A/N: This wonderful bit of craziness is a collaborative effort with the inestimable kkolmakov. Wren is wholly her brainchild, and such a match for King Cranky, I have a hard time imagining anyone else. But even in the case of true love, it sometimes needs a nudge, or a well placed broomstick.
"Tho-o-o-orin!" The voice of Wren of Enedwaith, the red haired healer of Men, rang through the passages of Erebor, her small body propelling through its halls, her orange curls whipping behind her like a flame of a torch, "Thorin Oakenshield! Get your royal… self right here right now!"
That surely wasn't boding well, and Beryl leaned from out of her balcony in the Upper Halls, only to see the the tinsy healer rush into a small inner courtyard, and the King show up from the opposite entrance.
"What is it, bantith?" The King asked absentmindedly, without lifting his eyes off a scroll he was holding in his hands.
"Why am I being escorted out of the healer's tents?" Her small fists were pressed into her waist, a foot was tapping, and Beryl understood the storm was coming. Or to be precise it was already raging and threatening to destroy the peace in Erebor, except the thick-skulled King seemed to be completely unaware and, look at him, was still reading his ridiculous scroll! "I was softly hinted that I am not welcome there anymore to tend to the wounded!"
"You are not," the King frowned and scribbled something in his cursed parchment with a quill, "You are to be a Queen now, you do not belong in that dirt and suffering." Beryl from her post saw the jaw of the future Queen of Erebor to slack, strange slanted eyes widen, and Beryl felt like yelling at the King whether he was out of his royal mind, but the oaf was just too busy!
"Pardon me?" The hiss was so high and loud that Beryl thought that with such pitch Wren could herd sheep without a dog.
"Go repose, my heart. We have a feast tonight, emissaries from other clans are coming," and to her terror Beryl saw the dimwit of the King to make the biggest mistake in his budding romance with the healer. The clod didn't lift his eyes but made a small waving motion with the quill in his hand. At Wren. Dismissing her. After having just suggested she should go have rest. Was he dropped head down at the armrest of his grandfather's throne in his childhood?
"Are you out of your royal mind?!" And here we go, the yell. For a tiny, twig like nothing Wren of Enedwaith had exceptional lungs. "I am a healer! It is what I do! It is my service!"
That got the half-witted King's attention, and he lifted his eyes at her. Beryl felt like swearing, but she was a good mannered hobbit so she just cringed and braced herself. The King looked irked and gave his betrothed an exasperated glare.
"Wren, we are not having this ridiculous discussion… I expected you to know it yourself..."
"Know what myself?!" The healer interrupted him and made a step closer. The King shied away as if from a poisonous snake. Beryl knew the power of Wren's glare. It curdled milk and induced stomach colics in feeble minded.
"That you are now to have a quite different life."
"I don't want to have a different life! I was completely content with my previous life! I am a healer, and that is my calling, and no amount of puffed-up, cantankerous, overbearing Dwarves in it will change..."
Beryl had not heard anything after that as she busily rushed back into her room and grabbed Fili's battle club from the wall it was mounted on. Deftly wrapped in the blanket the bludgeon was perfect. Beryl was confident in her choice, she had used it thrice in her life. Put it simply, she had cousins, and a lot of them.
Immaculate sneaking in the best hobbit style, and then two neat, thoroughly aimed thuds later, and she was dragging two unconsious but surely unscarthed bodies to her chambers. The healer was a piece of cake, hardly weighed anything, and Beryl was a full bodied healthy hobbit. The King was heavy and looked displeased even in his state. Beryl groaned but successfully seated him on a chair, his back to the chair where the healer was already propped.
A bit of finagling, rearranging, and creative ropework later, and she had two monarchs of Erebor trussed as fine as geese for roasting. She checked her ropes. She made sure they were secure, but not cutting circulation. She then picked up her basin of washwater, and doused them both thoroughly. She waited until their eyes uncrossed before unloading on them. It'd been awhile since they'd heard the sharp side of her tongue. Time to remind them.
"Do you two have any idea how truly daft the both of you were sounding out there? I thought you were supposed to be responsible adults, not squabbling children in a sandbox!"
The King opened his mouth first of course. He was more of a 'roar first, think after' kind of temper, while the healer was giving her a suspicious look, evaluating the situation.
"Beryl Baggins, what do you think..?" the King started, but was firmly interrupted.
