Eleanora huffed a tired breath to blow the whispy hair from her eyes and grunted as she hoisted a heavy crate onto the wagon. It had been a respectable market day in Bree but she was tired and longed to kick off her boots, soak her swollen feet and enjoy a mug of mead by the fire. Eleanora sorely wished Ain, Ben, Sig or Oiv would relent and accompany her on market days, she could dearly use their help, but alas, there was no changing a Dwarven mind once it was made up. And, if truth be told, she understood their reluctance to associate with the folk of Bree – they had been treated none too well by said inhabitants, something they would not soon forget or wish to repeat.
Her full cheeks were flushed and the ever present tendrils were curled in tight ringlets around her face by the time she climbed into the cart and encouraged sweet Nessie to trot on. She'd sold all of the cheese, most of the wool, had more orders than she could fill for her salted meats and sold several jars of her preserves. It was enough to buy pantry staples, pipeweed, some old silver bits she was sure Ain could use, and a small barrel of cider. Dwarves didn't particularly care for cider but when they were waiting for a batch of ale to age, they'd make do. Eleanora smiled, it was endearing to think of how her friends 'made do' since they came to her four years prior.
Eleanora shivered at the memory of the hopelessness and despair they found her in. The Brander family were numbed by a grief which clung too long and too tight. Mam had passed two years before, taking with her music, joy and her considerable farming skills. Da, Eleanora and Jayne grew apathetic, seeking no joy and taking no pride in what was once a healthy farm. Da was in a perpetual fog, trudging through what little work he could manage and never returned to the hardworking farmer his Elizabeth had fallen in love with. It was really no surprise that Da wasn't paying attention as the cart drifted off the road, tipping over and trapping him underneath. There was a light breeze that day and John Brander vaguely noted the irony of birds singing in the warm sunshine and spring flowers scented the air as he lay dying in a ditch. John was unconscious when the family of a neighbouring widow found him. They righted the cart and took him to the healer in Bree but it was too late to save his legs.
John recuperated at the farm, humiliated at the depths he'd sunk to and the burden he was to his daughters. Jayne helped Eleanora fashion a low trolley for John to sit on which allowed him to roll over ever flat surface available to him. The girls built a make-shift ramp from the front door of their home down to the yard for Da, pleased to see the determination he had to do as much as he possibly could. Da's example encouraged them to work with pride and to shake off their mourning. It did not take long for Eleanora to understand the results their neglect had on the farm. The work was endless, labourious and exhausting, leaving no time for the domestic chores which would make their lives a little brighter. There was no baking, no new clothes, no careful mending, no guests, no music and no time or energy to consider such things.
With an amputee father and a young sister to care for and a farm to run, Eleanora struggled to finish just the most basic chores. She watched helplessly as decay and neglect slid their dirty fingers along the edges of her farm. The day Oivindur, Benrin and Sigbrandur showed up at her door, bedraggled, starving and begging for work was the greatest blessing she'd known in her life
"I have no money to pay you but will share what food we have and provide you with warm, dry shelter for as long as you care to work."
"Thank you Missus. We are Oivindur, Benrin and Sigbrandur – at your service." They all bowed to her and her heart broke a little at their lovely manners unaltered even in such diminished circumstances. She'd heard folk speak of their disdain towards Dwarves because of their supposed propensity for rude, selfish, untrustworthy behaviour. It took all of her might not to stuff rocks in the mouths of such racist fools. No good race of Middle Earth deserved such prejudice and Dwarves were as good as Elves, Hobbits and Humans - better in some regards. If humans went through half of what the Dwarves had … well, they might be a little crusty around the edges from time to time too.
Eleanora had never met such hardworking people. No matter the task there was noone who could equal the stamina and drive of her Dwarven friends. They worked from sun-up to sun-down with barely a pause for meals. If they kept to themselves and spoke little to her or her kin, she could not fault them for it.
