Frerin settled his son more comfortably on his knees and took a breath. "Alright. I met your Ami on a rainy day in Dale, many years ago…"


It was a foul day in Dale when Frerin met Valka. The rain came down in icy sheets, soaking everything and freezing whatever unlucky soul who was unable to escape the downpour to the bone. Frerin was one such unlucky soul.

The son of Thrain was in town to secure a deal with a silk trader on his sister's behalf. The Durin's Day feast was just around the corner and Dis absolutely needed Dorwinion red silk for her new gown. Red silk, my arse, Frerin thought gloomily as he trudged through the rain, tugging his equally grumpy pony behind him.

His cloak, which his mother had sworn up and down would save him from an awful head cold should the storm move in, did absolutely no such thing, spilling and leaking and letting freezing rain soak into his hair and beard and drip down his neck. Frerin felt he looked somewhat like a drowned rat.

Dis was going to owe him so many favors after this. If that frivolous sister of his could pull herself away from the mirror or the seamstress's for more than a heartbeat, she'd be out here in this storm, getting her own damn silk.

He continued on his way in this foul temper for some time, grumbling and cursing and wiping his soaked hair from his face. His brother often called him a bear, and for good reason, as moments like this proved.

Frerin thought that this trip couldn't get much worse, until he realized that as he'd paused to squint through the rain, hoping to spot the merchant's wagon, he'd stepped right into a pothole overflowing with muddy rainwater. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to quell his temper. Just breathe in, hold it, and breathe back out. Yelling won't fix a soggy sock.

He pulled his foot from the puddle and shook it a few times, muttering to himself, and if a spectacular flash of lightning hadn't made him look up when he did, he might have missed the greatest sight of his life.

A young woman, a darrowdam by the looks of her, just as wet and miserable as he, was running down the street as fast as the slick cobblestone would allow, her long hair plastered to her face. She tried to swipe it aside, but the rain just pushed more into her eyes.

In her haste, she failed to notice the slick, flat stone serving as a threshold to a nearby tavern, which was no doubt slippery as a greased pig. As soon as her foot hit, it slid, sending the poor girl shrieking and gliding across it as though it were made of ice. Her arms windmilled, a poor attempt at regaining her balance. She flew across the slick stone, ramming right into Frerin. He grunted at the impact and caught her neatly, stumbling as she crashed into him.

He grinned down at her. "Hello, there."

She gaped, mouth working like a fish out of water, then found her words. "Sorry. Thank you. I have to go." She then began to try to wriggle and squirm her way out of his arms. Perhaps she was a fish, Frerin mused, or at least part.

"Hold on, let me walk you home," She scoffed and pawed her hair from her eyes, squinting up at him through the deluge.

"Are you mad? You'll catch your death out here, go home!" Frerin shook his head.

"Too far from home to go back now," he shouted, "I've got nothing better to do!"

She shook her head again. Frerin thought she must find him quite exasperating to be shaking her head so much. Dis did the same thing.

"Where are you headed? Least I can do is point you in the right direction."

Frerin paused, consulting the soggy list Dis had given him, trying to decipher the running ink.

"I'm looking for the merchant Vadin." She studied him a moment, a faint smile playing at those wonderful, pink lips. Then, she spoke.

"Alright then, I 'spose you will get to walk me home. I live nearby the merchant's." Frerin grinned and took her arm, looping it through his.

"Don't want you to slip again." She smacked his arm.

"Cheeky," He just beamed at her and they hustled off down the street together, in the opposite way Frerin had been going because wasn't that just his luck?

The pair of them, plus the miserable pony, darted from overhang to arch to doorway, doing their best to avoid direct exposure to the rain, and having a ridiculous amount of fun doing it. In fact, Frerin bet her a hot cider she couldn't make it to that awning without slipping, and not only did she make it, but the awning gave almost as soon as she was under, dumping buckets worth of freezing cold rain water onto her head. She went stiff as a ramrod, shrieking at the top of her lungs.

Frerin thought he'd piss himself, he was laughing so hard. She fixed him with a venomous glare and waddled back over to his safe spot in a doorway, her dress clinging to her figure in the most wonderful way - not that Frerin was looking. He gulped down his laugh, trying to meet her eyes seriously, but they both lost and dissolved into giggles, which quickly morphed into shaky grins around chattering teeth as the cold set into their bones.

