Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything you recognize belongs to either the genius of J.R.R. Tolkien, or Peter Jackson or to the singers/bands whose songs titles (no lyrics) are quoted in this story.

This chapter's title belongs to the amazing Neil Young.

Genre : Romance

Rating: M (to be safe)

Pairing : OC/Thorin

Note : Thank you to all that fav or follow this story, and to my great reviewers. Please keep on reviewing, I like to know what you think :)

In this chapter, there's a quote I took from Gandalf in "Return of the King"... I'm sure you can find it ;)

Chapter 4 : Heart of gold

After the first encounter with dwarves at the market, Leann insisted that Dwia's father identity should absolutely be kept a secret. The two women were the only ones to know the truth.

Mixed couples between different races of Middle Earth were generally disapproved and frowned upon. That was the main reason why they were so rare.

And children born from these unions were rejected. Some extremists even proclaimed they were unnatural and evil.

So Dwia kept a low profile on the matter, even if she was not ashamed of her parentage. She was just cautious and kept her ears hidden beneath her long locks of hair at all times. She felt a bit paranoid some times, as she took the habit to often notice how people were looking at her or talking about her.

As the days passed and Dwia grew up towards adulthood, she realized it would not be possible for her to stay in Esgaroth all her life. With the passing of each season, she felt more and more misplaced.

Leann and her Grandfather tried to reason with Ebor. They wanted to convince him to let Dwia enjoy her teenage years a bit longer, before starting to try to get her married. Her uncle was not keen on the idea. He wanted Dwia out of the house as soon as possible, and hopefully, the mother would follow her daughter.

In the meantime, Dwia was spending more time with Bran, mostly at the smithy where he had started his apprenticeship. She was fascinated by the forge and the work on different metals. Bran let her practice with some of the tools when his master was not around.

One morning, Bran was working on a piece of iron to mend a cauldron, his brown hair falling on his face and his hazel eyes glittering with the light of the fire As usual, Dwia was watching, standing nearby.

It was summer and the weather was very hot. They were both sweating under the heat of the fire.

"I hope I will get to work on armors, swords and shields one day" said Bran between two strikes.

Dwia smiled.

"Aye. It would be amazing to be able to make a full armor... for a knight maybe" Dwia said, her gaze lost in the red fire.

"My shieldmaiden! » teased Bran, curtseying mockingly.

She smirked at him.

"Dwarfs are the best at this" he added, resuming his work.

Then, he looked behind his shoulder to check they were indeed alone, and whispered: "To have a dwarf master would be amazing."

"I agree. But they keep their craft very secret, and would never teach a human" she remarked.

Bran nodded and let down his tools to reach for water.

Dwia had anticipated it and reached for the jug at the same time. Their hands touched, his larger one hot with the fire against her smaller colder one.

They looked into each other's eyes for a second. Then, Bran seized her hand gently and raised it to his cheek.

"You're burning" she said feeling his hot skin prickling her fingers.

He smiled, put her fingers to his lips and kissed them. The gesture was very soft and intimate.

Dwia was so surprised she didn't move. The feeling was agreeable, but she felt really uncomfortable with the gesture. She didn't know why.

She just felt she did not want Bran to behave this way towards her.

She was paralyzed as she watched her friend's face coming closer, bending towards her own.

They jumped at the same time at the violent sound of a hammer falling into the fire.

"Ühyùbîr* !" (*Attention!) cried Dwia as Bran hurried to remove it.

Once he had done it, he faced her once more, a baffled expression on his face:

"What did you say?"

Dwia was speechless, stepped back, grumbled a "see you later" and ran as far as she could in the street.

Her heart was racing as fast as her feet.

Strange words and strange faces had been plaguing her dreams for a few weeks now.

She had often this vision of a sort of village composed of cave-like dwellings, inhabited by a community of dwarves. She didn't know if it was real or true, or if it was the way her mind imagined the life of dwarves.

In the dream, she was one of them, and spoke fluent Khuzdul, the dwarf secret language.