"I sincerely doubt you've actually bothered to think since the moment you decided to rearrange Wren's life for her, and proceeded to make mincemeat of your upcoming marriage. Do try again." Beryl set the bowl down, and regarded the disappointing King of Erebor, even going so far as to tap her foot.
"We are not yet married, I remind you," the healer mumbled under her breath, "And the prospective is looking less and less attractive with each minute..."
"More's the pity, since I actually expected something resembling sense out of you, at least. Honestly, he roars and acts stupid, so you must reply in kind? Really?" Beryl turned the full force of her displeasure on the closest she'd ever come to a sister. Still, fondness would not save her from feeling the rough side of her temper. These two were going to learn to play nice, one way or the other.
"I don't roar..." the King tried to fight for his rights again. Only to be shushed by both women.
"Do be quiet, Thorin," Wren turned to her right to see him behind her, while he turned to his right, and obviously missed her. They twisted their heads again and again, missing each other each time, and then Wren emitted her usual 'Maiar help me' and glared at Beryl.
"I see you mean well, Beryl, but negotiating with him..." Wren had to halt her statement, pronounced in a feigned sweet tone that Beryl was so familiar with. Wren was trying to butter her up. "Would you stop jerking?!" She barked at Thorin behind her who was trying to untangle out of the ropes through this whole time. "Don't you remember what she did to the Great Spiders? There is no point trying to!" Thorin glared at Beryl as well, but stopped shaking their double trap.
"There are none so blind as those who will not see. Alright you two, here's how it is. Apparently everyone but you two see how much you love each other." The King grumbled something under his breath, and Wren puffed air in indignation. "I'm not done yet, children, shush! Now, I'm about to ask each of you a very important question. Do you remember what first made your heart stutter about the other? Thorin? Do you remember?" Beryl pinned him to the chair with the same glare that made the three trolls shake.
"I am no maudlin village lass to pronounce colourful confessions, Beryl Baggins! Stop this absurd drollery!" The King snarled, and Wren rolled her eyes.
"Shush and answer the question, I'm trying to show you something before you screw up the best thing to ever happen to you." Beryl pointed the business end of her trusty broom. The same broom she held twelve of the company hostage at her door more than a year ago. Gandalf often wondered if it didn't have some magic of its own.
"Maiar help me, can you be less stubborn?" Wren hissed at him over her shoulder. "Just tell her something and let us out of this entrapment." Wren of course turned right while he did the same, and they did their head whipping dance for a few instants, which Beryl enjoyed to no measure.
"Why don't you answer her question yourself, my insolent Queen?" He venomously sneered through his gritted teeth.
"Maybe I can't remember now that I am supposed to give up my service and everything I am!" Wren had an even more acidic tone, and then she jerked in the ropes. She was obviously just shaking the King and not trying to get out. Unlike the stubborn Dwarf she obviously remembered Beryl's prowess. "And I am not your Queen!" Watching these two, Beryl could only thank her stars she fell in love with Fili, a much easier to talk to and less….full of himself Dwarf.
"Oh for love of mercy, let me make it easy for you, Thorin, since you're playing denser than granite today! Could you really love Wren if she had so little sense of duty, she'd drop her oath on your say so? Could you love her if she just laid around all day doing nothing?"
"She will not be lying around all day! She will have plenty of responsibilities!" The King boggled his eyes, and Wren once again rolled hers.
"Does not answer the foresworn question, goose. And do you really mean to order the person you supposedly respect the most around like a flunky?"
"I was not ordering her around!" the King bellowed, to which Wren made a scornful noise.
"Yes, indeed and Elves are exceptional in mining," Wren mumbled under her breath.
"Pardon?!" The King started twirling his head again, but this time Wren did not participate. She jerked her chin up and adopted distant disdainful look. The look meant silence, that much Beryl knew. The look was also known as Wren Lock Down.
"Mahal help me, Beryl you just had to do it! Now she will be silent for days!" The King's voice was gaining desperate notes.
"Thorin, this isn't from my doing, but yours. First you take away her vocation, the very thing that allowed you two to meet, the thing that meant almost as much as you do to her, and then won't even take responsibility for it. I can't fix this for you. You're going to have to own up and fix it yourself." Beryl's own voice was full of sorrow. She could tell he was terrified. The only insecurity he ever let slip was over Wren. Something about her scary level intelligence left him two shakes from wetting himself when she got quiet.
The stubborn set of the King's jaw looked utterly lacking in promise, but at least he was quiet. And thinking. That was a good sign. Thorin Oakenshield was one of those many men who couldn't think when they were yelling.
