Note: For this story, I am setting Thorin's height at 4'07''. It is never explicitly said in the books just how tall he is, only that he is taller than his companions. The only reference I could find was in relation to the movies where he was between 4'05'' and 4'08''. With the dwarven maximum height being near only 4 foot even, I decided that the height I chose would be a happy medium between tall, but not overly so in comparison to his kin.

Chapter Two: Blacksmiths and Dwarves

Dark brown eyes stared back at me from the dull metallic surface that was as close to a mirror that I could get.

The eyes stared back, taking in my facial features in much the same way that strangers often did. Taking in every feature and detail as if it would be the last time I would see my own face again. My skin still had that tanned tint to it, a sign of the many hours that I spent out on the open road - there was also a few new laughter lines that lingered at the very edges of my eyes. I still didn't look I was in my early thirties, but I certainly didn't look like I was in my twenties anymore.

Five hard years on an unfamiliar planet had changed me, had taken their toll just as easily as any bounty had ever done.

I frowned, pulling the small mirror closer to my face and examining my thin lips and slightly upturned nose. High cheekbones a reminder of my heritage before I had become Mandalorian. Among my people, I might have been considered a 'catch', but in this strange world I had found myself on I was anything but that and it was fine by me. Feminine beauty was just a mask that hid the weakness inherent in the woman that populated the world - could any of them survive months in the wild as I had done? It had taken me three long months after my crash to find the nearest civilised town, three months where rabbits and tuberous plants had been my staple diet.

Five long years. It felt much longer than that, and my vivid memory of my first few months here still lingered even now.

That first interaction with the locals had been a disaster. I could still remember the looks on their faces as I walked into their midst in my Beskar'gam, helmet under one arm and pack hooked over the opposite shoulder. Then there had been the language barrier for none of them understood any of the seven languages I was familiar with, and they were certainly not familiar with mine. To their credit they had begrudgingly accepted me into their midst, talking of me in whispers and over time giving me the moniker of Dusk due to the fact that I only came to the village for shelter when the sun dipped below the horizon. There was little to keep me there during the day and there was still little tying me to this place.

While I had learned the language and had learned to somewhat fit in I still wasn't truly welcome.

My long fingers reached up to run through my thick auburn locks that fell around my face in wild waves. When I had first arrived it had been smartly braided and tied back into a harsh bun at the nape of my neck - now my hair hung loosely around my face. It had been years since I'd worn my braids, at first it had been strange, but now it was almost second nature to just tie my wild locks back into a low ponytail. There was no reason to wear my helmet here, the world I found myself in being generally safer than most planets I had been on, so there was no reason for braids. Twisting my fingers further into my hair I pulled it into a low ponytail and tied it off with a length of thin leather. I was ready for the day, and it would be a day where I would have to clash with the locals yet again.

I needed to go to the blacksmith to repair some of my tools. While I didn't need to fight the habit of keeping my gear in excellent condition still lingered. My father had always said that when your gear was broken was always the day when trouble would come and bite you in the rear. The problem with going to the blacksmith? Dealing with the man in charge of it. He was a white-haired male with a grizzled face that just about matched his attitude - over the years she had found that he didn't like dealing with the 'strange woman'. She shouldn't be handling weapons - it was her husband's job.

My head shook as I laid the mirror down and looked around the small room for the items I would need to take with me. The two hand and a half swords were laid right where I had left them, their metal glistening in the dull light of the single candle that lit the room. The two weapons where a far cry from my beskad, the metal too light and weak for my liking, but they were a necessity. There was no forge here that could repair my weapon if the edge should become dulled - so, for now, the swords where my chosen weapon of choice.

Pushing myself from my chair I approached the table, my slow pace taking me to my destination in a short time and carefully pulled the weapons into my arms.

It was time to go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I stepped into the forge, a wall of heat slamming into my face - bringing with it a wave of familiar emotions. This was a place where I felt at ease, it was a place where I had spent many hours as a child learning how to care for my weapons. It was a shame that walking into this place also caused a wave of also familiar frustration - for I knew the fight I would have on my hands today. Already I could see the sneer on the owners face as I approached, his arms crossing over his chest as I laid the swords down in front of him.

"Your man got you doing his dirty work again?"

My head shook to show the negative.

