A Changeling in Erebor
Dedicated to the readers that stuck with me through the journey of writing 'Donnabelle', and especially to Calenthion and Nikolai who helped me so much with Khuzdul.
Chapter Two
"Master Ori," Donnabelle began as she looked up from her shelving the morning after she'd spent cocooned in her husband's arms. The dwarf was busy organizing his own stack of books.
"I told you that it's just Ori," the dwarf responded, looking over at his help briefly. Donnabelle bit her lower lip as she placed the last book in her hand on the correct shelf. Moving back to where Ori was, she reached for some more books. When she didn't say anything, the dwarf looked up from his pile and frowned. "Was there something you wanted?"
"Would it be possible for me to work only mornings with you?"
Ori lifted his pile of books and his frown deepened. "You want to stop working with me?"
"It's not that… I really enjoy working in the library with you. It has helped me so much in the last three weeks."
"If it has helped you, then why are you wanting the afternoons off?" Ori asked.
"Because I also need to find other ways to help me heal. You saw me when I first came here." The dwarf nodded, remembering that the dwarrowdam hadn't been able to speak Westron or Khuzdul. He shelved the last of his books and returned his attention to where Donnabelle was scuffing her feet and moving to shelve the books she'd gathered. She wasn't looking up at him when she added, "I can't just spend all my time in the library."
"But what do you need to heal from?"
She lowered her gaze and started shelving some of the books in her hands. How was she to explain to her friend that though she may have healed physically, there were many emotional scars that she needed to face before any true healing could happen? "Mas… Ori, that's exactly what my family said nineteen years ago. Emotional scars are far harder to heal from than physical injuries."
"Oh," Ori said quietly. "So you need to find other ways to help you heal from that? Why can't I help?"
Donnabelle sighed and reached out to take a hold of his gloved hands. "You have helped me, more than you know. But I need to confront this on my own. I will still come and help in the mornings."
"Really?"
"I need this, and working with you, as much as I need other…" She trailed off and couldn't bring herself to look at him. He didn't say anything, but it was clear that his companion was thinking through exactly what she wanted to say. When she next spoke, Donnabelle was very soft. "I don't want to use the library as a hiding place for what I need to confront. It's a refuge for me, but if I stay here and help all the time, I'll never heal properly."
Ori nodded. "Okay, Dina." Donnabelle looked up at that name. It was a name that she'd chosen after the first week working with Ori as she knew that she couldn't really get away forever without a name to go by. And neither of her hobbit names would do because those names did not fit her current predicament of looking like a dwarf. She gave the scholar a small, grateful smile. The dwarf swallowed and nodded. He moved to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know what it's like to hide from something. I admire that you want to face that. I'll be here if you ever need me."
"Thank you."
The pair of them worked in silence the rest of that morning.
That afternoon, Donnabelle found herself drawn to Thorin's personal study on the off chance he was busy elsewhere in the mountain. She thought that it would be one of the best ways for her to learn more about the newly crowned dwarven king.
The room itself was sparsely decorated and was smaller than she thought it would be. There were a few places to sit along the wall closest the doorway, a small conference table where Thorin could gather a few of his closest advisors near the fireplace (that was currently unlit) and his desk near the far wall of the room. The desk had a few piles of reports Thorin had not yet had a chance to read yet. She wandered over to the desk to look through the parchment that was on the desk to see what the king was working on.
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she found many of the reports done in Balin's neat handwriting, only needing Thorin's signature on them. The only reason she knew Balin had been the one to write the reports was that they were written in the same hand as her own contract as the company's burglar. The smile dropped off her face and her eyebrows wrinkled slightly as she spotted a piece of parchment half covered under some of the reports Thorin may have been working on that morning. She reached out and pulled the letter from under the pile. It was addressed to her cousin. Why would Thorin be writing to Fortinbras? She read over the letter and swallowed hard.