Frerin frowned. She'd told him he'd catch his death, but her lips looked a tad bit too blue for his liking. He wrapped a heavy arm around her shoulders. "Come on, let's get going. Don't want to have to explain to your family why I've brought them an icicle instead of a daughter."

She snickered and steered them in the right direction, blinking furiously to keep the water out of her eyes. Frerin figured those luxurious long lashes probably did her good, not that he was looking that closely.

The biggest wagon Frerin had ever seen, more of a cottage on wheels than what he'd been expected, painted in all kinds of bright, gaudy colors, bordering on garish, was parked on a corner. Little bells and painted flowers decorated the sky blue lintel over the arched dutch door. Frerin's soaked companion darted from beneath his arm and up the painted green ladder steps to the little porch and slumped against the door, wringing out her hair.

"Is this it?" She looked up and smiled, spreading her hands.

"This is it."

"You're Vadin's daughter," he marveled as the realization dawned on him. He really was a thick ox. Valka just grinned and knocked sharply.

The top half of the door swung open behind her, revealing a heavyset darrowdam with wide golden eyes and a spill of inky black hair held back in a long braid woven with golden ribbon. She wore a forest green dress under a white apron. Her eyes widened at the sight of them, and she pushed open the door with a gleeful cry. "Val! Come in, this storm very big. Very wet?" Her speech was rolling and heavily accented.

His little companion nodded and stepped in, pulling Frerin in with her. "Yes, Mama, we're very wet." The big woman hummed disapprovingly and grabbed at her daughter's cloak. She handed it over and kicked off her boots and peeled off her soaked socks. She shot Frerin a small smile.

"Mama's very particular about things like this. You'd better give her your wet things, she's quite insistent." He studied his new friend's mother. He'd seen women of the race of men who looked like the woman, but never a darrowdam. There was something exotic about her, and the fact that she smelled like cardamom only made him more curious.

The woman stripped them both down to their skivvies, to where they refused to look at each other, bright scarlet blushes creeping up their necks into their cheeks up to the tips of their ears. After a while, Frerin cleared his throat and called to the vague somewhere over his shoulder where he figured her to be. "So...I came for some silk..."

She just giggled, peering up at him over his own shoulder in a soft, dry dress the color of saffron, her damp honey-colored hair hanging in curtains over either shoulder. "It can wait," she smiled, handing him a steaming hot cup of tea. "Never let it be said that we let our customers catch their death of cold. At least," she amended with a teasing glint in her eyes, "not before they make a purchase."

He barked a laugh and inhaled the herbal aroma. "I'm Frerin," he said, realizing he'd never introduced himself.

She smiled again, her nose and cheeks red in the light of the fire. "Valka,"

Of course that was her name. Valka. It was sweet and exotic and strong and he was staring, he realized belatedly when her smile turned into a smirk. He was staring and he was caught.

Her hair soaked into her dress, leaving dark patches on her chest and back, but she didn't seem to mind. "You needed silk so badly that you braved that storm?"

Frerin shook his head. "It wasn't raining when I left. I hail from Erebor," he lifted his tea in the vague direction of the mountain. Valka raised both brows, clearly impressed. She also clearly hadn't added his name and homeland together to equal Prince. "Have you been?" She tossed another branch onto the fire (how they managed to have a fireplace in a wooden wagon was beyond him) and shook her head.

"No, I haven't made it up yet. Father took the rest of the family up yesterday, due back tomorrow, but Mama doesn't like to leave the wagon for too long." She wrinkled her nose. "She doesn't like crowds, and she doesn't like to be alone. I was more than happy to stay behind."

"You have no wish to see the mountain?" Valka shrugged.

"It's not going anywhere, is it?" Frerin was slightly surprised, but said nothing. "I suppose when Father gets back, maybe I can go with him or my brother another day."

"Where is your mother from, if you don't mind me asking?" The woman in question was bent over a stewpot over the fire, stirring and humming a lilting ballad under her breath.

Valka smiled fondly. "Now that," she said, taking a seat at the table and gesturing for him to do the same, "is a long story."

Frerin peered out the window at the storm and shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere." She pursed her lips to hide her amusement but leaned back in her chair, clearly getting comfortable before her story.