"Loran, you know I don't have a 'man'. This is my dirty work"

I didn't intend for my words to leave in such a growl, but they did. My frustrations coming to the fore as I stared down my foe, and I once again wished I wasn't stuck on this Mandalore forsaken planet - but I was. It was a realisation that I had come to during my third year, that I would never be leaving this place. I was stuck in a place where I had to wander the wilds to fully be myself, where I was an outcast with no true place to call my own. Where I had to deal with idiot men that didn't see me as an equal. They didn't care what my skills where. All they saw was a woman going against the norm and there were only two ways to treat that. Most men would ignore me and walk away, but others like this man were happy to throw my 'otherness' into my face and I'd grown tired of it.

"Then you should have a man. Powers be that you need it! Someone has to reign you in and show you how to be a proper woman"

My hands slammed down onto his workbench, fingers spread out as I stared him down. My temper always had gotten the better of me, and the longer I was in this 'middle earth' as the locals called it the worse it got.

"Keep your stinking opinions to yourself. Now do you want my coin or not?"

He pushed my weapons back toward me with a snarl. He was clearly done with me, something I should have figured out long before now given by just how many times he had turned me down in the past.

"Not. I refuse to indulge your illness. Go bother the dwarf that came here not two moon cycles ago - I hear he's desperate for coin"

Dwarf?

Oh, he meant the band of men that had set up camp at the edge of town. I felt it was a bit harsh calling them dwarves, yes I understood that was what their race was termed as, but they didn't seem all that short to me. But then again I wasn't overly tall myself and at a grand height of five foot, I must have seemed pretty short myself to the tall humans of this world. Height wasn't everything, while I was short I was made of solid muscle and could easily take down the tallest man in the village if he decided to have a go at me. I huffed and pulled my weapons into my arms, it this idiot didn't want my money then I would have to go see this 'dwarf' that Loran was referring to.

"Very well. Perhaps he'll actually appreciate my coin"

With that, I left the warmth of the forge and stepped out into slight cool autumn air that blew between the buildings. The village was small, but what buildings there was within it where stacked stupidly close together - I never did understand why the locals didn't just spread out a bit, there was enough space to do such a thing, but for whatever reason, the locals prefered to stick close together. I shook my head as I made my way down the street which was little more than an alley, and I was pleased when it slowly opened up until I got toward the outskirts of the town. Out here there were only a few simple farms to break up the vast vistas of green, unspoiled landscapes that had never been touched by human hand. Maybe it was for the best that the townspeople hadn't spread out? It was a terrible defence strategy, but it was at least good for the environment.

As I scanned the rolling hills I kept an eye out for the camp that I knew had to be there, it took a few scans before I spotted the tell-tale line of smoke that marked where the Dwarves had to be. They had chosen a spot right on top of one of the hillocks, a perfect spot to watch for approaching strangers so it wasn't really a surprise when they were waiting for me when I walked into their camp. Most of the group were shorter than me, barely topping four foot tall, but there was a few that were a little bit taller by a few inches which showed that even among this race there was a lot of genetic variances. Their eyes watched me from under shaggy white brows, and more then a few were stroking their long beards in a thoughtful manner - compared to me they seemed ancient. As old as they were their eyes were still young and bright, a sign that I shouldn't underestimate these people. Like me, they were potentially dangerous if provoked.

One of the group peeled off from the rest, dark eyes almost meeting mine as he stepped toward me. The world slowing as I looked over his rugged, and I had to admit handsome features. He was a lot younger than the rest of his group, and a lot taller - at a guess I placed him at around 4 foot and seven inches at a maximum. With a mass of dark hair that complemented those dark eyes of his. Shab - he reminded me of the young men back of Mandalore. All muscle and testosterone, with thick arms that knew their way around a forge, and I couldn't help but think that despite his strength those arms could gently pull a lover warmly against his chest ... that thick and muscular chest ...

'Get it together. You're here to get your swords sorted out, not swoon like a lovesick teenager'

I cleared my throat and held my swords out toward him. There was a look of slight surprise on his face, but he didn't have the same look of disdain that Loran did.

