Chapter 7
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. *sob*
A/N: This chapter will briefly touch on some issues that might be a bit of a sore spot. Before anyone loses their temper at our Durins, please remember that racism between dwarves, humans, and elves was a very prevalent theme in Tolkien's works and in Middle Earth. Deorynn's entire situation is a testament to that. Her goal is to make a dent in the philosophy, and she will; but meanwhile, even our favorite dwarves are put off by the idea of a dwarf being with anyone other than a dwarf. Try not to be too angry with them, eh? I think they handle it pretty well, all things considered.
Also, I imagine some of Deorynn's behavior in this chapter (and indeed, from here on) will seem a bit odd or confusing: I'd encourage you to remember this is a woman who's never had a real friend, and has been on the road, completely alone, for about forty years. She's unaccustomed to dealing with others in any capacity beyond rescuing them; which, while she is kind and loyal, will make for some interesting adjustments as she learns to be part of a group.
Thorin sat staring at the young woman before him, fighting down an inexplicable sense of irritation. He was torn, in a way that was wholly unfamiliar to him. The proper dwarf in him, the king and politician and lord, was repulsed by this girl, this bastard child, this….half-breed; while the warrior and leader in him was impressed by her pluck and her courage. The fatherly part of him—the part that Fíli and Kíli had awakened and spent the last eighty-some years developing—was horrified at what she had lived through and the rejection she faced at every turn. And the rebellious, non-conformist part of him cheered at her determination to prove everyone wrong, even if they never knew it. But still. Half-breed. It was an offense against nature! He growled internally; he was not accustomed to being of several minds at once and having trouble choosing between them. Kíli cleared his throat, and Thorin was brought back to the present, where Deorynn was sitting quietly, her gaze having not left his, though she was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable.
What did all this confusion accomplish? He did not need to give her anything, not just yet. His debt to her remained, regardless of her identity, but he had at least until he re-took Erebor to think about how to handle it and what to do about her once things settled down. For now, he had a quest to focus on, and he had answers to the questions that concerned him most: the girl was likely not a threat (if she was being truthful, which her eyes said she was) to him or his kin, and he could just leave her here in Rivendell until he figured out what to do with her.
"Well, girl. You have given me much to think on," he began, noting the way her face froze for the tiniest second, and forced the words past his lips. "I can assure you, for my part, that you'll not be rejected based on something you had no control of, and instead judged for your actions. As to your declaration of fealty; I cannot accept it. Not right now. For now, all I can offer you is that I need time to think."
The girl in front of him swallowed, clearly hiding her disappointment, and inclined her head in respect. "Thank you, sir." Thorin nodded back and rose, signaling the end of the discussion. Deorynn and Kíli made for the door, the latter pausing when he realized his brother was staying behind. Fíli gave him a grin. "I'll be right behind you, brother." Kíli nodded and left.
Thorin turned to his eldest nephew, curious as to why he'd stayed and interested to hear what he had to say. He didn't allow his sister-sons to speak to him however they wished; but both of them were growing wiser as they got older, and Fíli often had perspectives that Thorin did not. He had learned that it was becoming more and more beneficial to him to consider what his boys said, especially if they felt strongly enough to seek him out about it. He sat again, motioning to Fíli to do the same.
"Fíli?"
The young man fingered the edge of his braided moustache thoughtfully. "I am…confused, Uncle. The idea of a half-human, half-dwarf makes my stomach churn; but I like Deorynn. I respect her and admire what she's done with what life has given her. Part of me can understand why the Iron Hills Dwarfs mocked and rejected her—honestly, it surprises me not at all—but I find myself relating more to her than them. I've seen firsthand what it's like to be scoffed at and disrespected for that which you cannot change—how many times has Kíli been called an elfling for enjoying the outdoors or being better at archery than swordplay?—yet his experience has been tame next to hers. I just…feel many opposing things, and it confuses me." He looked at Thorin as if he expected him to have an answer that would satisfy all the thoughts bouncing around in his head, and Thorin nearly sighed. Was he not struggling with exactly the same problem?
"Unfortunately, Fíli, I cannot give you what you seek," he replied, "for I am as torn as you are. It's as if there are many things about her to admire; but this part of you keeps coming back to the fact that she's not like us at all. She's something entirely different, something that if not for her reputation and actions regarding Kíli, I would certainly consider inferior to me. Perhaps it is a flaw in our race that we so easily despise others; but I cannot say for certain. All I know for sure is that I'll not treat her poorly because of the sins of her parents, no more than I would treat Kíli poorly because he is different from you. Does that satisfy you?"
Fíli nodded. "It does, for now. I feel better knowing I'm not the only one confused by her."
At this, Thorin did grimace. "No, my boy, you certainly are not the only one."
A fair-haired, rather small elf met Deorynn in the hall outside the study appropriated to the dwarves. "Are you Lady Deorynn?" he asked, eyes flicking between her and Kíli with something akin to fascination. Clearly he'd never seen a dwarf before, male or female. Deorynn might have laughed, if her meeting with Thorin didn't weigh so heavily on her mind.
