A/N: For those of you that were thoroughly confused by my random use of Khuzdul terms in the last chapter and were unable to gather from context their meanings, allow me to amend my idiocy.

nadar: brother

nadeth: little brother

nanath: little sister

-L-

Blindsided

Dís bobbed on her toes, her delicate hand entwined with the older dam's and the Princess proudly stated, "Thorín, son of Thraín, allow me to introduce Thríva Heartweaver."

The woman, Thríva, was visibly indignant, "Och, Dís! You cannae just make up a name and use it as a title!"

Dís' smug grin was stolen directly from Frerín, "I am the Princess."

Thríva raised her eyebrow but Dís never faltered, "Besides, it's catchy."

Thorín was stunned, to say the least. Not only had he been unprepared for company, he had been taken completely aback by the woman before him. He could find no singular aspect of her appearance on which to fixate because there was so much that caught his eye and he tried to observe it all while her attentions were elsewhere. He flexed his jaw to ensure his mouth did not hang open.

Thríva rolled her eyes at the young dam and turned as if to face him but, instead, was swept from her feet by Frerín wrapping his arms around from behind her and spinning them both in a fast circle.

"Thríva Heartweaver!" he roared as he did so, over the sound of her startled scream, and set her down to catch her hands before she could retaliate, "Come to work her magic on both head and heart!"

Her oddly shaped face contorted into a tight lipped smirk when she turned on the royal brat, revealing hidden dimples in the centers of appled cheek. She glared playfully at the younger Prince and Thorín knew not what to think of her face; it was round and yet pointed at the same time, its most prominent feature her almond shaped and colored eyes. Dwarves were known for their wide and imposing noses but this dam barely had a nose to speak of. It was there, of course, but it was...small. Proportionate but tiny, perfectly shaped but miniscule and he felt he could ponder it for hours and still not comprehend its size, nor the way it was a perfect complement to her features.

He could tell by the sharp intake of breath that she was about to unleash a sharp retort but it was skillfully blocked by his brother's false chivalry. Frerín bowed low over her hand as if to place a kiss upon it, never losing contact with her eyes, "How well the lady casts her spells for I find myself... enchanted."

Her lovely eyes displayed her disbelief in another roll which distracted her completely from what Frerín prepared to do.

The sleeves of her gown started at the crest of her shoulder and stopped just below her elbow, leaving her forearm completely exposed to the misbehaving Prince as he ran the flat of his tongue from her knuckles to the edge of decency. Thríva made a noise somewhere between disgust and amusement and squirmed in the laughing Frerín's grasp. Dís laughed as well and slapped her brother in the arm to show her shock and disapproval, as slight as they may be.

The dam finally managed to wrench her hands from her grinning captor and tried for a moment to settle her flawless hair, a wonder of embellishment done in what appeared to be hundreds of tiny braids that culminated into an elegantly high bun at the back of her head while the rest cascaded around her deliciously exposed shoulders in soft waves. Its hue was one he could not honestly say he had seen before this day - a rich brown that reminded him of healthy soil and, surprisingly, the warmed cocoa his late mother had been fond of serving him during the long winters of his childhood. The sudden comparison to his most cherished memory was startling - it had been decades since he had thought of it.

She smoothed her skirts in obvious distress as she turned to greet him. His mouth felt dry as he continued to appraise her, despite his efforts to cease.

Her, thankfully, Dwarven-sized ears were richly decorated, each bearing three silver cuffs connected to the others by a string of topaz and amethyst stones that matched the simple, but alluring, choker at her throat. Her slender neck dipped into a wonderful amount of cleavage that he did his best to avoid but it was still painfully visible in his peripheral view. Her gown did nothing but accentuate her hourglass shape, the curve of it over her hips only adding to the overall ache he felt growing in his stomach.

He swallowed thickly, feeling suddenly very warm. She saved him from his own silence, her previous informal tone and dialect all but vanished, "Your Highness, it is an honor to meet you."