Warm winds of change blew through the farm the day Da fell over in the garden, unable to rise. Sig had heard distant calls for help and rushed to his aid, helping Da back onto his trolly and rolling him back to the house. Sig carried him over the threshold as if he weighed no more than child and gently sat him on his chair. He nodded and left, having said nary a word to Da.
Three weeks later Eleanora was perplexed to find a peculiar path laid out from the steps of the house. She followed smooth stones and found a trail which wound all around the front property. From the house to the well, the garden, the shed, the barn and the orchard there was a stone path which was as smooth as glass. It was attractive enough and would undoubtably be handy for Da to use but she couldn't puzzle out what it's real purpose was for.
The day after the appearance of the stone paths, Eleanora nearly bumped into Sig who was carrying an armload of planks and boards from the shed. "Sorry Missus."
"Have no concern for me Sigbrandur. May I help you with this heavy load?"
He huffed and turned a pink in the face. "No Missus. I am able." He made to continue on with his mission.
Curious, but not wanting to appear nosey or overbearing, she busied herself with weeding the flower garden so that she could surreptitiously observe the uncommunicative Dwarf progress. Over the next few hours Sig had replaced the patchwork ramp Eleanora had built and installed a sturdy, smooth ramp which looked far safer and was much, much more pleasing to the eye.
Sig returned from the shed with a peculiar chair which had wheels and levers attached to it. He set it in front of her and said, "Sit." Eleanora did as bid and marvelled at how comfortable it was. The seat had been carved and smoothed and the angle of the chair was perfect.
"Roll the wheels with your hands. Stay on the path. Stop with the lever." He instructed her with utilitarian bluntness.
Eleanora wheeled around the paths and quickly found how easy it was to control the chair, taking corners with ease and stopping quickly. Not only was the chair comfortable, it was bloody fun. She briefly wondered if Sig might make another so that they could race. She looked at him questioningly with a big grin on her face.
"For your Da." He shrugged and walked away as if he'd done nothing at all.
That was the beginning of what was to become the dearest, most important friendships of Eleanora's life. Slowly Sig, Ben and Oiv stopped clamming up when she was near and started to tentatively include her in their lives by asking tame questions or sharing inconsequential trivia with her.
The night she took a tray of hot cider to them was a lovely one she'd never forget. With her arms full, she struggled to knock on the door of the outbuilding which they had converted into their house and almost dropped her tray. She heard beautiful music coming from the other side of the wall and didn't want to interrupt so with a frustrated huff, she knocked the latch down with her elbow and jostled around the door. She stood unobserved for a great long time, captivated by the heart wrenching songs of Durin's Folk. Oiv was the first to notice her and abruptly stopped singing, alerting the others to their audience.
"Sorry to disturb Missus. If we were too loud –" Oiv said, embarrassed to have been caught singing the songs of his people, some of which were secret.
Eleanora wasn't aware of the tears which flowed down her cheeks as she struggled to find her words, "No Oiv, not too loud at all. That was the loveliest, saddest music I have ever heard. You have the hearts of poets and I hope someday you will invite me to listen. Here, I've brought warmed cider for you but I think it might be cold now." She frowned briefly, hoping they were not disappointed, as she placed the tray on a bench and bowed out of the room.
Jayne, did not understand Eleanora's deep fascination with the Dwarves living in their old shed. Certainly they were good workers and never intruded on her life, but Jayne saw no reason to be so enamoured with them. Jayne was ambivalent towards them, not minding them but not entralled with them either. It took being at the unpleasant end of teasing and losing a prospective suitor because of their Dwarven farm hands that Jayne eventually recognized the dirty reality of racism. Jayne and Eleanora shared a stubborn nature, neither allowed anyone tell them who or what to like or dislike, and when the very people who had, in Elie's words, saved their lives were disparaged, the Brander women's ire rose to dangerous levels. Jayne's attitude towards the three Dwarves changed dramatically, going from wishy washy to a fierce protectiveness. Her new affection was later displayed upon the arrival of a certain handsome young Dwarf.