But how could she have learnt it? She had never heard one word of it.

And now, these strange harsh and foreign words had come out naturally from her mouth.

Dwia was lost, afraid but fascinated at the same time, as she searched for answers in these dreams, these visions.

She kept her fears to herself and withdrew into her mind.

One thing was certain: she would never find the answers to her questions by staying in Esgaroth.

As she slowed her pace, she thought about what had just happened: Bran had wanted to kiss her ! He had kissed her hand and would have done more had they not been interrupted.

It felt wrong, unnatural. He was her best friend, and even if the attention was pleasing, she could not let him think that she returned his affections.

It would be wrong to let him believe they could have a future together.

He deserved a good wife, a human wife, and a simple and happy life.

When she reached her house, she was out of breath. She found her mother and uncle talking quietly and seriously at the kitchen table.

Leann had been crying, dry tracks digging the faint lines on her face.

"Dwia..." she said in tired voice "Come here, dear."

"What happened? Are you feeling unwell, Mama?"

"Your grandfather's ill. The doctor is with him now."

It took a month for her Grandfather to fade and finally die.

The slow process of his disappearance burdened the house with a veil of sadness. Dwia, her mother and uncle went to their everyday business in slow motion, punctuating their days with visits to the small bedroom upstairs.

One afternoon, Dwia took a bowl of warm broth to her Grandfather. He was awake, half-sitting on the bed, looking out the window and smiled when she entered. His skin was ghostly pale.

"My child …" he said in a frail voice "come sit next to me."

Dwia put the bowl on the nightstand and sat on the side of the bed.

"My little woman, you are not a child anymore." he stated. "You are fierce and eager to live as your mother was at your age. It saddens me that I will not be able to see you grow up, get married, and have children..."

"I don't want you to go..." she whispered, her eyes full of tears "Don't leave us alone".

"I will not say "do not weep" for not all tears are an evil" he added, his face more serious now.

She took one of his feeble hands in hers, and stayed at his side for some time, watching him resting.

Dwia was afraid of his passing, that things would change, that she would be thrown into a woman's life that she did not want, that she would have to flee so soon, so young still.

He was the closest person she had to a father. He had guided her, encouraged her, supported her in her in her fears, and soothed her in her sorrows.

That night, there was not a sound outside the house, and she could not go to sleep.

She feared the coming of death during the night, even if she knew she could not prevent it.

In the dream she had in the morning, strong arms were holding her while she wept, comforting her, repeating like a lullaby:

"I'm here. I won't let go, Nathith*" said the voice. (*daughter)

When she woke up, her mother's arms were around her, and she was trembling.

He had passed quietly during the night, leaving the two women more alone than ever.

"You're even smaller than a dwarf, big ears!" a boy from the market yelled at her, nastily.

Dwia felt her face flushing with embarrassment and fled the store she was standing close to. She was not one for confrontation; she only felt shame and fear at being insulted in such a way.

She was so scared her secret would be revealed one day, and that she would be rejected by everyone, laughed at, perhaps even hated …

She walked very quickly to her house, clutching her basket fiercely, tears of shame running down her cheeks.

"What happened?" her mother asked her, seeing her daughter distressed.

"I don't fit anywhere. I'm a freak! "Dwia yelled, throwing the basket across the kitchen, smashing a glass in the process as well as her hand.

Leann guessed she had been receiving insults again from that awful boy at the market.

Dwia rushed the stairs up to her room, banged and locked the door behind her.

Leann knew she needed sometime to settle down, her daughter's temper being easily set on fire.

In her room, Dwia was still crying, while the same worries assaulted her again: Why am I smaller than the others young women of my age? I want to grow up. Does it mean that I have the life of a dwarf? But I will then live perhaps two hundred years old! Everyone I know will be dead … like Grandfather …"

Her breathing started to quicken with the fear of being left alone, being left behind...

She would have to leave, to hide her difference, maybe find her other kin... but would they accept her?

