Breaking into a Mountain
By: Lauthica Green Clinkenbeard
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE LORD OF THE RINGS, THE HOBBIT, OR ANY OF THE CHARATURES FROM ANY OF THE MOVIES, BOOKS, ETC, ETC…THE ORIGINAL CHARACTURES ARE MINE HOWEVER ANY ORGANIZATIONS THEY BELONG TO, CLOTHES THAT THEY WEAR, WORLDS OR KINGDOMS THEY LIVE IN ARE NOT, ETC, ETC, ETC. THIS STORY WAS MADE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY AND I DON'T EXPECT NOR EVEN WANT ANY MONETARY GAIN. THIS DISCLAIMER APPLIES TO EVERY CHAPTER, EVERY SENTENCE, EVERY WORD, EVERY LETTER, ETC, ETC, ETC. ANY REFERENCES TO ANY SONGS, DRINKS, AND SITUATIONS BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO PEOPLE LIVING OR DEAD IS COMPLETELY CONICIDENCE. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. CONTAINS STRONG ADULT MATERIAL SUCH AS DRUG USE, STRONG LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, ADULT SITUATIONS, AND SEXUAL CONTENT AND IS NOT INTENDED TO BE READ BY ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY. THIS STORY MAY CONTAIN PLOT SPOILERS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOKS, WATCH THE MOVIES, OR PLAYED ANY OF THE GAMES. You get the drift?
Chapter One: What Follows
What follows here in the hand written account of Thorin II Oakenshield sometime in the Third Age 2931-2935 and records his lost days since The Battle of Azanulbizar and before the re-establishment of Ered Luin.
My arrival in the village of Broomball was less than I expected. My original destination had been Calembel, but the city was far too flamboyant and busy to my tastes. I did not linger long in the employment of the city lord, Don Rood the Red. He was a vain and lavish man and wanted my skills only to make chains and jewelry for he and his court. I did not survive death by dragon and orcs to become a decorator for such a man's pride. My own pride would also not allow my desperation in exile to fall to such an employment either. Commoners spoke of a village nearby to the east that prospered around an iron mine. I left within a fortnight and traveled with little rest, however, I would soon come to understand that Gondor was Gondor no matter what corner of the land you found yourself in. Yes, Broomball was smaller, but it was more of a town than a village. The castle of the lord still had high, phallic towers, and the nobility still wore the silky, fluttering linens and precious metals. The attitudes of the commoners were little changed from Calembel.
They knew my face, they knew my sigil and shield, and they knew my name…though they never called me by it. "King-in-Exile," they whispered; snickering and pointing as I passed thinking I would not see. It took a great deal of moral essence to hold my tongue to them. In a normal circumstance I would have put them in their proper place and demanded my proper respect, but I had been traveling far and long. If anything I needed a place to settle and rest for a time, much longer than a fortnight. I wasn't as strong nor young as I used to be.
Employment, that was the first order of business. I avoided the lord. That lesson had been learned. The iron mine was on the outskirts of the village just beyond between the main stone wall and the wooden fence of the outposts. Employment in the mines was considered a low status job in Broomball and as I walked, slow and weary into the district I found myself in the presence of other low status people. Along with the iron mine the district had one tavern, four brothels, two poor houses, a butcher, a barracks, and one blacksmith that attended only to the barracks. The houses were no more that stone and wood roughly mortared together and the air had the thick stench of manure, burning oil, blood, animal decay, sweat, and…other unpleasant scents.
The blacksmith was a fellow Khazad and I felt the tension leave my mind at once. He was not a kinsman I knew though. He was older than I and he moved slowly from an elderly affliction. He was nearly as round as he was tall. His hair was mostly grey but had a few patches of a light, rusty red. His beard nearly reached to the floor and had two braided loops adorned with iron rings. He wore no sigil I could see.
I stood, leaning against the doorway for a while and watched him at work. He had to sit down often for breath and I knew that this would be the best place to inquire work. I stood up straight from the door frame and walked forward making my presence known to him.
The elderly dwarf looked up at me and adjusted the thick, square spectacles on his long, snipe nose. At first his expression would hint to me of a genuine acquisition, but once his eyes focused on the sigil ring on my finger and the wooden shield at my side he looked down and away continuing on with his work.