Over the next months the Branders and the Dwarves exchanged courtesies and kindnesses, testing the waters of trust and friendship. With the Dwarves help, they harvested surpluses for the first time in years, allowing Eleanora to sell products at the market and bring a few luxuries back to the farm. No Dwarf had ever heard of a human offering money where none was committed or expected (even if it was earned) so they were greatly surprised when Eleanora shared a portion of the market profits with them. They had agreed to work for food and lodging and doubted the Branders would ever change that arrangement – for good or for bad. While they were sceptical about the wisdom of offering coin when it was not necessary, they saw Eleanora's gratitude and affection for them in how she shared with them. Their opinion of these particular people improved significantly and they thought themselves fortunate to have found the Bramdes when they did.
The day that Eleanora brought new breeches and tunics to Dwarf House was one they would always cherish. They'd made neither complaint nor request for anything from the Branders and yet Missus saw that their clothes were thread bare and torn, providing them with little protection from the elements and offending their modest dignity. Without ceremony she humbly offered them clothes she herself had sewn, trying as she might to copy Dwarven styles and sensibilities. They had never been on the receiving end of such generous, thoughtful kindness from any race and pledged their loyalty to her for ever more.
From time to time other Dwarves would wander across their path and Eleanora was always as welcoming and generous to them as she was the first day Sig, Ben and Oiv had shown up on her door step. Sometimes the strangers would stay for a night or two, sometimes for months. Eleanora simply deferred to Sig, letting him know that it was his good opinion which mattered most in such things. For her part, she believed that if there was room for his kin then they would always be welcome on the Brander farm. Sig took his growing authority and responsibility seriously, demanding standards and rules be honoured on the Brander farm by all who enjoyed its hospitality. Twice Sig had promptly evicted Dwarves when he found them to be unscrupulous or without honour.
Sig had occassionally wondered about the Missus' husband, assuming she must be a widow. He was aware that humans did not have the same noble ways of marriage as the Dwarves but he had never been interested enough to discover the exact differences. The Dwarves of Brander Farm found Missus to have a dignity and quiet honour which any Dwarf should find admirable. Sig was certain that she would show such distinction in marriage, never dishonouring her husband whether he be dead or alive. In their hearts and minds, Eleanora was a good woman and as much as they thought not to, they couldn't help notice she cut a fine figure. She was still a bit too thin by Dwarvish standards, but far more pleasing than most humans who tended to be nothing but skin and bones. Missus was, barring the lack of beard, shaped the way a handsome Dwarrow should be: stout, hearty, strong and with softly undulating curves.
It was during an evening with too much mead, too many sad songs and too much story telling that Sig forgot himself and asked her about the Mister, ready to weep with her at the loss and write songs to immortalize what he assumed would be her husband's fine attributes.
"Oh there is no Mister for I have never married. When Mam died I was too unhappy and when Da lost his legs I had too much to do on the farm and in raising Jayne. And you know what things were like when you first came, we were struggling to stay alive. I have had a few suitors but they … well they were found wanting. Namely they wanted my land and not my heart." She explained with a large dose of embarrassment and a larger gulp of mead.
"But do not Women choose the Man?" For Dwarves, females made the choice of mate if or when they wanted one at all. Dwarven pairings were forever, not even death of her husband could entice a Dwarrow to remarry. Dwarven love was for always.
"No my friends. Here it is the man who chooses the woman and I have found none who could tempt me. Men are fickle with some thinking they are superior to women; Elves are snobby, tall and far too skinny; and Hobbits are too suspicious of anything new. I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't have been born a Dwarrow for it seems I am most predisposed to admiring Dwarves." She teased them, enjoying the vivid blush which flooded their cheeks.
"And a fine Dwarrow you'd be too." Ain, the new addition to their family, mumbled. "Even without a beard."
