A/N: I had a bit of fun with song lyrics :) I hope, you have a small laugh too :)
Cheers,
kkolmakov
Thorin felt like the last brainless lulkh. He had thought himself so clever before, so wise in his behaviour towards the woman, and look where it got him!
After the unfortunate mishap with the name of her sister, he had decided that the less he spoke to her, the better. But while they were waiting for the wizards to finish their conversation, and just before the first Warg jumped at the clearing, Thorin had had - as he thought then - a very reasonable realisation. She was after all just another member of his company. Surely, there was no need to treat her anyhow differently. Others did not. She was on friendly terms with Bofur and Nori, respected by Dori, led long conversations with Balin and Oin, Gloin liked her, Ori worshipped her. Fili and Kili looked up to her, just as they did with other distinguished warriors. Even the Halfling with all his limited understanding seemed to show no difference in his attitude towards her.
So, Thorin arrived at a conclusion that he was to treat her just as any other Dwarf. And he did. He observed her in a combat, and saw that she showed excellent skills. She fought with two battle axes, her double sliding hand blows were precise and graceful, and Thorin once again praised himself for appreciating her only as a fellow warrior. He offered her words of encouragement then, but her reaction confused him. Instead of accepting the praise, she stared at him, her slanted eyes widened.
With the arrival to the cursed Rivendell, the matters went from baffling to alarming. He asked her to join him at the dinner table. It seemed logical to him. He did not wish to share the table with the Elf and the Wizard alone, and her gender was a fitting excuse to invite her. For Elves, it would not be surprising. In their primitive ways, they thought a woman was to be separated from men, somehow singled out, and just as he expected a chair was added to their table for her.
And then she just had to go and behave inappropriately! First, she grabbed his hand at dinner! And on the following day she was telling him off! What was next? Would she demand him to submit to her the map and the key to Erebor?!
And now when she rushed out of the room, as much as toppling the unfortunate Halfling on the floor, Thorin felt his irritation was reaching its limit.
"Is everything alright?" the Hobbit asked, and Thorin turned away from him and continued smoking irkedly. He could hear the Halfling shuffle between his feet behind him, and then the Hobbit left. Thorin angrily puffed more smoke and grumbled under his breath.
By the evening the company had settled more comfortably. Meaning they started the fire, perhaps using the Elven furniture, and were now cooking sausages. Thorin had washed with them, in the fountain, as well as cleaned his clothes, and was now enjoying a pipe, half listening to Bofur's anecdotes. It was endlessly pleasant to feel that his hair was clean and rebraided. He hung his doublet and the waistcoat on the balcony railing, and dropped his head back on them, like a headroll. The stars shone above, and some uncharacteristically mawkish thoughts stirred in his mind.
"I have discovered some pickled onions, and some fresh bread in the Elven kitchen." Thorin whipped his head and looked at the woman. She stood by the entrance, a large basket in her hand. "They will go nicely with the sausages." She passed her loot to Fili and stepped closer to the fire.
The hair of coppered gold shone in the dancing light of the flame, freshly washed, and silken looking. She held her doublet in the other hand, only a soft tunic hugging her torso. Gone were the leather, fur collared waistcoat, and the brigandine. The light green of the garment, like a young Spring leaf, made her eyes seem brighter, and her lips redder.
The Dwarves cheered the food, and she smiled, and sat down between Bifur and Oin. She ate with appetite, laughing at Bofur's stories, bumping her shoulder to Nori's, and Thorin smoked, and smoked, trying to look at her as little as possible. He just could not summon what was affecting his mood.
And then singing started, and of course, quite quickly dancing as well. Pots, and kettles, spoons, and pans provided the rhythm and the tune, and clapping, and stomping joined in, and soon she was spinning, her arm looped through Gloin's.
While in the merry month of June, from my home I started,
Left the girls of Rhun, nearly broken-hearted,
Saluted Father dear, kissed my darlin' Mother,
Drank a pint of beer, my grief and tears to smother,
Then off to reap the corn and leave where I was born;
I cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghost and goblin,
A brand-new pair of brogues to rattle over the bogs
And frighten all the dogs, on the rocky road to Dimrill!
One, two, three, four, five!
