Half of Heart
Summary:
The moment Thorin Oakenshield took on the mission of taking back Erebor with twelve other dwarves, another stepped up and took the mantle of protecting the people. It was Lirin Bladedancer, Wife and Queen to Thorin Oakenshield. Lady of Sieges. "Lie a promise then! Just for me!" (Mix of Book and Movie Verse) Thorin/OC
Chapter 2: First Meeting
Year: TA 2762
Thorin: 16 years old
Lirin: 12 years old
Thorin, not yet Oakenshield, son of Thrain and Prince Under the Mountain, met Lirin in an ordinary day of Middle Earth. Being a Prince, may give Thorin privileges and advantages but it was never an easy life, especially when one was from great Erebor. Thrain and Thorin, being heirs to Durin's throne, were given branches of the kingdom to govern. Thrain was given the military and more. Thorin, in between his lessons and training, was given tasks that involve checking on the state of some of the branches of the kingdom that Thror has assigned to him. It wasn't much, as he was still young, just the auxiliary branches and the like. "Keeper of the People" as his father and grandfather fondly termed it. Thorin knew the purpose of such tasks and completed them the best he could. He studied well the dos and don'ts, asked advice to his tutors, superiors and family. He labored hard and learned he did.
Today in his schedule would be a meeting with the head scribe, his tutor Grivdn. He would ask news of the state of the records, the scriptorium and the needs and also problems that Grivdn's department encountered. Also he would like to hear suggestions for improvement.
So to the library it was.
Thorin entered the library announcing his presence with his heavy footsteps echoing inside the large room. He went straight to Grivdn's office. The door of his office was thick wood with engravings made by the finest artisans. It depicted of the making of the dwarves and the life of Durin the Deathless. Thorin examined the door, his mind telling the story of their great Father that he knew like the back of his hand. Then he knocked the door three times and waited. Then knocked again. And again. Receiving no answer, he stepped back from the door and turned to their massive library. He decided that he would ask one of the scribes for Grivdn's location. Then, depending on the results of such plan, he might wait for Grivdn or seek him out himself. He preferred the former, maybe with a good book to read as well.
So he looked, keen eyes and heavy footsteps, for a scribe (thinking that they should be the ones approaching) and a book to read. He went through the shelves, skimming the beautifully written spines for something to appeal his tastes. The shelves were carved from the very mountain itself, with embellishments and engravings just like those of Grivdn's door. Ones about legends, myths and history. He searched the stone tables and the lush couches and chairs for any occupants. He searched from the first to the last with thinning patience and burning temper. Was the library unattended at a time like this? It should be remedied immediately if that is so. It might be one of the places that are seldom visited by the people but still. Thorin forehead creased in confusion and irritation, grumbling low under his breath about his plans on what to do with such problem.
Imagine his annoyance when he found his first sign of the library's occupancy. You could? Good.
It was on the very last table, on the corner of two walls with wide windows. The table was small and was curiously made of wood. Its size was half the great stone ones and on the surface was an open book, which was literature as he deduced after reading a few lines. Also there were paintbrushes littered with pans of paint and containers of water. Pieces of parchments with sketches and scribbles also inhabit the table.
"Watercolor." He muttered softly as he dipped his finger to a container of clean water. On the edge of the table closest to the tucked chair was a painting left to dry. To this was Thorin's critical gaze gravitated. It was a painting of Erebor's Great Hall. It was there that the king received guests and threw balls and celebrations. In truth, Thorin celebrated his past sixteen birthdays there. In the painting though, it was deserted, with bluish tones mixed with greens. He was amazed by the impression it gave him, a sorrow and feeling of being alone. His hand took the edge of the parchment and lifted it carefully.
The paper rustled.
A thud then Thorin's heart stopped and his hand flattened on the painting. His eyes whirled to a paintbrush, a hairsbreadth from the painting. Its handle was embedded deep on the table. 'It might as well be a dagger.' He thought. He didn't even hear the footsteps, nor any sign of approach. No anything.
"Don't you dare Hudon! Don't you dare!" A heave of breath. "I will not have you ruin my work. Again!"
The brush was hypnotizing and it seemed like it was bleeding blood when in truth it was just colored plain red. Intrigued with the owner who had the audacity to throw him a bladed brush, he looked up with his brow raised and a devilish smirk on his lips. What he saw surprised him, for it was just a young dwarf lass. A little girl indeed!
She was panting loud for breath with her hand still hovering midair from her throw. Locks of her brown, almost black, hair tumbled in curls and waves over her face and up to her waist. The brush seemed to have held her hair in a bun and the rest was still held up by another brush. She was also gripping her skirt up to her knees and it showed him her bare feet! Greatly improper for a lady such as her, so Thorin made an effort to not look down past her knees. He was a prince and a gentledwarf. Her face was scrunched up in anger, her brows knitting together almost to a perfect V.
Lirin, on the other hand, was furious. She has reason to be, because most of her works in the past were destroyed by this Hudon's meddling hands. Also it wasn't the first brush that she threw. When no scared squeak or word came as reply to her act, she was surprised. Hudon would be saying his apologies by now. So Lirin felt the cloud of fury wash away, to be replaced by a calm wind. She straightened her stance, her hands fell to her side and her skirt swished down to her feet. The change was obvious, especially when one looks to her gaze. Chocolate eyes cleared and brightened, like a storm hadn't even happened within their depths a while past.
"You are not Hudon." She blinked owlishly. Her gaze meeting Thorin's
"I am not."