"Mama is from the Red Hills, in Rhûn. A very small dwarven colony, founded centuries ago and, when no gold or diamonds or anything interesting were found, promptly forgotten. Her grandfather married a woman from Dorwinion, an Eastern woman by the name of Anahita. Theirs was one of the only human and dwarven unions in the Red Hills. Relations between the dwarven colony and the men of the region are amicable, to be sure, but the races tend to avoid," she squinted, searching for the right word, "intermingling."

"Mama is not looked fondly upon by either party, unfortunately. The dwarves think she's...contaminated, the men think she's odd, but Mama is a proper Dorwinion woman and a proper Darrowdam. She was raised by her mother, Neha, who spoke no Westron, and a nanny from a town on the sea, Ani, who also spoke no Westron, but a Rhûn dialect. My father taught her Westron after they married."

Frerin marveled. "They married without ever having had a conversation?"

"They were in love," Valka shrugged. "When you know, you know."

The hefty woman put a wrinkled hand on her daughter's shoulder and sent Frerin a warm smile, putting down a bowl of stew in front of him. "Vadin is good man."

Valka smiled at her mother. "He's very good."

Frerin breathed in the spicy warm scent of the stew. "It smells wonderful, thank you..." he turned to Valka, "What's your mother's name?"

"Allsún." He nodded.

"And, how do you say 'thank you'?"

"Eskerrik asko," she pronounced carefully.

Frerin ran it a few times in his head, then turned to face the woman he decided that he'd very much like to impress.

"Eskerrik asko, Allsún." Allsún gasped, beaming and turned to her daughter, chattering away merrily. Valka laughed and kissed her mother's cheek.

"She wants me to tell you that she's happy to cook for such a polite young man any time you like, and she told me that," her cheeks turned a delightful shade of rose pink, "you're very handsome and I should keep you."

Despite her daughter's evident embarrassment, or perhaps because of it, Allsún looked very rosy and pleased with herself and patted them both on the cheeks with soft, worn hands, and bustled off.

Frerin's beard hid his fiery blush, an advantage Valka did not have, so she settled for placing her cool hands against her cheeks and trying to forget that this very handsome, very shirtless man was sat less than a meter away. He lifted his spoon to his mouth.

"Oh, wait!" He froze. "It's very spicy, take little bites." He smirked.

"I can handle spicy, don't worry." She winced and covered her mouth as he shoveled in a very large portion of meat and broth. "Are you alright?"

He whimpered, shrinking in on himself. "Oh dear," Valka murmured, trying very, very hard not to laugh. "You might want to just go ahead and swallow, it'll burn your mouth."

Frerin nodded desperately, and swallowed, then dropped his head into his hands, breathing very heavily. "Oh, Mama, esne, mesedez! Orain!" She called over her shoulder.

Allsún placed a cup of milk in front of Frerin, looking amused. Valka shoved it towards him and he snatched it up, gulping greedily. Valka leapt up and grabbed a loaf of bread from the breadbox, slicing off a piece and handing it to him. He tore into it, still breathing heavily. Finally, when both the bread and the milk were gone and his breathing was back to normal, Valka and Allsún decided it was safe to laugh, and laugh they did. Valka at least tried to spare his feelings, covering her mouth and ducking her head to hide her mirth.

Frerin wiped his eyes and nodded. Valka pressed her lips together. "I did warn you,"

"I should have listened." She snickered.

"I'm sorry, it's just- your face!" He'd thought his face couldn't get any redder, but he was quickly proven wrong when another wave of red swept up his cheeks.

Maybe he wasn't the best at listening, but he'd learned his lesson quickly.

Valka gazed at him across the table, her fingers tracing the carved flowers on the tabletop absentmindedly.

Maybe he was a little bit thick, but he was attractive enough for them both.

Maybe she'd listen to her mother and keep him.

Wouldn't hurt to try, would it?


Ok, Val and Allsún are officially my fav mother-daughter duo. Love, love, love.

Ok ALSO the Red Hills are my own invention. While looking at a map of Middle Earth, I noticed that there was an unnamed stretch of mountains near the Sea of Rhûn in the east, and what better place to bring in Allsún from?

And, Allsún's 'Rhûn' language is just Basque, which is a language I happened to stumble across on Google Translate. I think it works nicely, though.

xxBlue