She swirled, and soon all the company - except for Thorin himself, and Bombur who continued chewing, perched on a table of sorts - were dancing, and singing loudly, and she leaped from one Dwarf to another, looping her arm through yet another's, and laughing. Her eyes were squinted, and nose wrinkled, and white teeth gleamed in the warm glow of the fire.
Hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky road, and all the ways to Dimrill!
Whack-fol-lol-de-rah!
If what she had said at dinner was true, she was right to follow her sister's advice. Dancing suit her. She moved gracefully, lightly, her limbs strong, her head set proudly, on beautiful round shoulders, and small hands flying. There was precision to her step, and smile shone in her features.
And then from the corner of his eye Thorin saw the Hobbit hesitantly approaching the fire, and she leaped, and grabbed his hands, and pulled him into the circle of the dancers. Bofur played his flute, Ori clapped and cheered, and she twirled and twirled, her eyes locked with the Hobbit's, both his hands still firmly clasped in his.
Suddenly Thorin realised that his teeth were clenched, and as much as gritting on the mouthpiece of his pipe. He was not used to scrutinising his emotions, but his mood had gone sour so sharply, that he could not help but ask himself what irked him so much. Just an instant ago he felt content, resting, surrounded by his kin, and his companions enjoying well deserved repose.
It was the Halfling, he decided. The Halfling dancing with the Dwarven maiden was what set Thorin's temper off. It was because the Hobbit did not belong, Thorin thought, because he had nothing to do on their quest! He was a burden, imposed on Thorin by the Wizard, and for no reason accepted by Lady Werna. Why was she so keen on including him?! Why smile to him? Why let him place his hand on her waist? She was a Dwarven lady of noble descent! She had no business dancing with a petty Hobbit!
The revel had finally subsided, and Thorin rose on his feet. He picked up his doublet, and left the camp, trying to hide the haste. He did not look back once, and still he knew that the cursed Halfling sat between her and Fili, and the three of them were sharing a pipeweed pouch.
He wandered the Elven dwelling for two hours, trying to walk off the foul mood, but no relief came. He blamed the ridiculous filigree railings, pompous stairs, overly decorated, unnecessary fountains. Thankfully, he had not met any of the pointy eared annoyances.
At some point he stopped on a balcony, and looked up at the starry sky again. He watched the twinkling lights, and felt even more restless. They needed to haste, Durin's Day was approaching.
"You can trust that I know what I am doing..." Thorin heard the Wizard's voice, and looked down, at a suspended path lying underneath. Tharkun was walking with the Elf.
"Do you? The dragon has slept for sixty years..." the Elven Lord droned on.
Thorin took a step back, hiding in the shadows. He thought eavesdropping below him, of course, but he wished to understand the Wizard's plans better. And as no surprise he now knew that it was the strengthening of their positions, there, at the far East, that concerned the Wizard. Thorin thought it fair. He wanted his mountain back, and if the Wizard was willing to assist him due to his own schemings, Thorin would not refuse.
And then their conversation turned to the Dragon sickness. Thorin clenched his jaw, and his hands fisted. They spoke of his Grandfather, as if of a commoner! As if of some drunkard of Men! They had no right to even mention his kin in such terms! Thank Mahal, there was no one near, to hear their disrespectful palaver.
Thorin turned and marched away. He thought of going back to the company, but decided that another stroll would be beneficial. His temper had risen, and it was best to be alone for a while.
He turned around a corner, and heard some soft noise in one of the shadowy passages. He had half a mind to find some detour - the last thing he wanted was to encounter one of the hosts - but then he realised that the sound was nothing other but quiet crying - a woman, or a child perhaps. Elf or not, someone was distraught there, and Thorin exhaled in irritation and moved forward.
It was no Elf. Werna, daughter of Lyr sat on a tall bench, her feet not reaching the ground. One small hand was fisted in front of her mouth, to muffle the sobs, and large tears ran her cheeks.
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romance webserial: Dr. T Series
Summary: Wren Leary, a young biochem student is placed before a choice: Will it be Philip Durinson, the self-assured ball of sunshine and a uni stud, or his cantankerous and mistrusting uncle, John Thorington? The first one is her friend, the second one regrets that night in the tent. Wrennie is in a pickle.
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CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER
{my first novel
inspired by the story initially written here}
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Summary:
Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom.
John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm.
Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more.
Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?