"Turn away, Oakenshield." He said as he pounded away on a piece of red hot iron, "You will find no work here."
"Was that your answer before or after you recognized me?" I asked setting my pack down on the dirt floor next to a side table. The old dwarf stopped pounding and looked up at me wiping his brow. I thought he would speak, but instead he only sighed and shook his head. He picked up the bit of iron he was working on with tongs and doused it into the water bucket at his side. The metal crackled and hissed.
"Turn away," he said again.
"Tell me, elder dwarf," I said leaning back my head stretching my sore neck and shoulders, "Who else within a hundred leagues could offer you the proper aid that your craft deserves?"
"I care not," the elder dwarf said quickly, "My two sons are near enough for me should the need for help arise, though I would not hold my breath," he said as he pulled the now cooled iron from the bucket and set it to the side leaning against his work table breathing heavily. "These men are lower than… 'humble.' My finer crafts would be looked over, regarded as no better than a simple conjuror's tricks. They care not for the finer details and properties of the iron they commission. The dwarven touch here…does not exist, my lord Thorin. That is why I cannot hire you. The degrade is tarnishing, the despair…heavier than a mountain itself. You need not such a burden, laddie."
"I shall judge my own burdens and despairs," I said quickly, "But I need food. Food and drink, and lodging. Easily found, yet seldom kept with no trade and no steady trickle of silver."
"Come in sometime tomorrow, I'll give you silver. I'll give you gold, if that is what you wish." Said the elder dwarf as he hobbled his way over to his chair, seat worn and withered from overuse.
"I shall receive no wage that I have not earned in an honest day of work." I said sternly, "Look at yourself. You can barely stand on your own two feet for more than an hour. You need a younger, stronger aid or you will work yourself into an early grave. You need another dwarf."
"I have spoken my piece." He said again. "Turn away."
"Your stubbornness is as adamant as your age," I said doing my best to hide my agitation. "I shall seek employment elsewhere. Perhaps, I will inquire with the pompous lord after all." I nodded my head in respect toward him and turned away picking up my pack from the floor. The old dwarf sighed, and reached for a small drawer in his work bench. He pulled out a long, wooden pipe and small leather pouch.
"Find your lodgings, laddie," he said solemnly as he filled the pipe, "Come here just after dawn. I'll have work for you. Work as much, or as little as you like, you'll receive a wage that you deserve. Any arguments and you will insult me beyond forgiveness. Go, rest, Thorin."
"I cannot begin to express…." I began.
"Hush! Forget your courtesies, laddie. You will receive none in return. Leave me be for this evening." He said sternly as he puffed on his piped peacefully, and in silence. I sighed and bowed my head to him turning to leave.
I had not realized that it was, in fact, evening. The sun was setting beyond the shadows of the White mountains and casted a yellowish, urine coloured glow upon the district. This was no place for me to find myself wandering alone in the dark. My sigil ring alone would present enough cause for a brigand to plant his blade through my heart. The tavern was close and would have rooms for rent if the price was right.
A room was easy to acquire after a few ingots of gold passed along the old, inn keeper's wench's palm. I had the key secured in my pocket. I also had a small bag of silver and a belly that called out for a meal, pint of ale, and a full bag of pipe weed.
The ale was as stale as the district and thick, but a welcomed pleasure after so long of a foot trek. I had no sooner found a comfortable, solitary seat at a table far in the back corner, sipped on my pint, ate a bowl of tough, stringy stew, and puffed at my pipe when my glanced first passed her over scanning around the room.
I paused, and returned my eyes to her visage. Upon first glance she would appear as no more than a common tavern whore. Her hair was done up about her head in an overly elaborate way and her dress was provocative and overly showy. What caught my attention and interest was how fair she was. Almost too fair, really for a woman of her status. Her hair was long, falling well passed her waist and wavy. It shone bright in the candlelight like a dark, chocolate diamond. Her face was long and oval with sharp cheekbones, and a slender chin. As my eyes danced around her face I noticed that she was perhaps too slender. It didn't match her body. As my eyes drifted down I took in her broad shoulders, ample bosom, and wide, round hips. The grungy, less than chivalrous men around her showered her in gold and silver for a single smile or light peck upon their gritty cheeks.