Her curtsey was perfectly executed, her head bent at an exact angle and her eyes at a proper, demure level that did not meet his until she was rising out of it. He was caught by the diamonds of mischief that glittered there, so fascinated by them he almost missed her broguish quip, "And such a handsome name you have, too."

He felt his mouth stretch into an unbidden smile, surprised more than she was that her words had such an effect on him. He had initially observed the similarities between their names but, until she had mentioned it, he had not held another thought for it. The knowledge that it was, even in a vague form, an intimacy they alone shared stoked the fires of his pride and with it he felt lightheaded.

Before he could stop himself, he held out his hand for hers, which she graciously accepted. When this was accomplished, his free hand crossed suddenly between them to the front pocket of the younger Prince, who had come to stand near them, and stole the kerchief from it with a flourish. He also managed to flick it against Frerín's cheek in exasperation, all while pinning his brother with a purposeful scowl before he wiped her arm with it. She nodded her head in appreciation and he realized she was unable to blush further because she already had been through the entire introduction.

When her arm was cleaned, he pressed his lips to her fingers in what was meant to be a perfunctory act but he met her eyes and somehow it became something else entirely. He ended it as quickly as he could, feeling his lips burn with the contact. He kept a polite smile while he mentally cursed his brother for his embarrassing display. Frerín seemed to intuitively know how to make an awkward situation worse. Thorín felt an itch in his throat and he decided to refill his wine while he had the opportunity.

Before he released her fingertips, he acknowledged her by way of murmuring her name and turned quickly to the side table, looking for a way to distract himself from the situation. More wine seemed necessary, at this point, and he tucked a few rolls into the pocket of his overcoat as a habit. The cooling heat of his face was enough to make him plot a pummeling for Frerín once he managed to get him alone but his dour thoughts were frequently interrupted by the activity and conversation that had continued on behind him.

Dís and Thríva had seated themselves already, the Princess returned to the floor in front of the now occupied chair that held their guest. Frerín had draped himself across the couch and was chuckling at something one of them had said. Thríva busied herself with a basket full of items on her lap, and while Dís chatted idly on she sorted through what appeared to be glass bottles and brushes of different sizes. After a moment she settled on a wide, bristled brush and a vial partially filled with an amber liquid. These she set on a small table near her and gestured with her finger for Dís to turn around and settle.

Thorín regained his previous seat with his refreshments and leaned back to watch. As he was taking a drink, his brother craned his head from his prostrate position to gaze at him the wrong way up, an idiotic grin plastered on his face, "I would venture a guess that this is why we are here, eh?"

Thorín still felt the urge to bludgeon his stupid head but it was curbed by Frerín's audacious attitude. He twisted the smile he felt tugging at his lips into a disapproving scowl and twitched an eyebrow at him, leaving the question unanswered.

He needn't bother, though, as Dís felt it necessary to answer for herself, "It precisely is, nadar. My party is in two days and I knew I would have plenty of time to visit with you both while Thríva styles my hair."

The dam behind her played at offense, pausing in her careful brushing to peer around Dís' head, "Has my company, then, become so tiring in your eyes, my lady?"

The Princess giggled, "It has been long since my brothers were with me, dear. I know you had met Frerín last time..."

To which the bespoken party decided to chime in, with a wink, "And what a memorable time that was."

Thríva stuck her tongue out at the Prince, eliciting another chuckle, as Dís continued, "And I thought often, after that day, how much fun would be had if Thorín could join us as well!"

Thorín tried to hide his disagreement with her opinion of him in the direct line of her adoring smile, the corner of his mouth imitating a small smile before he covered it with the rim of his goblet. He did not drink, only held the liquid to his lips to disguise his discomfort. He knew he was far from the first on any dwarrow's invitation list, if it were organized by interest or mirth-making. He loved his sister but he was sure she held him higher in esteem than he truly deserved.

Unfortunately, his brother decided to put voice to the thoughts he had held in reserve, "Aah, nanath, I fear you've invited the wrong dwarf!"

