Snippets of a domesticated King.
Dedicated to Calenthion, who inspired me to complete my story "Donnabelle" and helped to translate the Khuzdul I used in that work with the help of Nikolai. She also gave me the verses I used in that to help me overcome my writer's block.
This one-shot fits right in after "Chapter 14" of Donnabelle.
Courting
"Balin."
The dwarf in question looked up at his name and frowned. He and Thorin were busy working on some trade agreements with the men of Dale in Thorin's private office. By the look on the king's face, whatever they were about to discuss would be of a more personal nature than trade agreements. The snowy-haired dwarf sat back in his chair and took the time to study his king. "Yes, laddie?"
"How would a dwarf court a hobbit?"
Balin blinked a few times and sat straighter. "Excuse me?"
Thorin looked up from the report he was reading. "Don't make me repeat it." And by the tone, Balin knew the dwarf was serious.
"You're married to her."
"I know that." His tone was short and was filled with sarcasm. "You and I both know the road was no place to follow proper courting traditions."
Balin stroked his beard as he thought about it. Of course, Thorin was right. He had followed the traditions of the dwarrow and had wed himself to Donnabelle on the road, yet their minds were on other things rather than following the full courting traditions of either the dwarves or the hobbits. Now though, once they had learnt that their burglar had survived the Battle of the Five Armies (though she was very must still recovering), Thorin's mind turned to other pursuits. Including, it would seem, following the more traditional courting stages of a relationship.
"Honestly, I am at a loss at what to tell you. I know little about hobbits and their courting traditions. Perhaps there would be a book in Erebor's libraries that could help?"
Thorin ran a hand over his face. "I tried. There's nothing there about hobbits."
"Have you tried asking her?"
Thorin blinked and raised an eyebrow at his long-time friend and advisor. "What about flowers? Don't hobbits like flowers?" was the next suggestion.
"Unless I want to offend her, I think not."
"Offend?"
"She told me a bit about the language of flowers Hobbits use at Beorn's. Although…" Thorin trailed. He thought back to all the times he had stopped and spoken with Donnabelle about the different flowers she'd dried and pressed into the pages of her journal. The majority of the time, he had been happy just to hear her talk to him that he forgot most of what she'd told him about them. "I do remember her telling me that her favourite was a forget-me-not. And that was since she met me."
"So unless it's forget-me-nots, no flowers?"
Thorin gave his advisor a half smile and shook his head. It wasn't the right time of year for forget-me-nots. But Balin's next question stopped the dwarf king short.
"Aren't you forgetting she grew up with Frérin?"
"And?" And suddenly, Thorin registered the question. Of course, Donnabelle would know and probably appreciate a more dwarven courting gift rather than have him bumbling through and trying to work out the meaning of each flower he'd want to give Donnabelle. He frowned again. What would he craft for her that would show her his love and devotion? "Thank you, Balin."
S.O.A.D.K.
Thorin was still at a loss of what he could gift to Donnabelle three days after his discussion with Balin. Fíli and Kíli tried to be helpful by suggesting different things and they did manage to find a few of the family beads. Thorin was most grateful for the ones they had found that had belonged to his mother before they had left Erebor. When the boys asked why Thorin was surprised and pleased about those particular beads, the dwarf had told them they had belonged to their grandmother and had been a courting gift from their grandfather.
Other than the beads, though, the King under the Mountain could not think of any suitable gift he could craft for his own wife. He knew that he couldn't give her anything that was blatantly large or 'un-useful'. After all, Donnabelle was very practical and didn't require a lot of worldly things for her to be content. Thorin had learnt enough about his wife that she would not appreciate being encased in jewels or gems, no matter how much he wanted to shower those types of gifts on her. And he had learnt hobbits valued growing things over the gems dwarrow were drawn to.
His eyes widened. That was it! Hobbits loved growing things. And as of yet, there wasn't a proper place for Donnabelle to have a garden. That's something he could give her. Her own garden. And if he worked it right, he could get one of the caravans from Ered Luin to stop off in the Shire for some seedlings for his hobbit to cultivate.
And maybe, just maybe, a garden could help Donnabelle heal.
Thorin smiled to himself as he entered his quarters that night. He'd start on the garden first thing in the morning. The fireplace was lit, yet there was no one around to greet him. But that was okay. Donnabelle was most likely in the library with Ori. His stomach rumbled. If he were hungry, his wife would also be hungry when she returned. So he thought he should try and find something for dinner. Just for the two of them. The dark-haired king smiled to himself and moved to his bedchamber. Sometimes, he preferred to be alone in the evenings, or simply share them with his wife. It actually gave them a chance to get to know the other better, instead of trying to compete with as many as eighteen or twenty other dwarves, if Bombur's horde showed up to the meals or if Gloin's wife and son appeared.