"Perhaps I was too... hasty?" The phrase from the King lacked in volume and certainty, but was a giant accomplishment, if one asked Beryl. And people really should have asked her, after all she had all the power here. Well, the broom. She had the broom. Beryl carefully poked the healer's shoulder with the handle.
"Wren, do you want to say something?" Wren pressed her lips tighter and stared at the wall behind Beryl. "Perhaps, since you're not talking, I should share some things with Thorin you shared with me back in Laketown, after your half a pint adventure..." Wren's orange red head whipped, and she hissed at Beryl.
"You wouldn't dare! You swore to me it would never be told to anyone!" The King's eyes were darting between two women, curiosity suddenly splashing in his irises. Wren's cheeks were burning with feverish blush.
"Then quit acting like a toddler missing its nap, and talk to the Dwarf you love!" Wren emitted a heavy sigh and mumbled something inarticulate. "What was it, Wren? I don't think we quite have heard you."
"I said I was slightly impressed by the King's care for his warriors when we met." Wren's face retained the stroppy expression, but Beryl Baggins was no fool. There were cracks in the ice.
"Do try a bit harder, Wren, any more, and he might think you actually care there." Wren's nostrils flared, and then Beryl noticed the King had a strange distant look on his face.
"Now, we both know you already know where I'm going with this, so, care to save us all the trouble, and verbalize it so you can't hide from it any longer?" Beryl didn't break eye contact with Wren, so there'd be no mistaking her meaning.
"What do you want, Beryl?" Wren snapped. Snap was good, Beryl was hoping for a snap. Snap meant no filter between Wren's oversized brain and wide chatty mouth. Beryl knew the woman well, one just needed to break the dam and the truth would pour. "I did everything I could! I came to the Mountain. I gave up the service. There isn't a single tree in this stone cage! I don't see the sun, I am surrounded by Dwarves who think I belong here less than King Thranduil, and I am just so very lonely!" By the end of it she was already shrieky, and it took a lot of willpower for Beryl not to wince. There might have been some ringing in her ears by then. The woman was worse that the toll bell in Hobbiton! "And cold! Why is it so cold in here, Maiar help me! It's a giant mountain with giant forges underneath! Why is it like a cold room here?!"
During Wren's emotional flood, Beryl watched Thorin carefully, seeing if the messages were actually making contact with decision making centers. She just might have to beat him senseless if he didn't. Wren kept on going, and Beryl slightly shifted and gave the King a pointed look, hinting that he probably should address the frustration of a woman who supposedly was important for him. To say nothing of the fact that only a dimwit would try ordering Wren around. Similar idea would be to try to train a cat to fetch. All you get is clawed out eyes and pee in your shoe.
"You can bring an extra wood stove to your chambers," the King offered, and Beryl decisively thumped herself with the broom handle to the forehead. Wren froze her mouth open mid-sentence. Beryl gave her aggravation a thought and thumped the King to his thick skull.
"Seriously? Your woman, the person that means more than breathing to you... and don't try to tell me otherwise! Your bride is over there falling to pieces because her world has been completely uprooted and turned topsy turvey, and the best you can offer is a wood stove? Goblins can do better than that!"
The King clenched his teeth so hard hard that one could probably crack a walnut between his white teeth, but Beryl Baggins were not that easy to intimidate.
"Don't break a molar there, Thorin," she gave him a mocking look from under a lifted brow.
"Watch your words, Beryl Baggins, remember whom you are..."
"Yeah, sure, intimidate her with your majesticness, let's see how you will enjoy spending a night in these ropes," Wren seemed to be addressing a candlestick on the table to her right.
"Wren, stop encouraging this absurd behaviour..." Thorin mumbled keeping his voice down, as if hoping Beryl would not hear them. Wren sighed heavily and continued staring at the furniture as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. There was a moment of silence, and then Beryl applied her broom handle to the King's ribs. Gently. But with meaning. A poke was surely not painful, but Beryl was aiming for humiliation and not injury. She needed to make him holler. When hollering he tended to be eloquent. Goading the King over the edge was Beryl's priority mission.