Thorin was asking the Thain for help? Why would he go to her cousin over asking her for help? She sank down on his desk chair as she reread the letter. Part of the letter addressed that very issue: Thorin did not like to admit that he needed help, but he was lost when it came to what he could do for her. Oh, that nungbâha. Maybe it wasn't the best way for Thorin to introduce himself to her cousin, or to broach the subject of her Changeling abilities. But she couldn't fault him for trying. She placed the letter back on his desk and caught sight of the second letter Thorin had written. It was addressed to her. Her heart felt lighter as she began to read.
Yet, when she got to his questions, she felt heat rise in her cheeks. Her knuckles were white and her eyes narrowed. Who did he think he was, demanding answers from her as if it was her choice to him suffer? Did it not go through his thick skull that maybe she couldn't reveal herself without compromising her safety?
She pulled out one of his desk drawers. Hard. The drawer bounced to a stop. No parchment in that drawer. Shoving it back into its place, Donnabelle moved to the next drawer down. Again, no blank parchment. But she paused before she moved on. Her hand shuffled around the papers in the drawer and she pulled out a handful of sketches. They weren't just any sketches, either. Nor were they Ori's sketches. She shuffled through each of them and felt her eyebrows furrow. There were at least half a dozen sketches: all of her, all of her face and upper body. There was one of her braiding somebody's hair (it could only have been Thorin's). Another was of the day she first showed the company her true appearance. Of her accepting Thorin's help down from a pony outside Mirkwood. Her with her small letter opener protecting Thorin. Her with her pipe. The day she told Thorin of their child.
That was the one she stopped to stare at. She ran her fingers over her drawn face. Had she really looked that content when Thorin had nuzzled his face into her belly? It was rather good. Whoever drew it must have loved her a lot. Yet, the picture – all of the pictures – held a lot of pain and grief as well. The only person she could think of that could possibly have drawn the pictures was… Thorin. She dropped the pictures back into the drawer as if they burned and she quickly closed it. She did not notice that it remained open, if ever so slightly. It was only then that she spotted a blank parchment underneath the pile of reports. Donnabelle eased it out from underneath it all. She picked up Thorin's quill and began to write. Her grip on the writing instrument tightened as she vented some of her resentment and anger out onto the page.
ACIEACIE
Thorin frowned as he entered his inner office. It had been almost two full days since Donnabelle had sought his bed and a day since he had written a note to her. He had forgotten about it over the course of his day but remembered it with stark clarity as he narrowed his gaze on his desk.
Someone had been in his office. The papers on his desk were not quite the same as when he left them that morning. He moved around the office and to his office chair. The chair had been moved. There was a new missive on his desk as well. He was about to pick it up to read when he glanced down at the drawers. The second drawer was open, the same drawer where he kept his sketches of Donnabelle. He froze. Someone had been through his desk. They had found the pictures he drew of his wife.
He slowly pulled the drawer open. The top picture was of Donnabelle and of how he remembered her when she told him she was pregnant. When he'd cradled her womb and had pressed his ear against her stomach. He recalled her fingers gliding along his jaw as she buried her other hand in his hair. His fingers curled around the edge of that picture and he drew it out. He traced her jawline. That moment was one of the happiest moments of his life.
Thorin never thought he'd ever be a father. Donnabelle had given him that rare gift when she yelled at him about their gem. His heart constricted as his thoughts drifted to the battle that had so cruelly taken her from him. Both her and their child. His jaw set as he dropped the sketch back into the drawer and shoved it closed. He felt violated that someone would dare enter his inner sanctum. He balled his hand into a fist and slammed it down on his desk. How dare someone go through his things? His vision blurred. He needed to know who the culprit was and have them punished. His mouth opened to call for the guard before it snapped shut. His gaze was drawn to the parchment under his fist. He did not recognise the writing.
'Thorin Oakenshield,
'Do NOT think this is wholly about you and your suffering! I cannot help my nature and I did not know my natural defences had kicked in until after YOU started morning for me. And don't say it's purely a 'hobbit' thing: I know you cannot deny the gold sickness that lies on your bloodline just as I cannot deny my heritage either. Do you really believe I would have let all of you grieve for me if I had a way to help you?
'Don't expect many answers from Fortinbras about Changelings. He is very protective of me, as are all the Tooks after they found out exactly what I went through as a slave and what happened in the months after I returned to the Shire.