"Greetings. I have a need for your forge. These swords need some work, the edges are beyond repair and I have a hope you could work your magic upon them"

He took one of the blades from me, his stern face unreadable as he ran a calloused thumb along the dull and dented edge. For a moment I thought that he too might turn me away, but he didn't, instead, he looked back up at me one lip quirking upward into the faintest hint of a smile.

"I hope you have the coin to pay for such work"

I found myself quirking a lip. He wasn't giving away his rates, and I wasn't about to let on just how many coins I had - this was now a war of wits. I pulled out a pouch, hefting its weight in such a way that the coins within jingled together in a tempting manner.

"That should cover your fee."

He passed back my sword, holding one hand open for my coin bag and I placed it down into his waiting palm. He opened the purse, glancing at the coins that spilt out into his palm with a critical eye and even counted them out with one finger while his companions kept an eye on me. I just waited, holding my swords close to me as he looked over my offer before giving a sharp nod.

"It will do ... it's a little less then what I usually take, but some payment is better than no payment"

My coin purse was pocketed without further comment, and the swords taken from my arms. He insisted that I didn't have to stay and wait, that I could come back and collect my weapons, but I stayed behind anyway to watch him work. Those strong arms working the heavy hammer with skill and surprising dexterity, he was obviously a master of his trade and could have asked much more coin for his craft. But he hadn't, as Loran had said he was in need of whatever coin he could get. Here was a man like myself, in need of money and willing to do whatever he could for as low a price as possible in order to earn his way. Each hammer fall was music to my ears, a rhythm that was unique to the metal and the man that worked it, and I was lost within it.

"I have to admit, I am surprised you accepted so little ... your skills are far superior to Loran's"

The song of the hammer paused a moment as he considered me from below bushy brows, face darkened by the soot of his own fire.

"I take it your talking of that human that calls himself a blacksmith. His skills are barely worth the coin people pay him, but I guess for a human he's better than most. He never will match the skill of a dwarf"

Some might have taken that as being a bit egotistical, but I saw it as honesty. Mandalorians where the same, our skill with the forges eclipsing most within the galaxy and we knew it. We'd let the galaxy know it, and they had come knocking with credits flowing in the hopes of buying our skill. I leaned forward, examining the edge of the blade with a critical eye - testing it for true, and shifted back so he could continue his work.

"Your people are familiar with such work? I can tell that it's something you take pride in - you treat the blade with care. Tell me, your forge do you fuel it with Coal, Coke or Charcoal?"

I forgot myself for a moment, forgot that I was on this forsaken planet. For a glorious moment, I was back home talking with the lads from clan Ordo about their forging techniques. It felt good to have someone to talk about this with, it kind of just spilt out of me and he seemed surprised as me. His gaze showing that he held me with a new light, that I reminded him of someone that he'd known long ago ... a friend perhaps? I wasn't sure, it was a brief moment that was pushed away in the shake of his head. Dark locks bobbing around his head in a wild dance, the silver of the clasps which held the few braids in his hair glistening red in the light of the fire. He didn't answer my question, instead, he asked one of his own.

"I'm surprised that a human woman has such knowledge. How do you know about such things?"

My shoulders lifted in a shrug

"My father taught me. I ... well, let's just say I didn't grow up in a conventional manner. It is why I had to seek you out. My custom was no longer welcome at Loran's forge"

"He's a fool. What does it matter who comes to his forge if they bring money"

I couldn't help but laugh, a hand pressing against the base of my rib cage as the peals just rung out of me. The male opposite seemed highly confused, hammer held mid-strike as he waited for my hysterics to pass. Lifting one hand I made a shaking motion to show that my laughter was nothing to worry about.

"That's what I thought. But, I guess he's putting his foot down. In his words, he's bored of 'indulging my illness' ... pah. I'm bored of indulging his stupidity"

The dark haired man let out a half snort, then laid his hammer down onto his anvil.

"Well. If ever you have the need then the anvil of Thorin Oakenshield will always be at your service"

Thorin. So that was his name.

It was a name that would soon become a regular part of my life from that moment on. For now, it was just as a casual business acquaintance - I would bring him tools and weapons from my collection to work on, and he would accept my coin. It was a beneficial arrangement that suited us both perfectly, and I even directed trade his way by slipping in good words of his service to the locals.

But soon he would ask something much different to me, and that simple request would change my life forever.