Thorín lowered his glass, licking the wine from his mustache, and turned his unamused stare to the cretin on the sofa. Frerín's head hung off the cushion, now, and his unruly hair drug along the ground unnoticed with every movement he made. Even upside-down, his impishness was apparent and he did not balk at Thorín's evil glowering, "We all know the Crown Prince wouldn't know how to have fun if it came up and bit him in the arse."

Frerín had no time to dodge the roll that struck him between the eyes, his indignant squawk of distress as he rolled from his perch echoing out from beneath the furniture. Thríva and Dís could barely maintain their seats, both women covering their open mouths with hands that did nothing to stifle their laughter.

Thorín was completely prepared for the return volley, catching the baked good in his free hand without needing to pause the drink he was taking and bounced it off Frerín's head again before the dwarf could even lift himself from between the table and sofa, to which the Prince fell back dramatically. This caused another bout of cackling from the women and Thorín allowed himself to grin, his mouth well hidden behind the silver cup.

When the disheveled Prince popped up, smirk in place, Thorín assumed an almost concerned facade, "What was it you were saying, nadeth?"

The veiled insult wasn't lost on Frerín but neither was his humor. He beseeched the still sniggering women, "My lady-protectors! Can you not see I am besieged by evil?"

Dís continued laughing, unaffected, "Fight on, dear brother! The line of Durin cannot give in!"

Frerín crawled to them, faking a leg wound to amuse them further, and reached out to Thríva, "Fair dam, I beg of you! A kiss to revive me, lest I fall in battle!"

Thríva held a hand to her chest to catch her breath and shook her head, unable to speak a word at the Prince's begging. She exhaled slowly, calming herself, "If that were a real fight, Highness, I would worry for our race."

Frerín scoffed, no longer so wounded as to crawl, "It was as fierce a battle as had ever been fought, my dear lady!"

Thorín snorted, hardly able to stop himself, "Yes, The Battle of the Bakery! How nobly your tomb will read, 'Here lies Frerín, son of Thraín - killed by biscuits."

At that, Dís and Frerín could no longer contain their laughter and both went rolling, much to the stylist's displeasure. She 'tsk'ed and scolded both of his younger siblings for their raucous behavior and it effecting her work. Following a few giggled apologies, Thríva narrowed her eyes and took up her brush again, frowning at the offenders in sequence. Thorín lowered his cup at last, nearly eager for his turn to meet her eyes, surprised at the sudden flutter in his heart.

They locked gazes and, for only a brief moment, it seemed that the world held it's breath. The diamonds in her eyes sparkled, her frown disappeared as she beheld him and he felt a spear of fire pierce through the very fabric of his soul. Then she looked down and he watched a blush creep over the crest of her petite nose, spreading quickly to her cheeks even as she focused on the back of Dís' head. He exhaled - the world had not stopped turning, he had merely run out of air. He drank deeply, feeling quite ashamed of himself, berating the heartbeat he felt in his throat.

I am a fool.

For a long while, he steeped in the tension he had created. He dared not look to her again, determined to gain control over himself before the others noticed and his folly be brought to light by his brother or, Mahal forbid, the woman herself. Though time passed and conversation moved through several subjects, he found there wasn't enough wine to quench his shame and, when he made to excuse himself to fetch more, he was waved off by his sister who ordered one of the guards to bring another decanter. Escape plan squelched, he was left with nothing to do but stare at his silver glass and trace the delicate filigree engraved in its sides until another distraction would suit his needs.

His sister and brother held no notice of his plight and, for all that could be said about her, Thríva seemed as unaffected as the other two. Thorín, despite his adamant wish, found himself sneaking glances at her as she worked. Only one side of her mouth lifted, a constant shrug and a semi-permanent cherub-pout of her lips seemed to be her usual appearance. Each time his eyes betrayed his control, they caught a new sight of her, as she listened intently to a re-telling of an old story by Frerín or as she laughed softly at a small joke or riddle from Dís. He found the crease in her cheek endearing, the light in her eyes compelling and the deft movement of her hands throughout admirable.