"Yes? Why?"
The youngling bowed. "My name is Faelar. I have instructions to show you to your room, miss."
Deorynn nodded. "Well then. Lead on, Master Faelar. Kíli, do you care to come along?" The young dwarf agreed, and fell in step beside her as Faelar hastened to reassure Deorynn that she could ask for directions anytime she needed them, from him or any other elf here.
Her room wasn't far, only a couple halls over from the study, and Faelar bowed as he opened the door for her, standing aside as she went in. The room was as lovely as the one in the Healing Wards had been, and more open—a balcony and large windows facing the south, high arches and pleasing colors surrounding a bed, end table, desk, and two chairs near the fireplace. The bed was larger than Deorynn needed, for certain, but it was luxuriously soft and definitely better than sleeping on the ground. She smiled at Faelar, about to ask him to pass her gratitude and compliments to Lord Elrond, when her gaze landed on a small bundle next to the foot of the bed, and she froze.
She bent beside it, going to her knees in the plush carpet as she fingered the knives in the worn leather belt carefully—restored and cleaned of orc filth and her own blood, they gleamed in the morning light. They were all there—the belt of throwing knives, plus her bracer and boot knives, and back and side sheathed daggers. Even her skinning knife had found its way back to her. Her bow was there too, oiled and polished, accompanied by her quiver refilled with goose-fletched arrows, straight and strong. She looked up at Faelar, who was grinning unabashedly at her reaction, boyish enthusiasm coming through as he explained, "Lord Elrond wanted to surprise you; they sent a group out to look for your gear yesterday, after you told him the orcs had stolen it. They didn't find your pack, but these were being kept with the largest of the filthy creatures, and they cleaned and sharpened them for you and everything!" Deorynn laughed breathlessly as he chattered on excitedly, drawing one of the daggers in awe, its weight and leather grip familiar in her hand. The things in her pack—clothes and salves and food and money—that could all be replaced; but these…..these she had forged herself, and were the only thing she carried that she had any real attachment to. They symbolized who she was—her independence, her choice to live as a warrior—and they were her tools by which she made lives better.
She would never be able to repay Lord Elrond this kindness.
She looked up at Faelar, who had finally stopped talking; then at Kíli, who was smiling widely. Laughing, she stood and addressed the elfling. "Faelar, will you find out a time when it would be convenient for me to go thank Lord Elrond? I must bring him my gratitude personally, for this gift is far too great to pass in a message through someone else." Faelar nodded eagerly. "I shall! And meanwhile, is there anything else you require?"
Deorynn shook her head. "No, thank you. I will be with the other dwarves this afternoon; you can find me wherever they are."
Faelar bowed and left the room, visibly calming himself and restoring the emotionless detachment most of his race employed so well as he walked out the door. But Deorynn wasn't looking; her attention had returned to her weapons.
"I can't believe they got them back," she murmured.
Kíli looked over her shoulder at the throwing knives. "You carry nearly as many as Fíli does," he observed with a chuckle, reaching for one of the shining blades. "May I?" Deorynn nodded. "Of course, feel free."
He took one of the small blades out of the sheath and turned it about in his hand, gauging the grip, the weight of it. After a minute, he nodded his approval. "These are good knives," he stated. "Did you forge them yourself? I've never seen any quite like them before. And the etching—the rune for justice…nice touch."
Deorynn smiled as he referred to the symbol she carved into each small blade. "Well, that one is Justice," she drew the one next to it. "This one is Honor. They each have a different rune, each of the twelve throwing knives, at least." She ticked them off on her fingers, pleased at Kíli's obvious interest. She'd not had the opportunity to share this with anyone else, and she found she enjoyed telling him. "Justice, Honor, Courage, Loyalty, Honesty, Strength, Purity, Love, Kindness, Integrity, Compassion, and Wisdom. I always thought there was something poetic about inscribing on the knives that bring our enemies' deaths, the very values they seek to destroy in life. Plus it reminds me of the person I want to be." Kíli looked impressed as he murmured, "seems to me you're well on your way, Deorynn. Well on your way indeed."
She let him study the daggers for a moment, as well, before standing and sheathing the two side daggers to her belt. "You're welcome to practice with them later, if you throw knives; but for now, I'd really like to meet the rest of the group that saved my life!"
Kíli rose with a smile. "Ah yes, we'd best get back. This way, my friend."
He led the girl to the common room where most of the dwarves were gathered. Balin was with Thorin, and Fíli still hadn't showed up, but everyone else was there, laughing rather loudly about a story Nori had just finished relating about Ori—the one about the inkwell and a sleeping, unsuspecting Fíli, if Kíli wasn't mistaken—so he shouted to get their attention.
"Oi! You lot! Look who's up and about!"
