hair. Judging by the appearance of her firm and fair skin, she must have been in her early 20's. The dwarf looked her over when she least noticed. He smirked lightly, thanking her for the delivery. The place was crowded and she was sort of hurried serving here and there. The dwarf broke his bread in halves and began to eat, when he felt the peer pressure of two suspicious looking men, one to each side across the tavern. He gripped the hilt of his sword just in case, when a tall old man that seemed like a vagabond and dressed in gray sat by his table.

"It's good to find you here. My name is Gandalf, Gandalf the Gray." Said the old man, who interrupted the busy endeavors of the barmaid to request of her the same meal the dwarf had.

"I know who you are" Responded the unimpressed dwarf.

"What brings Thorin Oakenshield to Bree?" Asked Gandalf while looking sharply at him.

They engaged into a conversation of sorts, discussing the details of their quest and the perils that the dwarf identified as Thorin was exposed to.

Thorin was emotionally exhausted and physically drained as they spoke. That's when the barmaid returned with the order for Gandalf. Thorin's eyes got distracted for a moment with her curves, tracing them with his eyes. What kept his attention the most was her worn out corset that was too small for her voluptuous breasts, giving the impression of exploding if she breathed. He was brought back from his blissful distraction with more talk of the quest at hand. The final arrangements were made and Thorin retired to the room he rented for the evening.

He hung his cloak behind the door, and was removing his footwear when he heard soft knocks at his door. Thorin finished kicking off his boots and rose up to open the door; It was the barmaid wench again with clean towels, a bar of rustic soap and covers for his bed. They exchanged gazes for a moment as he took the items from her hands. Thorin thanked her once more, which made her blush. She was not used to kindness, especially in her line of work. When she turned to leave, Thorin stopped her by grabbing her forearm with one of his robust calloused hands. He pulled her inside of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Are you mad? The place is crowded and I need to work, Master Dwarf. My boss will kill me!" She whispered.

"No he won't. I left extra coin on his counter. Your shift is being covered at this very moment. Why else do you think you were sent here?" The wench looked thoughtful for a moment, then Thorin kept on... "Allow me to enjoy your company. Just relax and talk to me..." He said.

The wench blushed, "I.. well, what would you like to talk about?" She whispered.

"Your services, how much for them?" He said directly with no hesitation, eyes dancing about her robust forms and short height, which were quite attractive to his beauty standards.

"For doing your room? It is all included in the fee, Master Dwarf" Her appearance was not contemplated in the human cannons of beauty, for which she was neglected often. Let alone a dwarf, who believe themselves to be larger than life. So she highly doubted he could have any interest in her. But her voice was gentle and her youthful skin looked soft.

"What if I want more than just my room done? What if I want to get to know you... better... for the night?" Asked Thorin with the deepest of voices, a tone that was all too familiar to her. He caressed her face with the back of his hand, lifting all doubt of his intentions. Her eyes widened as they gazed into his. A thin line was her smile because she was finally noticed and the dwarf was not ugly.

No more words were needed. He placed his fingers under her chin, tilting her face gently at just inches from his. A soft kiss was given first, which intensified to the point of hungry devouring. Their hands were all over each other before long. Their passion was such that he lost one of his iron clamps to her professional lustful cares...

Next day, Thorin was relieved and ready to depart with close to no sleep and an ear to ear smile. He left a few extra coins over the bedside table for her, leaving the room without looking back. The wench smiled under the covers, with a delicate blush on her pale cheeks as she saw him depart.

History became legend. Legend became myth. Many years passed, of epic battles and remarkable quests that were passed on by word of mouth. And of that brief encounter that served to sow a wild oat, rumors tell it flourished into something more...

85 years later...

It was just a normal day at a village in Anórien, 20 years after the destruction of the ring of power. The weapon business became useless because of the era of peace that followed, making of them more of a hobby than an actual need. And working on their craftsmanship was a humble blacksmith of Bree that set his permanent residence in Anórien 24 years ago. His name was Kalvis.

He was delivering custom made swords to the landlord early in the morning, returning to his shop to keep working on some more custom orders. He opened the heavy door of his working place to get started. Kalvis took his work seriously, for it was what earned him his daily living. Once inside, he removed his tunic, tossing it carelessly about the floor, and grabbing his working apron from a nail on the wall. He retook the Lieutenant's sword right where he left it, reforging its broken blade. He had been at it for the past two weeks. The materials from which it was made were poor quality, but it had a sentimental value to the lieutenant, so he asked Kalvis to repair it. The half dwarf started to smooth the edge of said blade, trying his best to have it ready for next day.

Kalvis was 5'5 in height with long dark brown curls that cascaded down his shoulder blades. His facial features were quite peculiar; long pointy nose projected forward; a full mustache and beard fixed in two thin braids that hung from his chin; large and expressive sea blue eyes that stared intensely, framed with bushy eyebrows and thick lashes. Anyone would say he was a dwarf, but he was slightly taller. He was the living portrait of the father he never knew.

Because of his line of work, which involved daily brutal force, he was well toned, wide in build with strong arms, calloused hands and fat fingers. His natural strength made him perfect for the blacksmith work.

While minding his own business, little he knew that his daily routine would be turned upside down in the blink of an eye, by the least expected of events.