"Let me summarise something for you, Thorin," Beryl started in a saccharine tone, "Wren had just shared her concerns with us. Though some of us did not seem to listen," she added as a side note and saw Thorin narrow his eyes at her. A juicy raspberry blown to his royal ass face was endlessly satisfying. "So, Wren is cold." Beryl started walking back and forth, curling her fingers. "She misses trees. She doesn't like living with snooty Dwarves, who don't like their King to marry a woman of Men. Wren misses sunlight. And I can assume, though she didn't say it, she misses conversations about herblore and medicine. And mostly she misses being useful and doing something she is good at. Well, I don't know," Beryl emitted an exaggerated pensive 'hm,' "Does that all sound familiar to you? Because I can't help but think that it all sounds like she would fit in Mirkwood. With King Thrandypants, who had all those grass and leaves talks with her, showed her around, and made googly eyes at her."
From the corner of her eyes Beryl noticed Wren squirm on her chair uncomfortably. Wren didn't particularly enjoy her experiences in Mirkwood, while the Dwarves were locked up in cells her and Beryl were invited to the party with King Thrandy, who Beryl had only one word for. Ridiculous. All his airs and such, and the boggled eyes and loony smile. Wren didn't particularly take to him, but Thorin didn't know that.
"You should have seen their lively conversation, Thorin," Beryl stopped in front of the King. The white knuckles of his hands on the armrests didn't escape her attention. "And the Elves simply loved our little bird! Begged her to stay!" Was Beryl imagining that screeching noise of the royal teeth being gritted? Mostly likely, nope. For an instant Beryl met Wren's concerned eyes, as if asking her what she thought she was doing, and Beryl gave her a small reassuring wink. "And then, when the King Glitter-robe offered to show Wren his sapling..." Beryl shortly wondered if the chair would hold, the mournful screech was very loud. On the other hand she did choose the sturdiest one in the room, she sort of expected a lot of strain on it knowing the King's temper. "Yes, the sapling, all prepared for planting, root to tip..."
And that was when the King reached his utmost limit. With a deafening roar he jerked in his restrains… and toppled both chairs sideways on the floor. Beryl held her breath, but the ropes withstood. Bless the Dwarven ropes. And furniture. A little round decorative pinecone was the only part of the chairs that snapped off.
For the next few moments both women listened to a flood of Khuzdul. Beryl felt rather happy she didn't know the language well enough yet, because judging by Wren's wincing and cringing the content might have been a bit too anatomical.
"Dammit Dwarf, why can't you tell her what she means to you, and treat her like it!"
"I'm marrying her! What else am I to do?! Is that not confirmation enough?!" The volume of King's howling didn't decrease, and Wren cringed again. The source of shouting was right near her ear after all. Beryl regretted of course, their position was hardly comfortable. But she was no fool. Coming up to them and uprighting them would be suicidal. "And it is dangerous! Why can't she just stay in her chambers?! All that blood, and rot, and sickness! She is of Men, they are so frail! What if she catches something?!" The blue eyes were burning, it felt like he was going to make a hole in Beryl's forehead, and heat was coming in waves from him.
"We both know perfectly well what you'd think of her making unilateral decisions for you. I also know you know better." Beryl met those livid blue eyes stare for stare. "I know, because you taught Fili better than that." She sat down crosslegged on the floor next to him well out of reach. "What changed, that you can't talk to Wren about these things?"
"She doesn't listen to me!" The King bit back.
"She is in the room," Wren's calm voice came from the other side of the chair.
"You do not listen to me! I told you..." Beryl found it almost funny how Wren's calm even voice could stop the King's roaring and raging.
"Exactly. You tell me. You do not ask, you just tell me." Wren's voice was almost melancholic. "In some cases you forget to look at me when you do." There was a moment of tense silence in the room. Beryl was content to sit and wait, as long as the two were talking, and were actively listening to each other. Just before Beryl could decide whether she needed to prod them, Thorin spoke up.
"Mahal help me, Wren, you know how preoccupied I am these days! We need to restore Erebor, the Royal Halls are not ready, there is also trade and..." Beryl wondered if saying 'blah-blah-blah' would help or make it worse. Judging by Wren's face growing increasingly cold and disinterested Thorin was hastily heading towards a cliff into a catastrophe.
"Thorin," Beryl tried to interfere, hoping to draw his eyes back away from the wall he was talking to. The King kept on droning without noticing. "Thorin!" No result followed. Broom time it was then. She might have put a wee bit more force into this poke. The King was starting to vex her a bit. Well, alright, not a bit. She was properly livid.
"Precisely where, in that long list of excuses, did it make it okay to ignore your one and only? Do you want to push her away that badly? If that's the case, by all means, I'll untie her now and help her pack for Mirkwood tonight."