Eleanora pretended not to hear, knowing any acknowledgement of Ain's statement would be mortifying to him and a source of endless teasing from his friends. Instead she began to sing a happy song about catching a fish as big as her arm and made her friends laugh.
Da and Eleanora gave full credit to their Dwarven family for the abundance they enjoyed. They not only worked hard, taking pride in every task they set to, but they also invented and fashioned implements which made the farm flourish. They reworked the sheep shears, allowing quicker, safer shearing of their flock. Watching Da struggle with the spinning wheel, they improved its design so that he was soon spinning finer wool at double the speed of the fastest spinner. They invented a tiller and scythe which allowed them to plant more and harvest quicker, impressing Da with their ingenuity and skill. It was Sig who understood Eleanora's distaste for the butchering of animals, she took no pleasure in causing painful deaths to defenseless creatures. Sig created sharp blades so thin the animals barely felt their penetration and when applied to their main veins, death was quick and as painless as they could make it to be.
All of the Dwarves became accustomed to Eleanora's propensity for physical displays of gratitude and affection. Initially it was mortifying to be on the receiving end of one of her embraces and Oiv thought he would surely expire if she touched his beard after pinching his cheek one more time. Ben tried to subtly explain the importance of beards and such, but his embarrassment caused him to stammer and prevaricate to such an extent Eleanora couldn't properly hear him. While they never got to the point of hugging back, eventually they stopped turning into frozen, chagrinned statues and on very special occasions, sometimes patted her arm affectionately.
Jayne's ambivalence towards the Dwarves had gradually worn off and they found her to be a nice girl, even if she was abominably skinny like so many of the poor human females. Jayne loved to watch them work with metals and stone, often sitting close by for hours as the infamous Dwarven skill with earth's raw materials wrought incredible shapes and patterns before her eyes. They made the most delicate, intricate designs on all of their creations revealing a beauty in the object that no other could conceive or achieve. Jayne had developed a crush on handsome young Ain when he first arrived and it was only after many a teary night spent in Eleanora's comforting hugs that she accepted Ain would never see her as a potential girlfriend or wife.
Ain was a Dwarf who experienced his calling to work with precious metals very young, to the exclusion of any other life choices. Jayne did not, could not, understand that someone as sweet, handsome and talented as Ain would never consider marrying. It was a peculiarity of Dwarves – their singularity of purpose. When Miss Jayne began her courtship with Joseph Winterbottom all of the Dwarves were thrilled for her and the lad from Bree. Ain thought Jayne was a nice girl, as far as females went, and made a beautiful necklace for her wedding, using most of his savings to buy the silver and gems needed.
It was only half an hour from Bree's market to the Brander farm but given Eleanora's exhaustion, it was more than long enough for her to fall asleep at the reins. The rhythmic bumping and jostling of wheels over dirt road lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep. Fortunately Nessie well knew the way home and plodded along without need of human direction. It was the lack of movement and the quiet laughter of amused Dwarves which woke her to find herself happily stopped in front of the barn and four teasing Dwarves unloading the cart.
"We have a guest tonight Missus. He's tired and dirty from a long time on the road but will thank you for your hospitality tomorrow." Sig mentioned casually – perhaps a little too casually. If she wasn't so knackered she'd wiggle whatever secret he was hiding out of him.
"Of course Siggy. You know that any friend of yours is a friend of ours. Make him welcome, Lads. Ensure he has plenty of food, a comfortable bed and a chance to wash up when he wishes. I look forward to meeting him tomorrow." She yawned and gave Ben a tired smile of gratitude as she watched him unload the heavy crates from the cart. She didn't notice the Dwarf standing in the doorway of the shed, arms crossed and head tilted in an unreadable expression. She bade them goodnight and took herself to an early bed.
"That was your Mistress I take it." The stranger stated.
"Not a mistress I think. She is a good friend to us, Thorin Oakenshield, and she will be to you too."
