Yeeesssssss prreeecccciooooussss thheeerrreee is fuel precious!
Enjoy!
~Two months later~
"Do you, Prince Thorin, swear to govern and rule the dwarves of Erebor, pertaining to the laws and customs of your Forefathers?"
"I do," Thorin replied, slightly fidgeting. He had been on his knees for the past few minutes of the ceremony, and he was starting to get rather restless.
Today was Thorin's 18th Birth day, and being an Heir of Durin, was now officially recognised as next in line to the throne of Erebor. Naturally, this called for nice clothing and a giant ceremony where he'd just repeat the same thing over and over.
Of course, it wasn't just that. He was basically saying that he'd rule Erebor once Thrain and Thror were dead. And Mahal forbid that would happen until he was a lot older.
"Do you swear," Thror paused, adding emphasis on the last word. "To execute Law and Justice fairly—to show Mercy in your judgements but not falter from your true purpose?"
"I swear,"
"And do you swear, to preserve and protect Erebor's legacy and its people, even at the cost of your own life?"
"I swear." Thorin caught Frerin's eye, who gave him an encouraging smile.
"Stand up,"
Thorin rose, and looked into his Grandfather's eyes. He stood proud and tall, like a true prince.
"From this hour henceforth," Thror stated. "Thorin son of Thrain will now be truly recognised as an Heir of Durin, and now has the right to claim the throne of Erebor after Prince Thrain. May Mahal smile down upon you all, and bless your fortunes."
There was a thunder of applause from every dwarf that had gathered to see the ceremony. Balin clapped vigorously, as Dwalin whooped loudly, before being half-heartedly hushed by Fundin.
"I'm so proud of you, my eldest," Freya murmured, sweeping his hair over his ear.
"I couldn't have done it without you," Thorin confessed. They had stayed up late many nights, rehearsing the ceremony over and over.
As soon as the clapping died down, Thrain stepped forward.
"Now, to perform a less formal duty," he said, to the chuckles of the dwarves. "Prince Thorin is now of age, and today is the day of his Weapons Choosing. Please kneel down again,"
Thorin did as he was told. Frerin looked at him, his eyes clearly saying, Sucker.
Just wait till you're 18, Thorin stared back.
"Today marks a very important day for this dwarf," Thrain continued. "Not only does he receive his own weapon, but he receives his responsibility. The Weapons Choosing ceremony marks the Coming of Age for a dwarf, and gives them the right to attain the full responsibilities of an adult dwarf. Master Thiznen, please come forward,"
A dwarf with greying hair and red ceremonial armour came forth.
"Do you believe Prince Thorin is ready for his Weapons Choosing?"
"I do," Thiznen nodded. "He has shown exemplary work when handling weapons, and he is an obedient and diligent student. I am proud to have trained him."
"Then bring forth the weapon," A servant walked forward, carrying a large box draped in a dark blue silk robe. Thorin itched to rush over and find out its contents, but he abstained himself.
"It is customary that the father figure of the dwarf forges the weapon," Thrain said, as he rolled the silk off to reveal an ornately carved, mithril box. He opened the box and drew out a dark leather sheath. "May I present…Deathless."
As if on cue, Thorin's hand curled around the visible handle of the weapon, and drew it from its sheath. It was a sword, ornately forged and beautifully wrought. Both sides of the sword were sharpened to a deadly point. His personal crest was carved above the cross-guard—the bar of metal that would protect his hand when sword-fighting.
"This sword is named after our ancestor, Durin the Deathless, the eldest of the Seven Fathers of Dwarves, named so for his longevity. May this sword serve you well."
"Thank you Father," Thorin said. "May your beard ever grow longer."
"I'm proud of you, son," Thrain muttered in his ear, before announcing. "And now, for my favourite part of the celebration—the party,"
The crowd of dwarves dispersed, chatting amongst each other excitedly as they made their way to the main hall, where the banquet would be held. Only three dwarves remained.
"Congratulations, Thorin," Balin smiled, patting him on the back. "How do you feel about your weapon?"
"It's great!" Thorin exclaimed, holding up the leather sheath. "It's so beautiful, and carefully crafted,"
"You'll have no problem chopping heads off with that beauty," Dwalin agreed. "I can't wait for my Weapons Choosing,"
"Nor can I!" Frerin bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet.