With nine pairs of eyes on her, Deorynn seemed to shrink back momentarily, until Dwalin stood and walked over. The girl, seeming to sense a challenge, straightened and instantly lost the frightened look, though her eyes were still almost comically wide. Kíli marveled at the change; so she was afraid of being looked at, but not afraid of being threatened? Of course, he knew Dwalin meant no threat; but she clearly did not know that as her stance widened almost imperceptibly and her fingers twitched in the direction of her daggers. Reaching her, Dwalin studied her for a moment, noticing her suspicion, before smiling his approval and roaring, "Well lads! I must admit I had no idea that sack held such a treasure when I lopped it free of that warg and carried it a mile!" Several dwarves laughed, while Deorynn looked simultaneously pleased and embarrassed. Kíli took pity on her and punched Dwalin in the shoulder as he introduced him. "Deorynn, this is Dwalin. He and Balin are dear friends of our family. Dwalin, this is Deorynn." The warrior clapped the girl on the shoulder in greeting, and she smiled tentatively. Quickly, Kíli ran through the rest of the names for her benefit, as she visibly struggled to remember them all. "Don't worry," he laughed. "You'll learn them soon enough."
They sat, and Gloin, wasting no time, asked the girl pointedly, "So girl. What exactly are you? We've been trying to figure it out, but you don't look like any dwarf lass to me."
Deorynn blushed, but met his gaze squarely and said loudly, "My mother was a dwarf of Erebor, my father a man of Rohan. Apparently, I inherited my mother's height, but not her beard, slight though it was."
The reaction to her announcement was as varied as it was entertaining, for Kíli. Ori fell out of his chair. Oín (who had his trumpet to his ear, and so heard the entire exchange) and Gloin practically squawked in indignation, while Bofur just started laughing. Bifur looked surprised, and signed something to his brother in Iglishmêk. While Bofur thought how to answer him, Deorynn spoke up. "No Master Bifur, I'm not ashamed of it, any more than you are ashamed of the circumstances of your own birth. I've done enough to be ashamed of on my own that I need not add to the list something which was no fault of mine; indeed, which is really no fault at all. It's just where I came from."
Bifur signed to her this time.
You know Iglishmêk?
Aye, she signed back. And Khuzdul as well. I'm no barbarian.
He grinned. Clearly. Forgive me, my lady.
There is nothing to forgive. May we be friends?
Aye.
The exchange had been watched by Kíli, Bofur, and Bombur, who all laughed heartily.
The ice was well and truly broken.
Deorynn broke away from the group a couple of hours later. She needed some quiet; they were a bit overwhelming all together, though she anticipated she'd like them all very much as she learned more. Even perhaps Gloin, if he ever gave her a chance; he and his brother had very deliberately refused to acknowledge her presence since she'd told them who she was, and a couple of the others had followed their example, albeit less pointedly.
Anyway, she wanted to explore this place.
It was truly beautiful, she thought as she wandered aimlessly outside. Soft, in a way very little of her life had been, graceful and intrinsically good. Smiling, she settled down in the middle of a small footbridge which ran over a brook that danced and fell over the rocks; the sound was merry and nearly musical. Divesting herself of her boots and stockings, she dangled her feet over the edge and into the cool water, almost giggling at the sensation. She leaned back on her hands, giving her ribs a bit of a break—they were feeling rather achy—and letting the sun bathe her face in its gentle warmth.
Yes, she decided. She could get used to this.
"It's a lovely place, is it not?" a voice startled her out of her reverie. She jumped, instinctively reaching for her daggers, then stopping as soon as she registered who was speaking.
It was the Shireling. His unruly hair curled over his forehead and stopped just above kindly blue eyes, which were currently sparkling with mirth, like a child who'd just pulled a prank and was quite proud of how it had turned out. Her lips curled into a grin, and she answered him. "Indeed, I've never seen its equal, and I've done a fair amount of traveling."
The hobbit motioned to the bridge beside her. "May I join you?" She nodded, and he sat. "I hear you've done quite a lot of traveling. Fíli and Kíli told us who you are—Lelaenil."
The girl sobered a bit. "Yes. Yes, I've done a lot of traveling. But please, call me Deorynn. Lelaenil is just a title others have given me. The orcs call me Mangath, did you know?" she looked amused. "It means 'phantom'. Apparently I'm quite terrifying to them. Which, let me tell you," she leaned close, as if sharing a secret, "does wonders for a girl's confidence."
The hobbit laughed out loud at that, then extended his hand. "I am Bilbo Baggins."
She shook it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Baggins."
"Please," he said, "call me Bilbo."
Deorynn nodded. "So, if you don't mind my asking; what are you doing with a group of thirteen dwarves and a wizard?"
Bilbo laughed again. "That, my dear, is a story I'm not sure I'm allowed to tell you in full. However, I shall be most happy to share with you the story of how I met my obnoxious companions." And he launched into a tale that started with a fish dinner for one and ended with Fíli handing out ales while walking on top of the dining room table—by the time he was finished, Deorynn's ribs hurt rather badly from laughing.
Kíli found them on the bridge a couple of hours later when he came looking to tell them supper was prepared, and they continued chattering to one another like old friends as they walked together to the Dining Hall.