It always came back to the same questions and worries.

Her hand was hurting with the cut from the glass, the red blood outstripping her closed fist.

She opened her left palm and stared at the large cut marring her white skin. A strange instinct seized her and she extended her right hand over her left palm.

The fingers of her right hand started to glitter and tingle. All her right hand was soon turning yellowish, causing both hands to feel a slight burn. Then, the yellow faded and when she looked at her cut again, it was gone.

Her left palm was cured and white, just as before.

She stared at her hands, astonished at what had happened and quickly put them behind her back. Leann knocked at the door at the same time.

She took a deep breath and got up to open the door.

"Did you tame the lion?" her mother asked teasing but her tone sweet, as she sat on the bed next to Dwia.

"Yes, I... I'm fine" she stammered.

"Let me see that poor hand" Leann said taking Dwia's left hand in hers.

"I didn't cut myself" Dwia said very quickly, retrieving her hand and putting it in her pocket "I thought I did, but I didn't".

Leann smiled and stroked her daughter's long hair.

"Don't pay attention to the comments of others. You are beautiful and unique, and I will not let you think otherwise."

There was a short silence, and Dwia said nervously:

"At least, I don't have a beard."

They both chuckled at that.

Dwia kept to herself the secret of the yellow gift. She was proud to have this ability to heal herself so easily. She felt like she was special, but in a good way this time, in a magical way.

What she feared was that if others were to hear of her gift, they would try to use it for their own purposes.

So, it was her secret.

The days went on, and her uncle began to talk again of marrying her soon.
As pain of his father's death fade, Ebor began to focus again on his business and his task as head of the family.

He had married three years previous, and his wife was expecting their first child. They all lived in the same house now, and it was a bit crowed. Leann and her daughter now shared the same room, Dwia's bedroom being transformed into a nursery.

Dwia felt like she was suffocating in this house. Not a day passed without a remark on her appearance ("You should comb your hair, it looks like a bird nest") or her future ("You're getting too old to be unmarried still."). She fled the house whenever she could, to seek refuge and calm in the forest or on the banks of the lake, often with a book or a bow.

She was useless with a sword. Bran had tried to teach her but she could not attack properly, only dodge the strikes. She preferred the bow and had improved her aim greatly.

One late afternoon, she was sitting with Bran on the southern bank of the lake. The sun was low on the hills and the air almost chilly from the coming night.

They had never talked of their "almost kiss", but she supposed he was still attracted to her.

He was her best friend and she did not want to lose him, so she was avoiding the subject at all costs.

"I managed to get all the arrows on the same branch this morning." Dwia said proudly, giving him back her bow. Bran kept it in his house, pretending it was his, because she was not allowed to handle "men's weapons".

"You're getting better and better." he said smiling.

"I want to be able to defend myself…when I will need to" she said, staring at the water waving under the soft wind. "I don't want to feel helpless or depend on others when I will be on my own".

"You'll never be on your own." he said fiercely "I'll be at your side".

Dwia smiled at him and told him sadly:

"There will be a time where you won't". She got up, smoothed the side of her skirt, and looked at him seriously "You know I'm different. Everybody keeps throwing it at my face."

"To me, you aren't. You're just …you" he said, getting up also. Bran didn't know anything about her secrets, her legacy, her father... He was someone she would always love as a friend, someone loyal, at her side even in difficult times.

"You're sweet" she said, withdrawing from him, sensing the awkward conversation coming.

He extended his hand toward her face, but the bank being slippery he fell on his side, scratching his leg.

"Bran! Are you hurt?" she reached for him, helping him stand.

"It's just a scratch" he said looking at his leg.

Instinctively, she raised her right hand forward to his leg and waited. Nothing happened.

There was a moment of silence, then he asked her, a curious and amused look on his face:

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." she said, her face blank. She stepped away from him, not daring to cross his eyes and added "Come on, it's getting late".

Her gift had not worked on Bran.

Another question without answer.