"Can't wait for your own bow and quiver, can't you?" Dwalin teased lightly. Ever since the day Frerin nearly impaled Dwalin's hand onto one of the training posts, the bulky dwarf had developed a new respect for the cheeky brunette, and they became fast friends.
"C'mon," Thorin grinned. "Let's go join the others at the banquet."
The main hall was the largest area in Erebor. Mainly banquets and feasts were held there, as usually, all the dwarves of Erebor were invited. The day before, large stone tables and chairs were disappearing in and out of the huge double doors, and the royal cooks and their servants were rushing around, preparing for his Weapons Choosing and Heir Recognition Day. When the foursome arrived, the dwarves were already roaring with laughter as they threw food around the place.
"Wow," Frerin dodged a piece of bread sailing through the air. "This is impressive."
"I know, "Like Frerin, this was also Thorin's first "whole Erebor celebration and banquet". He had been to smaller banquets with only his relatives, but it was nothing compared to the sight in front of him now.
"One good thing about coming of age," Balin said. "Is that you can drink alcohol now,"
"Why at such a young age?" Frerin scratched his head, which jangled with the many dark green beads their Mother had forcibly braided into his hair.
"Humans start drinking around that age," Dwalin shrugged. "Why can't we?"
"Yeah, but they mature faster,"
"But they're stupider."
As Dwalin and Frerin bickered good-naturedly, Balin decided to take Thorin to sample the ale.
"Try a bit at first," The older dwarf handed him the large wooden mug, which was half full. "Can't really explain the taste,"
Thorin tentatively took a small sip, and then chugged it all down.
"Take it easy," Balin warned.
"Wow, this stuff is great!" Thorin banged the mug down hard onto the table. "More please!"
"That's my boy!" Thrain called from the head of the table. Freya smacked him, the hint of a smile on her lips. Dis was not present at the celebration, as she was too young.
"I wouldn't take too much, Thorin," Balin took the mug and began refilling it from one of the nearby barrels. "If you drink too much, you become drunk."
"Yeah, yeah," Thorin waved his statement off as he received the full mug. "I'll be careful," He gulped the ale down and began to refill it again. "What could possibly go wrong?"
"Everything," Balin muttered as Thorin drank.
"MORE!" Thorin slammed the mug down with all his might, just inches from Dwalin's hand.
"I'm not giving you anymore," Balin crossed his arms. "If you want some, go get it yourself,"
"And that I shall!" Thorin fumbled with the tap for a few seconds, but managed to pour the ale into the mug. "Why is everything slightly blurry?"
Balin sighed exasperatedly.
"This is the funniest thing I have had the fortune to witness," Frerin commented, as he ate a whole apple pie. Freya had lifted the ban on the dessert, and had ordered the cooks to bake it for the celebration.
Lots of it.
"How many has he had?" Dwalin asked.
"Seven," Balin said grimly. "He's strong—on my first time, I think I started becoming very philosophical on my third."
"It's already starting to affect him," Frerin said. "I wonder what kind of drunk he'll be."
"Come on, my friends," Thorin tried to wrap his arm around Frerin, but stumbled. "Let's drink and be merry!"
"Happy drunk, maybe?" Dwalin suggested.
"There are lights in your hair, Frerin," Thorin squinted at the emerald beads. "Why is that?"
"Ummm…they're fairies."
"Fairies!?" Thorin threw his head back and laughed. "Don't be ridiculous! That's so funny!"
"Happy drunk," Balin and Dwalin confirmed at the same time.
"Haha, Balin, your beard looks funny. And why is there a spike on your head Dwalin?" He laughed again. His friends were so absurd sometimes.
"Okay, that's it," Someone was tugging the mug out of his hands.
"No," he wailed, trying to get it back. "I'm thirsty,"
"Have some water," Balin proceeded to empty the contents of the mug.
"But I don' wan' wa'er," His voice sounded funny. Why was that?
"It's been a long night," Someone took him firmly by the arm. "It's time you went to bed."
"Bed?" Thorin's head felt light, as if he was in the clouds. "I want to fly away, like a bird!"
"And you will," Thorin couldn't discern who was speaking anymore. His vision was getting blurrier and blurrier. "Fly high away."
And Thorin couldn't remember what followed.
Comments? Criticism? Both are welcome!
For the speech thingy, that was taken from an oath the English monarch have to say before they become the ruler. I just tweaked it a bit.
About the drunk scene, I took the information from various Wikianswer responses, and a few articles :)