Beryl saw Wren turn her head to her and mouth 'I don't want to go to Mirkwood.' Beryl answered with the equally silent 'I know.'
"I do not need him to spend every living minute with me," Wren spoke into her wall. Beryl wondered whether the royal couple even realised that they both were industriously avoiding talking to each other. "If I am given a chance to work, I am perfectly fine on my own..."
"Work in the infirmary is dangerous! And below a Queen!" Thorin's tone left no room for argument. Knowing these two an argument was where they were actually heading. In the best case scenario. Still better than tense silence.
"I can take care of myself, I have been doing it for years..." Wren started explaining, but the King had none of that.
"And what if you don't?! You fall ill and…" Thorin's lips twisted in a distressed grimace. "What am I to do then?"
"You are being preposterous, anyone can die any moment! A shelf can fall on one's head, one can choke on a pit, one can slip on a rotten apple and break their neck, you can't imagine how many ridiculous accidental deaths I saw in my life..." Wren kept on talking, the King kept on growing paler. It's funny how thick skulled Wren could be for such a caring and empathic woman, but Beryl assumed it was the lack of sensitivity of a medic.
"Wren..." Beryl had the worst case of deja vu. Wren kept talking. "Wren!" Still no luck. Beryl poked her ribs with the broomhandle, jostling her enough to make teeth rattle. Finally!
"Thorin is really and truly concerned for your safety. You know perfectly well working the infirmary means increased chances of sickness. Can't you at least acknowledge that much? Acknowledge he has damn good reason to worry? You might, oh, I don't know, even offer to meet that concern halfway somehow?
"But it's ridiculous! He goes on patrols, and there are still Orcs roaming the lands! I worry too, but do I say anything?! I don't expect him to stay in the Inner Halls and embroider!"
"That is not what you are expected to do! Embroidery isn't your only responsibility! There is a Kingdom to rule and the household to organise!" Wren puffed air derisively.
"I am a healer! I cannot care less about linen, plates, venison, or preserves!.."
"Wren, you mentioned him going on patrol is equal to you facing sickness in the infirmary. On patrol, he has armor and others with him. What's your armor against catching ill? " Wren threw Beryl a betrayed look as if saying 'I thought you were on my side,' but Beryl knew, unlike the two stubborn children, that they needed to talk. Avoiding sensitive matters would only made it worse.
"I take herbs, I have for years. And there are practices!" Wren gave Beryl an haughty look.
"Can you live with that, Thorin? She is taking precautions against illness, same as you against being ambushed on patrol." Beryl put her hands on her hips, considering Wren. "Really, you couldn't tell him this the first time it came up?"
"I would think it goes without saying! I am no witch doctor! I have been doing it since I was seven!" Hardly contained professional pride was laced in Wren's voice.
"He doesn't though. He needed that reassurance. He knows as much about the healing arts as you do about embroidery." Wren blushed furiously, and Beryl suddenly remembered something Wren once shared with her. Wren of Enedwaith, snarky and ballsy, was utterly and painfully embarrassed of her complete lack of any housekeeping skills. Beryl sort of had forgotten about it, but now she understood where Wren's mentioning of embroidery even came from.
"Thorin, precisely how important would you claim embroidery is to being a good Queen?"
Thorin threw her a confused look. He had been pondering something, probably the new knowledge concerning Wren's vocation, and he threw absentmindedly, "What does embroidery even have to do with anything?"
"Oh, just reassuring your soon to be wife she won't be a failure of a Queen just because she can't cook."
"Beryl!" Wren emitted a squeak, and now her cheeks were hot enough to fry bacon on.
"Well, I wouldn't have to do this if you two stubborn old goats would just bother to actually talk to each other!"
"Somehow it's just my flaws that we are discussing here!" Wren cried out, and suddenly Beryl saw her lips tremble. Beryl couldn't believe her eyes! To be honest, she didn't know Wren could cry.
"Wren, for one, do you even remember why you're laying sideways on the floor? For seconds, how can you even dream having different strengths from the usual female fripperies a flaw? Ask Thorin." Just for good measure, Beryl gave Thorin a gentle nudge with the broom handle.
The King completely ignored the signal, but something told Beryl that was the moment to give him a chance. He stared at the wall just a little while longer, Wren was suspiciously blinking purposefully, and then the King's majestic chest rose in a deep sigh.