Thorin shook his head, raven hair majestically swishing over his shoulder and braid beads quietly tinkling. "That I do not expect, Sigbrandur. I have only a small tolerance for the race of Men and find little more than that to recommend their female folk." When had he become so bitter against humans? There was a time in Erebor that he counted many in the city of Dale to be dear to him. Years wandering in exile at the mercy of suspicious, uncaring and unscrupulous people had jaded him, irrevocably tarnishing his good opinion.
He could not help but admit that these Dwarves were living much better than most he encountered during his travels. On his way from the new Dwarven settlement in the Blue Mountains to track his father's disappearance, Thorin had seen the devastation, poverty, humiliation and slow wasting death of too many Dwarves. He offered some hope in Ered Luin but still too many of his people languished in the wilds, unable to make the journey to safety.
Sig, Ben, Oiv and Ain welcomed him with hearty food, strong ale, a warm bath and a soft bed, and too many tales of the kindness of the Branders. From what he could tell, it was Dwarven skill which allowed the Brander farm to function well and if praises should be sung, it should be by the humans for the very Dwarves he was honoured to enjoy the company of.
The following morning Sigbrandur showed Thorin the workings of the farm, proudly displaying the enhancements they had made. Thorin was impressed with the diversification of the place and grudgingly admired that each member had a unique place in their small community. He saw the woman working in the garden while a legless man carrying a basket rolled along on his chair with wheels. His prideful smile at the ingenuity of Dwarves stopped on his lips as the woman stood up, unwittingly drawing his eyes to her.
With the back of her gloved hand, Eleanora swiped at the tendrils and whisps tickling her cheeks and brow. She looked up at the deep blue cloudless sky and smiled as she stretched out the kinks in her back. She noticed the stranger standing by the well and waved hello to him, gathering up her basket and walking over, she would be pleased to meet the friend of her friends.
As she approached him, she gasped mid breath. He was spectacular! Raven black hair combed into silken waves, perfect braids completed with subtle silver beads and clasps, eyes the colour of the sky she'd just admired, a regal nose, strong jaw, immaculate beard, and shoulders … mighty shoulders, broad and strong. He was undeniably imposing, majestically commanding.
"Thorin Oakenshield, at your service." He said haughtily as he executed a shallow, perfunctory bow.
Having difficulty finding her voice, she choked out, "Eleanora Brander, at your service." She made a wobbley curtsey.
His eyebrows shot up at that. He was insulted that she would mock the traditional Dwarven greeting but as he surveyed her expression, he could find no contempt or mockery there. Instead he saw her bow her head and humbly avert her eyes. Thorin snorted in unbelieving disdain assuming that Sigbrandur must have taught her well. No matter, humans were a fickle race and he would remain on his guard until he discovered her real intentions towards the Dwarves.
"We will share a mid-morning meal on the porch soon. I hope you can join us Mr. Oakenshield." She gave him an awkward smile.
It was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes at her uncomfortable kindness. "Just Thorin, if you please. I will accompany Sigbrandur and will join you if he does." He bowed curtly and turning on his heel he strode off in the direction of the barn. Oh how he abhored condescension, he would prefer to eat Elven salads rather than break bread with the likes of her snooty self.
"Good thing he's so handsome! He has the personality of a cranky old goat." She thought to herself, shrugging and walking back inside the house to prepare the food.
An hour later, Da struck the chimes on the porch to let everyone know early lunch was served. Eleanora wiped her hands on her apron and surveyed the meal. She had made a conscious effort to ensure this lunch was a fine one with many different dishes, most of which she knew to be pleasing to Dwarves. The uppity Thorin Oakenshield would find no cause to look down his proud nose at her hospitality, no indeed.
The full table earned her several whistles and appreciative nods, eliciting a smug smile and a silent dare for Mr. High and Mighty to find fault. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him look bored which surprised and angered her. How dare he?! Insufferable ogre. She had never been treated so poorly in her own house by anyone and decided she would not stay for more of the same.