'As for your questions: you should have guessed by now how I survived. Or did that little trinket you gifted me with mean nothing? As to how you can help. I am very mad at you and I'm very unsure of my future within the Mountain. I feel I cannot trust anyone at the moment, not with my emotional safety. And I desperately need to feel safe again before I can truly heal.
'You have the ability to recreate my heart after the company broke it when you all threw me aside for the Arkenstone. Or you could be the one responsible for shattering it completely. I so dearly wish for the first option: then we can be together. Forever. The second option will destroy me. I don't think I could recover a second time from my 'safety net' if you so choose to cast me aside.
'I need to know you have changed: I need to be able to trust you again so I can heal. Please, ukhbab mudtuê. Am I able to trust you with all of me?'
There was no signature. Thorin did not need one, though. He knew who had penned the note, and could read her anger within the first few paragraphs. His eyes narrowed and he turned to glance at the chair where Donnabelle's mithril shirt hung.
If his wife had not been pierced, then how could he explain all the blood? Where had the blood… His anger simmered down a little. He returned his attention to the note in his hand. Donnabelle had been the one to enter his office that afternoon. She had been curious and had started snooping through his desk. She had found his note and had probably taken it with her when she left.
He read over her note once more. How dare she insinuate that he was only thinking of himself? When he had penned the second question, he was thinking of the entire company. All of them were grieving for the loss of their burglar. They all wanted her back.
But… what if they forced her to return and made it that much worse? Did he truly believe Donnabelle would hide from them deliberately?
He read the letter once more. There was no mention of the child she carried. A muscle jumped in his jaw. She didn't have the decency to tell him what he most feared: she'd lost their child due to her folly. She had done what she had warned him not to do. Donnabelle had been reckless and it had cost him his child and a future with his wife.
A knock came at his office door. "Uncle? Are you in there?" The crown prince opened the door and stuck his head in. Thorin levelled his gaze at his oldest nephew.
"Get out," the king barely raised his voice. "Before I throw you out."
Fíli frowned. "Uncle?" Thorin's glare was enough to send the blond prince scampering for the door.
ACIEACIE
The following afternoon, Thorin was still fuming at the letter Donnabelle had left on his desk. Not even supervising the clearing and reinforcement of the lesser used (but still needed) chambers had not helped his mood. So he was drawn to the training grounds where Dwalin was training with the dwarrows from the Iron Hills. The bald warrior crossed his arms over his chest.
"What brings you to the training grounds today, my King?" Dwalin asked. When Thorin grunted low in his throat, the corner of the burly warrior's lips lifted slightly. "Are you wanting to trounce someone?"
Thorin grunted again. Dwalin raised an eyebrow at his friend and brother-in-arms before he pointed to an angry dwarf that had just finished a spar with another dwarf. "Vent your anger on him." The Mountain King turned to look at his captain and raised his own eyebrow. "That dwarf has a lot of anger issues himself. He's faced two of my best trainees and trounced them both within ten minutes each. Good match, I'd say."
Thorin nodded slightly and moved to where his opponent was cleaning his knife. The dark-haired king did not recognise the dwarf, but that did not matter as long as he helped vent some of the king's ire.
"Do you know how to use that?" Thorin asked with a sneer and a quick flick of his chin. The dwarf looked and narrowed his blue eyes.
"It's deadly," the dwarf grunted.
"Your weapon of choice?"
The dwarf stood and twirled the knife around and into the position he normally held it in. The blade faced outward along his forearm. With his left hand, he drew out his hand and a half blade. "I'm going to break that pretty nose of yours."
Thorin smirked. "You believe you can get that close?"
"Watch me."
The pair of them swung into action. Neither could really get close to the other, yet they both relished the chance to best their opponent. Dwalin observed the match with interest. Both Thorin and his opponent were vastly different with how they fought and held their weapons. The king held his dwarven broadsword in his predominate right hand and had picked up a shield with his left while the smaller dwarf held a knife in his right hand and his short sword with his left. Thorin would be rooted to the ground with each of his attacks whereas his opponent was light on his feet and never really stayed in one place. A moving target was much harder to hit, after all. And it appeared the smaller dwarf had no preference when it came to a predominate hand after Thorin had knocked the short sword out of his opponent's hand. The smaller dwarf switched his knife to his left hand, spun around to gather his misplaced sword up again, and struck out with it held securely in his right.