She looked at him with an analytical gaze, seeking discernment of the emotions that were allowed to roam in his blue eyes. She was measuring him up, in bolder terms. Lirin was naïve, and she didn't know that she was doing it so openly. It was always a habit though and it was almost second nature. Observe before anything else.
It took a few moments.
"Prince Thorin." Lirin swiped her locks away from her face and gave the prince a simple curtsy. Thorin was taken aback by the blankness in her tone. It wasn't even suppressed or hid for respect's sake. It was borderline apathy, the tone she used at him. He was so used to the reverence, false or not, that the people have for the royal family. She, she seemed to not care and she acted so openly to it. He took his time, his own face an expression of nonchalance. He tugged off the embedded brush, his aura nothing but critical and proud. "Your Majesty."
"My lady." He didn't even look at her when he replied. She shrugged off the hint of amusement and sarcasm in his tone. She took the other brush in her hair and approached her work table. Thorin continued, "What you did is dangerous, lassie."
She was silent when she stood beside him, eyes trained on her work. She checked diligently for any sign of mishap. You see, Thorin was coaxing Lirin to apologize. He was the Prince (and he is rather prideful) and it garnered respect. Little mishaps were given high degrees of apologies, unless, the suspect earned his respect which was definitely rarer. This girl did nothing in particular, just painted and threw him a paintbrush. Said paintbrush which he was inspecting and apparently has a bladed and very sharp tip. Deadly. "This is rather sharp for a paintbrush."
"I know my aim and my craft." She replied with the same nonchalance. She bent over the table, dipping her brush to the bluish green paint in her palette. Her hands moved with ease, as she dabbed the brush to the parchment. Her hair brushed his arm with every movement and he did nothing but observe. Her eyes were glazed and it was like she was transported into another place altogether. She did her dabbing continuously, shrouding the painting with a mist of sorrow and nothingness.
"You missed a few details." He pointed out, not wanting to be ignored. He was beside her and she acts like he's not even there. By the Valar, it was irritating him like no other. Certainly, she gasped and turned to him with wide eyes that said 'Oh! You're still here.' He felt his gaze harden in annoyance. "There should be a tapestry on the west side of the dais and also a door on this part."
Lirin paused in recognition of his words then took a spare parchment and wrote what he said, mumbling about tapestries and doors under her breath.
"Why do you not just paint it while in the Great Hall itself?" Thorin asked again, realizeing she was indeed painting from memory.
Lirin took on a contemplative pause, her eyes lazing once again as she searched for an answer. She regarded her painting as if it held her next words. The air around her churned like the sea and maybe even a flickering fire. Always moving and changing. She talked slowly, unsure if he would understand the idea she would explain. "There are certain moments which happen and barely happen again. I'd like to paint those moments. They leave impressions, emotions and thoughts to people who witness them. I'd like to put it on paper, the very least I could do to immortalize it, those feelings that made me stop and take it in. Remember."
She took a deep breath, feeling as if the explanation didn't suffice. "Art… Art to me is expression and I want to express what the Great Hall, or maybe what I felt at that moment."
Then she looked down again, flustered at the foolishness of her words. Who would agree that a hall would have feelings to express? Hurriedly, she continued. Back to reality, back from that unreachable place. "But of course, the details could come later. It is still a work in progress."
"You are a queer thing, lassie." Thorin murmured unsure of what to say.
"I am no older than you." Lirin huffed in reply, another change of mood.
"Definitely, yet younger all the same." Thorin bit back. Lirin shrugged visibly not taunted.
"Prince Thorin."
Thorin froze and Lirin jumped in surprise, squeaking. "Sir Grivdn!"
The prince met the head scribe's meticulous gaze, old eyes dancing between him and the lass. Thorin wondered if it was about how close he and the girl were standing. They stood elbow to elbow and he skimmed his memory if that wasn't allowed. He didn't felt like moving though, because he can feel her awkwardness and was turning it as fire to his amusement. Lirin immediately made herself busy. She didn't want to be involved and was wishing that they leave as soon as possible. Or at least for Thorin to step away. She could feel his change into a commanding presence and it sizzled, making her uneasy.
"I apologize for my tardiness, Your Highness." Grivdn gave a bow, bending by the waist. "I never expected my visit to my grandson would take so long."
"I understand. It is family after all." Thorin replied almost automatically. He put on a small smirk and continued, "I am intrigued rather,"
He could feel the lass tense like a bowstring.
"I am sure that I have announced my presence, yet it was a sound of rustling paper that caught attention." Lirin almost choked at the denial that tried to escape her lips. Red crept up slowly to her face. The prince was enjoying it and she was trying hard not to kick his sheen hard. "Why is that?"
Grivdn's sigh echoed in Lirin's ears. "I believe we have another dent on the table then. No alarm, 'tis the Lady Lirin's norm. I have yet to witness her miss."
"Lirin?" Thorin remembered that he had indeed forgotten asking the lass' name. He turned to her with a raised brow.
"Lirin, my liege, Daughter of Daeren." She gave another simple curtsy, still red in face. "An honor, my prince."
"A pleasure."
"Shall we, Lord Thorin?" Grivdn called the prince and led him to his office.
And so Lirin and Thorin met. It is rather a very simple meeting. Amusing and intriguing.
-TBC-
Author's note:
Song: Say When by The Fray
Yep. I don't know if it's cliché or not but it's how I imagined it to be.
Read and review.