It started as a dull commotion far off in the deep. A low, rumbling of raised voices that echoed faintly off the cavern walls, the sound bouncing and flitting here and there off of boulder and stone until finally, it reached his ears.
Thorin lowered his pickaxe just a little and cocked his head with a furrowed brow. It was late, much later than anyone, even he, ought to be out in the mines. What in Durin's name was anyone doing up at this hour? And causing such a racket to boot? His strong hands tightened around the handle of his axe and he smirked to himself. He supposed he was one to talk, down here into the wee hours of the morning, smashing loudly away at the rock. He listened a moment longer, ears pricked in the direction of the sound, and when he heard nothing more for a few moments, turned back to his work with a grunt and a shrug.
The blows from his axe came fast against the solid brown rock, but beneath he could see the faint cerulean glow of another tanzanite, possibly the sixth or seventh he'd uncovered this evening alone. He'd be exhausted come morning-hell, he was exhausted now-but they'd seen a slump in workers in the forge ever since the cave-in the month before, and fewer were willing to work in such a dangerous environment. Besides, he told himself, if he was to reclaim his homeland as he'd hoped, the extra labor could help get the miners at least a little ahead of last month's inventory. His people would never follow a man who neglected to do his fair share; it was his long hours spent in the forge among other things that Thorin hoped would gain their approval.
Though he was rightfully King Under the Mountain, he had no mountain of which to speak of, or one he'd be happy with ruling anyway. Erebor was his birthright, and though there were many here who mocked him for longing to reclaim it as his own, he still held every intention of setting out to rule it once and for all. He grunted against the long, ringing blow of his axe against the stone and ran a large hand over his sweating brow before bringing the axe down in one quick angry strike.
His people had yet to recognize him as leader, even here in the Blue Mountains. It was he who led them there, gave them safety and hope in the centers of the tall peaks, but they seemed to want a 'real' king. And they had none. Yet. He had some power here, mainly in those who had been close to him before the attack, but not nearly enough to claim the throne that was rightfully his. Smaug had stolen more than riches when he'd decimated their beloved home. And Thorin was not about to let him forget it.
Suddenly, an angry roaring shout interrupted the dwarf prince's inner monologue, and he huffed his irritation, sending long brown braids twirling over his nose. He released his pickaxe in a way that spoke of his unabashed exasperation, and relished the piercing clatter it made when it dropped. He snatched a lantern from the wall of the forge, swiped a hand over his reddened face, and set out into the caverns. Aule help whoever he would find at the end of this passage.
Finding the source of the ruckus took less time than expected, and when he finally happened upon it, about three turns from the origin of the sound, Thorin rolled his eyes in contempt.
"Nasty, filthy….Should never have pursued you….Stubborn, fickle little…."
A slightly higher voice, a somewhat startling sound compared to the rough baritone of the other, joined the fuss.
"Never agreed to anything….Deserve some respect, really, you great, brainless oaf!…"
Thorin stifled a chuckle. A lover's quarrel then. Of course. He turned to stumble back to the forge when the male's voice dropped to a low snarl and all went quiet on the female's end.
"…Disgusting WHORE!" the male bellowed, and suddenly, Thorin's ears were bombarded with the sickening sound of flesh striking flesh. Repeatedly. The woman was disturbingly silent, save for a few sharply expelled breaths when she was struck by her assailant's fists. He stood for a split second, utterly dumbfounded what he had unwittingly become witness to, and then charged around the corner with a shout of his own.
What dim light his lantern offered was just enough to discover which of the two shadows was the male, and he leapt onto the dwarf's broad back. His thick arms made to lock around the stranger's neck, and when they finally came around his meaty throat in a vice-like grip, Thorin was horrified to find it made little difference. It was clear the male dwarf was long gone into whatever rage had led him to this fit of violence, so Thorin released his grip around his neck and instead threw himself over the woman, who lay still but trembling beneath the awful might of the male dwarf's hands. When the stranger's hand sank back to deliver another blow, Thorin seized him by the neck once more, this time successfully pinning the stranger against the opposite wall.