Her eyes met mine and connected for no more than a moment, but it was in that moment, and whether it was the fire in the ale, or the haze within the pipe, I felt an insurgence within me, unlike I had felt in a very long time. Her hair was dark, but her eyes were a rare, light brown. They were perfectly round and large and seemed to illuminate in the dim room. They sparked like coals, and perhaps reminded me a bit of liquid gold had they taken on more metallic properties. When her eyes met mine I felt compelled to retain the gaze…until she passed me over for a quick chuckle to one of her other patrons. I sank in my seat a bit, though for reasons unknown. She was a woman of the race of men, and I…I a lost dwarven prince. Sure, what little fortune I had would temp her for an evening, but my honor would be shattered. My lustful days in youth had been spent, and I could not afford such a folly. Like a painting, she was lovely to behold…but never attained. I turned away from her table and finished my pint and pipe in silence.
I learned the next morning, much to my dismay, that the tavern had its very own rooster. And also, that this particular rooster like to crow and caw, quite loudly, just as the first beams of the sun broke upon the land. AND that the pin that held this particular rooster laid just under the window….. of my room. As it squawked wildly I lifted my head from the pillow with heavy eyes. I pushed myself up, reluctantly, from the soft, feather bed, staggered on weak legs and sore feet to the wash bin in the corner, splashed water up on my face and beard and over my aching, bare shoulders and neck, and grabbed the corners of the table leaning over the wash bin letting the water drip below. I sighed. This way of life was starting to get to me. I felt it down to the deepest part of my bones. My skin wasn't as tight as it used to be, my muscles were not as hard as they used to be. To what end does pride clash with the body? To what end does the mind blind the divine spark within us all?
I dug out a clean, black cotton shirt from my pack and slipped into my boots. I lingered on the bed after securing the ties. My mind and heart were willing, but my body hesitated and betrayed me. This was not going to be easy, but then again, I didn't ask for it to be. I secured my money pouch to my belt along with my dagger and set out for a day of work.
I will say in the defense of Broomball that the mornings were not nearly as bad as the village I had found arriving in the late afternoon. The air was not as foul. The streets were busy with folk from the main district going back and forth from the brothels and barracks. Merchants were hauling carts of goods and some even set up little tents selling their wares. It was pleasant and for a moment made one forget the true, rustic atmosphere of the lower district. The blacksmith was just passed the smaller of the two poor houses. As I passed by the threshold a woman came rushing out of the door nearly running me over. She gasped at once and bowed her head in respect.
"I am sorry, master dwarf." She said quickly gathering her skirts up about her to dash off again. She was dressed in a grey, wool frock and had an equally dull wrap around her head and hair. I returned the respect and nodded my head toward her as well.
"There has been no offense," I said. Then, as she stood, she smiled, and hurried on away about her business. But, as she did so, I met her eyes. They were a rare, light brown…like liquid gold.
It caught me off guard. I paused and watched her as she disappeared down an ally toward the main district. It could not be…There was no way she was the same woman I had seen in the tavern last night; the common whore. Or rather, the uncommon whore. The whore had been ravishing and lavish; this woman was simple and coming from the poor house…It was impossible for the two to be one in the same. I pushed it from my mind. Such frivolities could not be afforded.
As I walked into the blacksmith the elder dwarf was looking over some crates of ingots that had been delivered from the mine in the earliest hours of dawn. He carried a book and took notes of the color and weights carved into the crates. He looked up at me as I entered from above his spectacles.
"Ah, perfect timing," he said as he jotted something down in his book. "These crates need to be moved back to the storehouse and dumped into the troughs. Do that, then I want to see how well you can work the kiln. After that, we'll break and head up to the barracks for some food with my youngest son."
I sighed and nodded my head, "Where is the storehouse?" I asked.
The elder dwarf reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys tossing them to me, "It's just round the back," he said.
It was already near mid-day by the time I managed to get the last of the crates to the storehouse. Lifting and dumping the ingots into their proper troughs. My back screamed. After I re-locked the door to the storehouse I leaned against the cool wood and wiped the pouring sweat from my brow. But the day was not done. When I return to the blacksmith he had me work the kiln to make a knife. The fire was hot and grueling. I felt the soot accumulate thick on my face. My already sore shoulders now felt numb and my hands and arms ached and felt like bricks.