She pulled the package of old silver pieces from her pocket and quietly gave it to Ain before excusing herself on the promise of a visit to their neighbours. All of the Dwarves, except Thorin, stood as she left the room, which did not escape her notice. He was far too big for his own britches!
After the table was cleared and the Dwarves completed the cleanup, they returned to their tasks. Ain worked on jewellery; Benrin was developing a drainage system for the back field which was prone to flooding and endangering young livestock; Sigbrandur was inventorying their stores; and Oivindur was tending to the animals. It made Thorin ill to see them because, other than Ain, they were engaged in tasks not fitting for Dwarves. These were not warriors and craftsmenl; these were … farmers!
Sig was not unaware of Thorin's caustic opinions. He'd encountered similar versions from many of the Dwarves who passed through and he had disavowed their beliefs post haste. It was not so simple to provide a dressing down to a member of the Royal Family and Prince Thorin Oakshield, Heir of Durin was as royal as it got. Many owed their lives and security to the efforts of the noble Oakenshield but Sig was not impressed by snobbery or denigration in any form, even from his own Crown Prince.
"It may not be a traditional Dwarven life, but we have found great riches and happiness here. I had hoped that you would be proud of what we have built. Not every Dwarf can live in Erid Luin or the Iron Hills. We are spread far and wide and hope to do more than meek out only enough to survive until we go to the Halls of Waiting." Sig did not challenge Thorin by making eye contact, he let his gentle rebuke hang in the air for Thorin to do with as he might.
Thorin's Grandfather had taught him the importance of diplomacy, even if he often found himself in short supply of it. Reluctantly he said, "You have indeed fared well here Sigbrandur, son of Vilandur. You have a safe house, good food, you keep the old tongue and the old songs and you work in the forge."
"I believe we have found more than that, my Prince. We have found respect, friendship, loyalty, honour, and the resources to create with our hands. Before Missus welcomed us we were starving, ill, and broken. Now we are strong, healthy, and have all that we need. It is much more than we thought life in Middle Earth would ever offer us."
"But you serve the will of inconstant humans. Look at this very afternoon - you toil on her farm while she is off socializing. What respect or honour is there in that?" Thorin demanded.
"Socializing? I think not. Missus makes her rounds to the widows and elderly bringing them food, doing chores and offering her friendship. Missus will return tonight worn out and probably with blisters and bruises for her efforts. I respectfully suggest that you do not know Missus. She is not like those who have ignored or taken advantage of our people in their time of need. She has honour that every Dwarf would do well to respect, in fact she has more than most Dwarves who have passed through these gates." Sig said quietly.
"Yes. Well. That may be, but rest assured she will prove to be as promiscuous as the rest of her race. How long before she remarries and her new husband treats you like the lazy, money grubbers they think us to be?" Thorin spat out.
Sig's temper erupted. "That's enough. Durin or no Durin – you will NOT speak of Missus like that. She has not an easy virtue, she has never married and 'tis doubtful she ever will. She courts no Man, Elf or Hobbit. She graciously accepts the care of a crippled father as well as the widows and elderly. She works each hour of the daylight and never complains, but she insists that we do not work for too long for she makes us break our toil though she will not do so herself. She pays us a share of the profits from this farm and has spoken to the magistrate to ensure that it will be ours when her time on Middle Earth is over. You would be hard pressed to find a person I could admire more!" Sig's face was redder than the wine in the cask Thorin leaned on.
Suitably chastised Thorin bowed his head in repentence and deference, "I have wronged you with my prejudices and I am sorry. You have been treated well and have forged an enviable life here. Please forgive me, Sigbrandur."
"Of course Thorin Oakenshield. Now, if I may be so bold, will you help me finish this inventory so we can begin collecting supplies for our dinner?" Sig breathed a sigh of relief that Thorin Oakenshield had not exercised his royal prerogative to have him flogged for his insolence to the Heir of Durin.