His elbow came up to crush painfully against the assailant's throat, and he struggled under Thorin's strength with a low hiss. A pair of enormous hands came up to yank painfully at Thorin's hair, but a swift knock to the head by way of Thorin's knuckles quietened him sufficiently. The dwarf prince then leaned slowly in toward the stranger's face, thankful for the cover the darkness provided, and smiled maliciously, even though he doubted the other dwarf could see.
"I believe the lady asked for a little respect, dwarf," he growled into the stranger's ear. "Perhaps you aren't familiar with the laws of my city…." The stranger jerked abruptly beneath Thorin's hold, but he held him fast, slamming him against the wall once more with a grunt.
"…In my city….those who settle disputes with their fists are imprisoned as enemies of the peace….and those," he continued with a mocking lilt to his tone, "who stoop so low as to strike a woman….and cause her significant injury….are put to death." So it was a bit of an exaggeration. The dwarf would be jailed at best unless the woman was fatally injured….but a little threatening on his part certainly could not hurt.
"Rotten liar, she is," the stranger panted viciously beneath the weight of Thorin's arm. He could feel the vibrations of the man's larynx quivering under his elbow. "Deserved what she got, the 'ideous little-"
Thorins' fist came up at that moment to deliver a sharp blow to the stranger's temple, and he grinned a little in a sick sort of satisfaction when the dwarf slumped in his grip.
"Enough." Thorin snarled as he let the man drop to the stone floor with a dull thud. He stood panting for a moment, wiping spittle and a small amount of blood from his mouth, and then felt very much the fool when he remembered the woman behind him. He turned abruptly only to find a huddled shape against the opposite wall. He knelt a little, the hard lines of anger softening in his face, and extended a hand to the shadow. It flinched away.
"It's all right. I'll not harm you." he offered in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. The shadow moved a little farther away.
"'M fine," she spat shakily. "Leave me be." The dwarf prince resisted the urge to scoff at her. Like hell she was fine. He'd seen what the brute had done.
Thorin reached back blindly to grab the abandoned lantern, and when his fingers grazed the solid cool metal of the handle, he raised it slowly to the woman's face. The sparse light revealed what appeared to be a small scrape on her right temple, a vicious black eye and a split lip, which bled freely down onto her chin. Though he hoped those would be the worst of her injuries, the way she wheezed with each breath spoke of greater damage, and he was immediately concerned. Her eyes met his, and though she trembled, her gaze was fierce.
"See? I told you." Her voice came as a sharp blade in the dark. "'S nothing. Now go."
"That," Thorin countered with a pointed glance at her swollen eye, "is not 'nothing'. You're also bleeding. Quite a lot, I might add." She touched a shaking hand to her lips, her eyes widening when she found her fingertips painted red as she drew them away. Thorin watched as she battled to maintain her gruff exterior. The proud lift of her jaw might have fooled him, but he saw the fear gleaming in her eyes. She curled in on herself, hugging her left arm tightly into her side. Her breathing was still quite raspy and labored, he noted, and he edged a bit closer. His closeness was met with a glare, but he ignored it.
"Will you let me help you?" he asked as politely as he could muster in the face of her stubbornness. "I'd like to have a look at your side, if you'd permit me." She considered this for a moment, and then slowly and with great hesitation let her arm fall away. The dwarf prince smiled gently at her and nodded his acknowledgement, and reached two large hands out to her. She tensed considerably just before they touched her ribs, and she did not relax until he had finished the troublesome poking and prodding. He could tell that he had hurt her, however careful he had attempted to be, for she had gone rather pale and stiff during his inspection. Still, he found it odd that she had yet to panic or cry, or show anything besides contempt. He could deal with those things. This, though, was different.
"Do you live far from here?" he asked as he sat back on his heels. She stared at him for a long moment, dark eyes boring into his own, and then turned away.