The elder dwarf went up to the barracks to luncheon with his son, but I stay behind. His old and worn chair looked far too promising. When the elder dwarf returned he had me assist in forging three new blades for the outpost guard. The familiar, urine glow of sunset began to cast as he turned me free and passed a good bit of silver across my palm.
"I have no need of you tomorrow. Rest, laddie, you have proven your intent. Check back day after next." He said.
After washing up in my room, I found myself returned to my solitary table in the tavern's main room. Tonight's supper at the tavern was the left over stew poured over freshly baked bread with fried chips. The chips were soggy, but filling and of good spice. As the evening passed people came and went but more people were staying tonight eating and drinking in merriment. I decided then that I would retire early, but first I wanted to catch another glimpse of her, the whore. So far, she was nowhere to be seen. My eyes were restless and jumped around the room seeking a chocolate lock or to catch her golden eyes.
When the candles had burned halfway down I decided to give up and get some rest. In the morning I would explore the village and perhaps even look over the wares of the main market place. Then, just as I stood, a group of men filed into the main room carrying instruments. Another Khazad was with them carrying a wooden clarinet. I sat back down and gestured at the ale-wench to bring me another pint.
The band crowded in the corner and started to play merry tunes, singing every once in a while. The Khazad was around my age, perhaps a little younger. He had dark, brown hair and beard with a few greys and had an open, happy face under a wool lined hat. He also played the wooden clarinet remarkably well and had a pleasant singing voice. There were no songs of Dwarven lore but I found myself lost in the tunes as I took another drink of my pint…until a patch of silk passed by my table.
My eyes drifted upward at once and she was there being led on to the table just down from mine by a barracks rat. Her gown tonight had a tight bodice and her bosom glowing and dewy nearly spilled from it. I leaned forward from my table to see just where they were sitting and as I did so she glanced at me over her shoulder her long shining locks whipping around her face as she did so. Her eyes connecting with mine again and the same insurgence spread through me as it had before. I would have smiled, but the command got lost somewhere between my mind and mouth.
Her gaze lingered on me and for a moment her happy and gay demeanor faded as if she had recognized me. But from where? She had seen me last night, but what interest would such a woman have in an exiled dwarf like me? Could it be that she was the woman I had seen coming from the poor house? There was no way. She finally turned her attention back to her patrons. I returned my stare back to my own table.
The band was done. Most of the musicians left but a few stayed to eat and drink with their acquaintances. I dared continue to glance back at the table with the whore. Like the previous night she would come and go as the clients came and went as well. These brigands were showering her with silver and the higher patrons showered her in gold for her private company. I kept track, and by the time the candles had nearly burnt out and most of the tavern crowd gone she would have had more silver and gold than I would see in an entire season's wages.
"I know what you're thinking and if I may be so bold as to say, you don't stand a chance."
I looked up to see the Khazad from the band sit down at my table. He stuffed a bit of bread into his mouth. "Hope you don't mind my joining you." He said as he chewed.
"Not at all, my kinsman." I said, "And your next pint will be of my silver for your company."
The other dwarf laughed, "You need not trouble yourself for my company. I'm not like her," he said and pointed down at the table with the whore.
"Do you know her?" I asked. "Where is she from?" I asked, but then I thought of another question, "Where does she reside?"
The dwarf laughed again as he forked up some chips, "Her name is Eevliina, but I don't know her personally. But trust me and heed my warning," he said reaching out for his pint, "I had the same look on my face when I first beheld her and once I had saved up enough for a gold piece the men around her laughed at my advance and turned me away. They will do the same to you. As for where she lives," he said taking a quick swig, "Nobody knows. She comes and goes like a wind. One minute she is there and the next she is not. Sometimes she will be gone for days at a time. They all ask of her, but no one ever sees her around the village, nor do they say of any strange horses in the stables. I had a dog like that once. He used to run off…"
"And what name do I call you, kinsman?" I asked cutting him off. This one was a talker, and not entirely the brightest.
"Sorry," he said wiping crumbs from his hand on his jacket. He held it out, "Bofur."
I shook his hand, "Thorin" I said.
"Are you serious?!" he asked. "Not…surely not Thorin Oakenshield?"
I chuckled at him, "I am the same." I said.