He knew Donnabelle loved the company to pieces and saw them all as brothers. Yet she also preferred the quiet evenings most of the time. Especially after that first night she'd returned from the 'dead'. She had bravely sat through the company's questions and informed them of the things they needed to know. Yet since then, she'd limited her interactions to only a few people at a time. And mainly to areas she knew the company frequented: the library or the royal wing.
So without really thinking about it, Thorin stripped himself of his royal clothing, boots and rings, leaving him in just a tunic, breeches, and stockinged feet. He went into the small kitchen that adjoined to the living quarters that had belonged to his grandparents. He had very few memories of his grandmother, yet he knew she had loved to cook for his grandfather. They hadn't often had meals alone. But whenever they did, Thorin remembered his grandfather had been happier for it.
And he remembered the times he'd spent in the kitchen with his own mother. His father did not think it was a wise decision for the prince and heir to learn how to cook (at least some of the basics) but Thorin hadn't cared. It was a time he'd always treasured for it gave him the opportunity to spend with his mother outside his royal duties and second in line to the throne of Erebor.
Since Azanulbizar, he hadn't had many opportunities to practice his cooking skills. Most thought it was something beneath him, and generally, he agreed. Yet he still found time to cook. If only to remember some of the better times of his long life.
He was so busy enjoying himself in the kitchen that he did not notice someone join him. Everything was almost ready for when Donnabelle arrived back from wherever she was and he stuck his right little finger into the arsaslam juices to see if it tasted good. Bring his finger to his lips, he turned around just as he licked his finger clean. He stopped with his finger in his mouth as he spotted Donnabelle at the door of the kitchen.
He pulled his finger out of his mouth and felt heat rise in his cheeks. "How long have you been standing there?"
Donnabelle shrugged slightly as her eyes focused on the stew pot on the stove. "You cooked for me?" Her voice was soft and filled with wonder.
"Yes," he answered hesitantly.
She sniffed and her lower lip trembled. "No one's ever cooked just for me before."
Thorin frowned slightly, trying to work out the significance of that statement. "Did I do something wrong?"
She shook her head. Then she moved so quickly that Thorin didn't really have time to brace himself for him to support her weight. Her arms were around his neck and she was burying her face in the crook of his neck. "Âkminrûk zu, kurdela."
He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in her scent. "You are welcome, marlelê." He pulled back and gave her a tender smile. "I thought you would prefer it if we ate in here tonight." He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her cheek.
She released him and nodded. Wiping her eyes, she looked between Thorin and the stove before she had to cover her mouth. "You don't know what it means to me to have someone I love cook a meal…"
"I think I do," Thorin responded and took a hold of her cheeks. He wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He released her and dished up two plates of the arsaslam. Handing her one of the plates, he directed her out to the fireplace.
There was an affectionate smile on his face as he watched her eat the meal he'd so often made with his mother. And he was glad that she nearly inhaled the plate. He ate slower, yet with just as much enthusiasm.
"It's a hobbit courting tradition," Donnabelle said suddenly as she placed her empty bowl on the floor in front of her. Thorin paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "To prepare your favourite food for just you and your intended."
He raised an eyebrow at that and ate his next spoonful. "I did not know that."
"It's how my parents fell in love. Or so my mother told me."
"The arsaslam is something I used to make with my mother. Before she died." He finished off his plate and placed it beside her empty bowl.
"Is that what it's called?" Donnabelle asked. "She taught you well." Biting her lower lip, she gave him a shy smile and teased, "I did not know kings could cook."
He returned her smile and shifted closer to her. "Usually they don't. But I did not want to skip on my lessons within the kitchen. Those memories I have cooking with my mother are some of the fondest memories I have of my childhood." He wrapped his arm around her and leaned his head against hers. "You've never had anyone cook for you?"
"Not like you've done tonight."
"Should I do it again?"
She looked at him shyly and nodded her head.
"Would you like some more?"
Her smile grew slightly and she nodded her head again. And Thorin felt his heart swell at that. Though he hadn't meant it to be anything other than sustenance, he found that he'd enjoyed cooking the simple meal for them to enjoy together. So what if it also happened to be a hobbit courting tradition at the same time?
AN:
Khuzdul translations:
"Âkminrûk zu" is "it would please me to give you thanks."
"Kurdela" is "my heart of all hearts"
"Marlelê" is "my love of all loves"
"Arsaslam" is a meal that is like the Jewish Cholent that is a stew of meat, potatoes, beans, barley, carrots and eggs. (I googled 'dwarrow food' and found this on the Dwarrow Scholar).