"In the Eastern Pass," she said, gesturing quickly with her thumb over her shoulder. Thorin nodded. About an hour's journey, he supposed. The healers were far closer, and he couldn't send her on her merry way without first seeing to her injuries. Nor could he leave her sitting alone in the dark as she was. She was a dwarf and certainly more than capable of looking after herself, but he had sincere doubts that she would get far enough away from her assailant bearing those injuries without being attacked once more. And if he hadn't heard the commotion when he did….well, he shuddered to think of it. His gaze fell once more upon her battered face, and the withering pride he saw behind her wide eyes. She blinked crossly at him and then curled her arms tightly across her abdomen.
"We should be going. I would imagine it won't be long before our friend comes to." Thorin said with a look over his shoulder, painfully regretting his words when the woman's jaw tightened and she hastily made to scramble to her feet. He lunged to hold her upright when she wavered, and curved a large hand around the inside of her elbow. His other hand patted hers reassuringly and he stooped a little to meet her uneasy stare.
"I apologize," he said contritely, hand still rubbing against her own smaller one, "It was not my intention to frighten you. I only meant that we sh-"
"You didn't frighten me." she hissed, though her wild eyes and the sudden whiteness of her skin betrayed her. He gave her what must have been a rather doubtful look, for she huffed heatedly at him and set off at a fast limp, leaving him trailing behind her in a near-comical fashion.
Her speed took him by surprise. Her left ankle was obviously offering quite a bit of trouble, but she gave no signs of slowing down. Thorin was left to almost jog beside her, wry smile painted over his lips as he rolled his eyes. She was nothing but tenacious, if he had to pick a word for it. He sighed. Typical dwarf woman.
They had nearly made it to the forge when her pace slowed considerably. He watched her with some concern, as she had taken to breathing rather unevenly and in long, gasping breaths. A little sweat beaded on the crown of her head, just under the dark hairline, and he was just about to suggest they stop for a while to rest when she doubled over beside him and heaved.
Thorin winced sympathetically as she vomited onto the floor, but smiled a little and shook his head when he realized she was trying her damnedest to keep it quiet. Stubborn and proud even in her illness, it seemed. She was left panting and with shaky knees, but when her hand reached out for support, it sought the solid stone of the wall, and not Thorin's arm. He raised a hesitant hand to her broad back and gently rubbed slow circles over her shoulders. She stiffened at his touch, but the dwarf prince was pleased to find she relaxed into it after a long moment.
She sniffled. "S-Sorry…" came the feeble apology. Thorin shook his head, though he knew she couldn't see. His hand patted reassuringly against the back of her neck.
"That is unnecessary," he scolded her lightly. "Come, the forge is just a few paces that way. We can rest there for a while and get you some water." She considered this for a moment, but finally managed a small nod and slowly rose to her full height once more with a trembling sigh. Though it was difficult to tell in the low light of the metal lantern, Thorin noticed something in her face had changed. The proud facade had nearly faded away, and in its wake had left the face of a tired woman, tired in every sense. He took her elbow once more and passed his thumb gently over the clammy skin of her arm.
"Come now," he urged her quietly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders when her steps were shaky and uneven. "Just a bit further." She nodded her understanding and allowed him to guide her carefully down the passage, though their pace was considerably slower now that she had been ill.
She was silent, disturbingly silent, until a misstep sent her pitching forward and in his haste to steady her, Thorin's lantern came crashing to the floor with a loud shattering of glass and the flame completely extinguished against the hard rock. She was back on her feet beside him in the dark within mere seconds, but she wailed beside him, a frightful sound that made his hair stand on end.
"No matter," he said lightly, though the horrible sound continued. "We'll just be on our-" He might have finished if she had not begun to sob openly next to him, crying with near-shrieks there in the dark. For a moment, he was stunned, and simply stood there in quiet observation. He suspected she might calm immediately, as it seemed to be a trademark of hers to hide any perceived weakness. When she continued, however, he wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders and felt for her hand in the blackness of the cavern. He found it soon, a sweating, quivering, bony thing compared to the solid, warm strength of his own hand, and curled his fingers around it with a tenderness he hadn't known he possessed.