"I've heard of you. They sing songs of the dwarven uprising at Moria and how you led the vanguard using only a oaken branch to shield yourself. What are you doing in a place like this? And staring at tavern whores? Don't tell me they got you workin up in the lord's castle." He said.
"No, no," I said, "I have found work at the blacksmith for the barracks."
"That's a relief," he said taking another drink of his ale, "The blacksmith is my father, Bomuff. My brother, Bombur, works in the kitchens at the barracks."
"And from whence do you hail?" I asked.
"Here and there, spent a time in Erebor when I was but a wee little thing. I barely remember the halls, but I remember your grandfather. Had jewels all about his beard and such." He said gesturing around his face. "It was a sight to behold." He said and sighed. He lifted up his pint. "To Erebor," he said.
I nodded and lifted my own pint, "To Erebor!" I said and took a quick drink, "It was a sight to behold….much like her," I said looking back down to her table, but she was gone. I leaned over and then looked around the room.
"She's gone now," Bofur said chuckling to himself. I gave him a look and then I stood from the table. "Just where do you think you're going?" Bofur asked.
"She was there not two moments ago. You said no one knew where she goes, well, let's find out." I said.
"No thank you," Bofur said, "I'd rather let the mystery stay mysterious."
"Very well, good evening Bofur," I said and nodded toward him. He returned the nod.
"And to you as well, Oakenshield,"
I rushed from the main room of the tavern and out the front door. There was a chill in the air, but I had no time for a cloak. I hurried down the street toward the poor house. As I passed a narrow ally I saw a shadow move in the dark out of the corner of my eye. I back stepped and hurried down the alleyway. The shadow was a woman, but it was impossible to see her face in the darkness of the night or if she was the whore, Eevliina. Her gown appeared to be fine but the cloak she wore was black and had a high hood covering most of her face. The shadow woman disappeared down another ally, but I knew this one to be leading toward the poor house. Maybe it was the whore and maybe the whore was the beggar woman that had nearly ran into me.
Just as I reached the end of the one alley and turned myself to follow the second my eyes met the broad, dingy chests of two men. The taller of the two men reached out and grabbed my shoulder slamming me into the stone wall to the side.
"Look what we have here Horace," he said in a high pitched voice, "A little lost dwarf running around in the dark."
"A dwarf, eh?" said Horace. "Search him, he is bound to have a bit o' metal on 'im somewhere."
"Unhand me." I said shoving the man's hand away from me.
"This ones' got a bit o' fire in 'im." said Horace.
"Fire? Then let's show him a true fire." Said the other man. He punched me in the gut . I groaned and fell down to one knee. Horace grabbed me by the chin as another man lit a match. "Let's see how fast your fire will burn through that beard." He said lowering the flame toward my face.
SWOOOOOOOSH
The other man dropped the match and it fell to the ground smoking. He gasped and then fell over dead with an arrow sticking out of his back. Horace screamed and fled down another alley. I leaned against the stone catching my breath. I reached to pull out the arrow to see what make it was when another arrow hit the ground barely in front of my fingertips. I looked up and saw the shadow woman standing near with bow in hand. Her face was still impossible to see. I backed away from the dead man and arrow as she walked forward. She retrieved her arrows and then she re-docked one and aimed it at me.
"Master Dwarf," she said in a purposely deep voice, "You saw nothing this night. And if you pursue me again, I shall see it to that you will not see another night. Tell me your name."
I said nothing. Only stared in shock and then I panicked. My name was one of honor and royalty. Sure a man of honor might glance at a whore in a tavern, but never go chasing after one in the dark. Whoever this shadow archer was could pass my name around. I could not let that kind of tarnish happen. I had to give her a name….any name.
"I asked you to tell me your name, dwarf!" she yelled.
"B….Bofur…" I said backing away from her. She lowered her arrow and ran off down the alley. I remained behind as my heart pounded wildly inside my chest from fear and excitement. Un-common whores? Shadow archers? What other secrets does Broomball have awaiting my fate?
Author's Note: Eevliina was a fun name to come up with. Most of the time these names just come to me and I play around with the spelling and pronunciation. Eevliina is pronounce EVE-LEE-NA. Just a little tidbit I thought I would throw out there. Ta ta, enjoy the new story!