And neither opponent would get close enough to get a kill shot in. The pair fought for nearly an hour and a half without either one getting the upper hand on the other. Sometime during the fight, the other trainees paused in their own mock duels to watch their king face of an opposing dwarf no one really knew the name of. Dwalin soon dismissed them from gawking too long at the spar between the two opponents.
The burly warrior had no doubt that Thorin could win the spar. Yet with the way the pair of them were going, he had a niggling sense at the back of his mind that perhaps the younger dwarf could surprise him (and Thorin) by winning the match. And he did not think the king would like that rumour to spread around Erebor about how he had been trounced by a youngling.
A number of the company had made their way to the training halls when they heard that Thorin was training with a guard. (There was no way that Dwalin could get rid of them.)
"Who's that he fighting?" Nori asked.
"That… that's Dina," Ori responded.
"Who's Dina?"
"Dina's the dam that works with me in the library."
Thorin found himself looking over his opponent carefully. Did Ori say the dwarf was a dam named Dinna? He caught sight of the two beads his opponent wore – a marriage braid and bead hung from her left temple and a Durin bead adorned a simple braid on the right – and the small tip of a pointed ear sticking out behind her marriage braid. And suddenly, he was on the defensive. It did not take much for the dwarrowdam to get the upper hand on the dwarven king.
Dwalin wanted to rush in and defend his king after the man had been off-set and lost his shield by the name Ori had given his opponent. Thorin backed away quickly from the furious (yet not as powerful) swings of Donnabelle.
"Dwalin, don't you dare," both opponents called when they caught sight of the warrior gripping his axes.
"She will not kill me," Thorin added as he took hold of the dam's thrusting sword. He pulled it out of her grasp and sent her sprawling to the floor.
She quickly rolled over and kicked his advancing blade out of his hand. He gave a slight smirk and went to hit the floor beside her head. She caught his right hand and swept his feet from out beneath him. He stumbled and landed on the floor beside her. Donnabelle was quick to twist the hand (and arm) she held up behind his back and had her knees positioned on the small of his back and left arm.
She placed her free hand on the back of his neck and leaned down. "Thorin, son of Thráin, I'm still mad at you," she hissed quietly.
He moved slightly under her grip and her knee slid off his left arm. She eased the pressure on his back and right arm. "Yes," he returned, just as quietly. "But you still love me."
"Fool that I am, yes."
Donnabelle got up off Thorin and gathered her discarded weapons. Before she left the training hall, she turned on the company and snapped, "Don't you dare let him follow me." Most of the company frowned at that command and Nori made to follow after the petite woman. Balin held up his hand and placed it on Nori's chest to stop the spymaster from leaving.
Dwalin moved to Thorin's side and helped the other dwarf up. "Was that really Dinna?" the bald dwarf asked.
"No. That wasn't Frérin's Dinna," Thorin responded quietly before he began to move toward the exit.
"Then who was it?"
The king stopped and turned back to the company. "She is a dwarrowdam we need to help."
"But who is she?"
Thorin set his jaw and turned his back on the company. He knew exactly who it was, and he felt his heartache grow as his anger simmered and died. His hands clenched into fists. "Does it really matter what her name is?" He didn't mean to yell. Licking his lips, he took in a deep, calming breath. Releasing it, he left the hall to head back to his chambers to wash off the sweat he'd built up from the fight.
Dwalin watched Thorin stalk away and turned sharply at Ori. "Was it Dina or Dinna?"
"Dina," Ori responded. "Why?"
"Dinna was Frérin's One. We lost her at the Battle of Azanulbizar," Balin responded as he gazed in the direction that Thorin had gone in.
AN:
Nungbâha = loveable idiot
ukhbab mudtuê = forger of my heart