"I know, I know," came his voice, soft over her ears. He had enough tact to forgo asking with a laugh why on earth she was weeping over a little darkness and spilled lantern oil. She had broken beside him, at long last, and he was admittedly very relieved.
Her cries continued even as he led her forth with a few reassuring words. In fact, she had not calmed even by the time they reached the forge, where there was light enough to see the wetness of her face. Thorin steered her to a small trunk in the corner of the forge, and urged her to sit and take a rest, which she obeyed instantly.
"Just give me a moment. I'm going to go find some water and-"
"N-n-no! Please d-don't leave me!" she begged hysterically, snatching his wrist with an iron grip. "Please don't g-go, p-please!" Thorin winced a little at her strength, but freed his hand and immediately knelt before her to take her into his arms. He was relieved when she melted into his embrace with fresh sobs, and even a little touched when she clung to him with desperate, trembling hands.
"I'm right here with you, dear," he soothed her as he swept a warm hand down over her dark hair, "I'm not leaving you. Shhhh now, it's all right. It's all right…." He was startled at the force with which she cried, and immediately felt revulsion for her assailant rise in his chest like a red tidal wave. He'd go back and kill the bastard himself once she had calmed. That'd save the courts the trouble of dealing with his sorry head…
The dwarf woman still clung to him fiercely, and Thorin was happy to hold her just as tight, as she seemed to need the comfort his closeness provided. He had hoped to let her cry for as long as she needed, but he soon realized that her ribs were paying the price of her tears, for she wheezed now between sobs. One hand smoothed over her hair again and he swayed gently with her where he knelt in the dirt.
"Easy now, easy," he said softly against her ear. "Deep breaths now, dear. Come on. You're safe. Nobody is going to hurt you anymore…Easy…" She still trembled with great force, but was soon reduced to a shuddery breath or a whimper here or there, and after a minute or two more, she pulled away with a soft sigh.
"I'm very sorry, sir," she muttered in shame, her bruised cheeks visibly blushing scarlet even in the minimal light of the forge. Thorin chuckled in reply and swiped the last tracks of tears from her face with the backs of his fingers.
"Think nothing of it. You've every right to be upset. And please, call me Thorin." he offered amicably as he rested a hand on her strong shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Her gaze came flying to meet his in an instant. Her brown eyes had gone wider still.
"N-Not Thorin Oakenshield?"
"The same, I'm afraid," Thorin replied with a half-hearted chuckle and a one-shouldered shrug. "What does it matter?" Both of her hands immediately clapped to her mouth and she hurriedly shook her head.
"Oh no, sir, do forgive me," she said quite meekly, in direct contrast to the bitter tone she'd used with him upon their first meeting. "I am truly grateful for your assistance, though my previous tone may have suggested otherwise. I only mean that I did not intend to cause any inconven-"
"Enough." Thorin growled, much to her embarrassment and growing horror. He towered over her a long moment, bearded chin jutted out proudly and eyes glimmering in the low light of the forge.
"This was not an inconvenience," he continued in that same low, menacing tone, though judging by the way she straightened a little under his gaze, the woman had realized his anger was not directed at her. His eyes lowered sharply to pierce hers with their thunderous stare. "And furthermore, I would hope you don't value yourself so little that you think only of how my time could have been spent elsewhere. If I hadn't heard your shouting, I think we both know too well what could have happened."
She nodded her understanding, and though she was still visibly nervous, he noted that she no longer cowered under the weight of his stare. He allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upward a little, though the memory of the attack left his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
With that, he turned away and snatched an empty mug from the ground near his workstation. His pickaxe was still lying abandoned on the rock, where it had clattered and clanged in the dark just before he'd set off to investigate the commotion. He filled the mug with cool water from the barrel in the opposite corner, and handed it to her with a friendly nod.