"The hands." Thorin spoke in a low voice, and Beryl's eyebrows jumped up.
"Pardon me?" Beryl shortly wondered whether she overdid it with the broom a bit. Or maybe with the club. Or them falling on the floor. Goodness, did she just render the King of Erebor addlepated?!
"You asked what made our heart stutter for the first time. It's Wren's hands." He stopped, clearly feeling uncomfortable from the mawkish admission. Wren's ears were as much as perked up, and she even forgot to twitch her nose that she was so thoroughly sniffing just an instant ago. "She was bandaging Kili after the trolls' brawl, and..." He trailed away, and Beryl saw his throat bob. "I don't care that you can't cook or embroider, and even if you don't want to be a Queen, and take such obligations upon yourself… But being a Queen is safer than being a healer..." That was quite obviously the end of his rope, and he pressed his lips and pretended to study a tapestry on the wall in front of him.
"If you don't need me as a Queen, why are you marrying me?" Wren asked in a small voice, sounding like a lost child.
Beryl prayed he didn't muck it up. It seemed everyone but Wren knew the answer to that one. Beryl all but begged Mahal to put the right words in Thorin's mouth, but none seemed to come. And then the wonder of all wonders happened.
Beryl saw the severe and intimidating King under the Mountain slowly turn his head and give her a pleading look. It looked so out of place on his usually patrician, imperial and most of the time irked face that Beryl's jaw hit the stone floor. The thick black brows formed a whimsical pitiful angle.
Well, since Mahal seemed not to be listening, Beryl mouthed the right words to Thorin. 'Because I love you!"
The next few instants consisted of Beryl and Thorin silently arguing.
I'm not saying it! His curved lips wrapped around soundless words.
Why not? Are you trying to lose her? Beryl frowned at him and pointed at Wren with a finger.
You are here! I am not… Something after that was hard to decipher, he was talking with the speed of a mad piper, and Beryl rolled her eyes. Probably something about privacy, Beryl snorted derisively.
The ridiculous conversation would have continued till the next day perhaps, had Wren not sniffed. Beryl looked at her and saw a tear running down the healer's turn up nose. The corners of wide mouth were lowered mournfully, and Beryl had had enough.
"Oh for Mahal's sake, your pride or your bride! If you can't say it, can you at least show her?" Beryl stomped over to them, slipped the keyknot loose, and stomped out in a huff, slamming the door behind her.
What most didn't realize was that there's an art to slamming a door hard enough to bounce it back open. Beryl had mastered this art. So after stomping far enough away to assure the two she was good and gone, she snuck back to witness the final fruit of her labours.
She watched as Thorin peeled himself and Wren out of the rope. Wren was apathetic and limp. She reminded Beryl of a sick kitten, limp and listless. She hung like a ragdoll in Thorin's arms as he picked her up, though he cradled her like fragile porcelain. Beryl had to squelch her natural inclination to squee.
"Wren, what is the only reason one should marry?" Thorin held her close, willing her back to herself.
"Children," she answered weakly, "One should marry to have children." Thorin had by now sat down in the righted chair, with Wren across his lap, her head laid on his shoulder.
"That's not why I want to marry you, Wren." Thorin tried, but seemed to be unable to find better words. Beryl watched breathlessly as his face contorted several times, trying to speak, when a final calm settled, and at long last words emerged. "I love you."
"Why?" Wren's voice contained so much sadness, it broke Beryl's heart to hear it. The healer wasn't looking at the king, but sincere confusion was reflected in her features. She clearly did not know. Beryl let her head thump against the wall upon hearing the question.
Mahal help him, the question was a bomb even practiced rakes would run afoul. Thorin was no rake, and Wren needed the same assurance any woman told day in and day out how worthless she was. That made Thorin's answer all the more crucial. He could literally crush her soul if he didn't give her the answer she desperately needed. Thorin wasn't exactly gifted in the speech department. Beryl held her breath and prayed.
Thorin turned, cupped Wren's face, and held his forehead to hers, looking her in the eyes. "Because Wren, for me, you are perfection."
Thankfully, Wren's gasp of surprise before melting into Thorin's kiss covered Beryl's mostly smothered squeal of happiness.
"Beryl, why are you dancing in the hallway?" To call the expression on Fili's face amused would be a masterful understatement.
"Come, join me, oh golden one, I dance for joy!" Beryl laughed as she grabbed both of Fili's hands as she slung him around into a twirl.
"Beryl, what did you do this time?"