He was increasingly fascinated at the dexterity of her fingers as she plied her trade, weaving the strands of hair from the dampened mess it had started from into an impressive tapestry of plaits. Though he could not see it in its entirety from his seat, even partially done, his sister looked becoming in the style she was creating. He never thought he would find himself so intrigued by something as common as braiding.

It was then that he discovered himself staring and averted his gaze just as Thríva reached for a small toothed comb from her basket. He felt the warmth of her eyes on him as he tore a roll from his pocket to pieces in his idleness. His heart leapt into his throat when her next question was directed at him, "And so, Prince Thorín, what studies do you employ in your spare time?"

He could not breathe, let alone think to answer, but Frerín felt the need to answer for him, "I think the far better question would be, 'When do you have spare time?'"

Thorín found a laugh escape him, "I fear I find it difficult to answer either of those questions, my Lady."

He could hear her embarrassment, "Thríva, please, your grace."

Frerín had stood to refill his own wine and, having found the vessel still barren, turned his attentions back to his brother with much exageration, "Yes, Thorín, formalities are so tedious."

Thorín did not miss the look that Thríva shot at the unobservant Prince and came to her defense, "Not nearly as tedious as you regaling us with the time you fell from your horse. Will you never find another antidote, brother? Or must some other slight tragedy befall you before we are spared your abhorrent story-telling?"

Frerín was unfazed, "If slight tragedy is what interests my listeners, than I shall speak only of your skill at the harp, nadar."

Thorín did laugh softly at this - it was an old joke between them. Frerín was an excellent horseman and the only time he had been unmounted was due to an unseen snake that had startled his steed into bucking him. Thorín had been with him that day and had carried Frerín to the healers with a broken arm and several ribs. Their father had not been pleased. Thorín, on the other hand, was a skillful harpist and, though he was loathe to admit it due to his father's shaming of the talent, sang wonderfully with or without accompaniment. They jested as such because they found pride in each others accomplishments no matter how small, despite the disapproval of their father.

"So, you play the harp...Thorín?"

He had nearly forgotten the original question and, at the sound of his name on her tongue, he snapped back to his introverted self, "I have been known to do so, yes."

His fingers fumbled around the filigree, desperate to have her attentions off him and Frerín swept in to save him from himself, yet again, "Not by any outside the family, mind you. It's been somewhat of a treasured family secret. Not like Dís' harping - everyone has had a little of that."

With a wink in the lady's direction, Frerín roosted himself on the arm of Thorín's chair and whispered, beneath the sound of Dís' offended reaction, "You'll tarnish the silver, fussing like that."

Thorín set the cup down in haste but perhaps too quickly, for the sound of it hitting the marble table top was much louder than expected and the titters from the women opposite them ceased. He sent his brother a perturbed look, to which Frerín resumed loudly, "And what has that cup ever done to you?"

Now they were all looking at him and he quelled the urge to punch his brother in the kidney. Dís asked, "Thorín? Are you well, brother?"

Thorín closed his eyes and Frerín spoke for him once again, "I think this wine is far stronger than we are used to, dear naneth. If there is one thing Elves are good for, it is a strong wine."

He stood, setting his matching silver next to Thorín's and addressed him, "Perhaps we should investigate what is taking that guard so long with our replacement, eh, brother?"

Thorín realized what Frerín was doing and he had never found himself more grateful. He nodded and rose from his seat, bid the ladies they would return shortly and exited, his brother in tow. Once the were out of ear-shot, he exhaled heavily, "Durin's beard."

Frerín steered them toward the outer walls, seeming not to notice his brother's relief, "Pent up like a caged Warg in there, you were."

Thorín grunted in response, trudging along because he was only just regaining the ability to think clearly but stopped dead at his brother's next inquiry.

"So, when will you ask her to court you?"

Now that you've looked at it, please tell me what you think! No loitering unless you buy something, people. R&R! -L-