"Drink as much as you are able, but do not make yourself ill," he told her. "I'm going to look for any bandages we might have handy. May as well get you cleaned up while you're settled, hmm?" She laughed-a shrill, watery sound, but Thorin was all too relieved to hear it-and nodded before drinking a long pull of the water.
Thorin searched the old medical cabinet they kept just outside the door for anything of use, and returned to the dwarf woman with a roll of bandages, a small bowl, two cloths and a jar of salve, which was nearly empty. She hesitantly set the mug of water aside, watching a bit warily as Thorin took the bowl over to the barrel and filled it halfway with water. He then knelt before her, closer than she had anticipated, it seemed, judging by the little gasp she gave, and slowly raised a hand to her head.
"You're all right," he reassured her when she pulled back a little from his touch. "It may sting a little, but we can't have these getting infected." Thorin was pleased, even proud of her, when she took a deep breath and leaned forward into his hand, where he dabbed the wetted cloth gently against the broken skin of her temple.
The gash still bled, though only enough to stain the cloth a light pinkish hue, but her split lip had left a trail of crimson stuck trailing down her chin. She winced away when he dabbed at the dried blood on her lower lip, and he handed the second cloth to her to stem the bleeding while he opened the jar of salve and gently applied it to the scrape on her temple.
"I'm Lorel, by the way," she said softly, though the shakiness in her voice seemed long gone. Thorin grinned as he dabbed more of the salve into the scrape.
"Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Miss Lorel," he said by way of acknowledgement, his eyes crinkling around his smile. He handed her a cloth soaked in cold water after squeezing out the excess liquid. "Hold this against your eye, please. It will help with the swelling." She laughed softly and did as she was told, watching curiously as he unrolled an arm's length of bandages.
"Surely I don't need all of that," she said incredulously. "The bleeding's nearly stopped!" Thorin chuckled and rose to his feet with the bandages in hand.
"For your ribs, Miss Lorel. I don't like that rattling sound in your lungs at all." He approached her, telling her quietly to exhale as much as she could and then wait for him to wrap the bandages around her midsection. "I'll be quick," he promised.
She inhaled deeply, coughing a little when she'd clearly done too much, and breathed slowly out. She nodded to him and he feverishly began to wrap the roll of bandages around her solid waist, noting that she was far from waif-like, a trait that surely made her the envy of many a dwarven woman in these tunnels. When satisfied that his efforts would serve to at least relieve some of the pain until she had rested sufficiently, Thorin tied the loose ends of the bandage into a tight knot and patted her shoulder.
"There we are," he said with a heavy sigh, reaching up to pull her hand away from her swollen and bruised eye. "Has the swelling gone down at all?"
"I think so," came her soft reply. "Can't be sure without a looking glass, though." She laughed a little and lowered her eyes, and Thorin found himself watching her carefully. She had an abundance of thick, dark hair, that much was true, and it stuck out in odd places here and there, but a few locks framed her swollen face. One eye, the one that had not been bruised, gleamed earth brown in the low light. The corner of Thorin's mouth twitched upward. Muddied up and bleeding and she was still a lovely woman.
"He was wrong to call you ugly," he said softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder when her gaze dropped abruptly to her lap, where her hands folded together in one great, wriggling mass.
"'s my betrothed," she sniffled with a shrug and a short, bitter laugh. "I thought we'd worked nicely together but he thought he'd seen me ogling another fellow and well, you saw what 'e did." She focused once more on her hands, startling backward a little when Thorin covered them with one of his own. He said nothing for fear of shouting and sending her into a cowering heap, but his eyes blazed, and he hoped she could see his anger was felt in her favor.
They watched each other a while longer, and he was pleased when she refused to break her stare. Brave girl was finding her bearings again, it seemed. He finally managed a friendly smile and offered his arm to her, which she grasped gratefully in two shaky hands.
"Shall we?"
She nodded, and the two set off again into the darkness, and it was a curious thing to behold; the woman, called Lorel, clutched carefully at the dwarf prince's arm, head held high and steps sure and steady once more.