The next morning found the Easterling camp on edge, the people were more stiff and reserved with her than usual, Rín noticed. On top of that, Nannulf was sulking back in their tent - she having yelled at him for disobeying her order. Rorik was sitting on a rock just outside the camp, smoking a pipe he had somehow managed to conjure up from somewhere, and Thorin, whilst polite, was once more bordering on cold. All in all, a headache. It was ironic that such drama had not occurred within the depths of Erebor, she thought bemusedly. Their motley little group only became more fragmented as time passed.
Rín found herself with more idle time than she would have liked. Back at Erebor, life had been filled with a million things to do during the day and the only thing left to do when back in the pits was to collapse in exhaustion and sleep. So it was, that she found herself wandering amongst the wagons of the camp attempting to plan the direction of their travels, and instead being drawn aside by the curiosities she found looking at the homes of these people. Each wagon was covered in different colours and carvings in which stories wound their way over the wood. The paint was flecked and aged, but still as beautiful as the day it had been put there.
Rín ran her hands over the wood absentmindedly as she passed, letting her fingers brush over wood and trace the patterns and carvings. Far easily than it should have, her mind slipped into daydreams of what life might be like once they reached the lands to the West. Things would be better there. They would be able to life without fear of death, and finally, they would have some place to call home.
They could settle somewhere, in the mountains perhaps, where there was plenty or room for mining if they so wished, and there maybe, they could leave some sign of themselves to pass on to those that followed. Nannulf would be able to learn the things that every youngling should have the chance to learn about their culture, Geir would be able to live the rest of his life doing whatever it was he most wanted to do, and Thorin-
That was where she stopped. Her feet and thoughts both coming to a halt. Thorin would leave and do whatever it was that he wanted to do with this second life that he had been given. Funnily enough, the thought left her feeling more hollow than she thought she would have been. But perhaps she was worrying for no reason, he might in fact wish to stay with them in any case.
Biting her lip and deep in thought, Rín began walking once more, the beauty of the wagons forgotten as she rounded a corner and ran face first into an Easterling. Just as quickly, she rebounded away from the man and quickly mumbled an apology. The Rhûnion glared at her and said something sharply in his own language before continuing on his way and shouldering her as he passed.
Ríns eyes narrowed and she cast several choice curse words after the mans retreating figure, absentmindedly rubbing her shoulder. Stomping onwards, she marched into her tent positively fuming. Luckily enough for Nannulf, the youngling had disappeared from the tent since that morning (escaping what would have no doubt been her wrath) and she was all alone.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rín let her eyes wander about the tent, and the sparse belongings that furnished it. A bed-roll here (Nannulfs), a very battered pipe over there (Roriks she assumed), and an ill-kept goblin sword in the corner (Nannulfs again, the boy really was incorrigible). For the first time, Rín noticed how dirty everything was compared to the things the Rhûnions owned.
She couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like, to be completely clean. In Erebor, the dwarves were never given an opportunity to wash, and the water they were given in the pits was precious - only to be used for drinking. The only time anyone had truly ever washed, was when they were mining near one of the underground streams, and even then, they dared not go any further than rinse their face and neck.
Thoughtfully, Rín ran her stained, and muck-covered tunic through her fingers, considering the idea that was running through her mind. Deciding, she spun on her heel and marched straight back out of the tent in search of Meskas wife Nadya. Several days before, the woman had been boiling something in a large pot, and Rín had watched in fascination and no small amount of horror as the whitish-yellow substance slowly solidified (she severely hoped that it was not something they were meant to eat).
The woman, when questioned as to what it was that she was making, through a very broken attempt at Westron, had finally gotten the message across that it was in fact, soap. Rín had blinked in surprise. Soap was a luxury she had not even dreamed of for so many years, it felt only like the faintest of sweet memories.
The Rhûnion woman was only too pleased to hand over some of her older stores at her request (Rín somehow got the distinct feeling Nadya was only too pleased to have them cleaned up a little, no doubt, to the humans, their dirtiness was slightly nauseating). And so it was that her plan was concocted. Nadya, as well as soap, had given her several overly large tunics and cloaks for the dwarves. She had also indicated that, once they were washed, the dwarrow were to change into those, and she would come and help Rín wash the dirty clothes they were wearing. The red-haired dwarf was almost overwhelmed by the woman's kindness.
Rín found Nannulf playing a game with some of the Rhûnion boys, kicking a small patchwork ball between one another. Geir and Rorik were watching; well, Rorik passed Geir a pipe, who was watching and then proceeded to pull out another and fill it for himself. He didn't look particularly interested in the rest of what was going on around him.
Flicking her hair back over her shoulder, she strode over to the pair and informed them that they would all be going down to bathe. Rín ignored Roriks glare and stood out Geirs silence, firm in her reasoning that it was absolutely necessary, how long it was since any of them had washed properly was not something one wished to think about.
Signalling to Nannulf to follow, the four of them (Geir and Rorik begrudgingly) began the long tramp down to one of the shallower streams leading off from the Old Forest River Nadya had told her of. Rín did not however, see Thorin as they went, but decided it did not matter much anyhow if he did not was - he had not been in the filth of Erebor for anywhere near as long as they had and he was not as dirty.
"Oh hurry yourselves now," Rín grumbled, happily expectant of the change to wash, and annoyed at the unenthused nature of her companions. "What is it with you all today?"
Rorik glared at her and rolled his eyes, "Did you ever perhaps think that the river might be cold, running down from the ice in the mountains?" he said as they neared the location Nadya had told her of.
Rín sniffed depreciatingly, "Do not be such a child Rorik, a bit of water wold do you good, and you will become used to the cold." she said, placing the bundle she had been carrying down on the pebbles that lined the river banks. "Now, Nadya has given me soap and fresh things to change into for all of us, so that we can wash our clothes afterwards. Why she thinks I should be the only one to wash all of the clothes is beyond me."
"Perhaps because that is womans work." Rorik replied snarkily, grinning as he undid the ties of his tunic and pulled it over his head.
Rín leered at him in response. "You wear it you wash it."
Nannulf, ignoring the conversation, had already removed his hole-ridden boots and socks, and dipped his toes into the waters. With a yelp of surprise, he leapt straight back out "It's freezing!" he wailed plaintively.
Rín rolled her eyes and went down to test the water temperature herself. "It's not that cold Nannulf-" she began, when suddenly, she was cut off with a shriek when she was pushed headfirst into the stream, still clothed. Pushing up to the surface gasping for breath, Rín tried to pull as much of herself as she could above the cold water and blinked droplets from her eyes, staring open-mouthed at a cackling Rorik and Nannulf.
Even Geir, now sitting on the the side of the bank, cracked a smile. Glaring at a the laughing trio, Rín crossed her arms over her chest, shivering angrily as she sloshed back towards the waters edge. "It is not funny!" she chattered, shaking like a leaf, but to no avail, the male dwarrow simply continued to laugh.
"Oh but it is," Rorik said, "You were the one who said it was not cold." Narrowing her eyes at them, she changed her mind, and chose not to leave the water yet, instead swiping her hand roughly across the top of the water and sending a wave crashing over their heads, and leaving them almost as wet as her, ceasing their snickering.
"Now, get in here and wash yourselves, you're all filthy." she growled and pulled her own tunic over her head, clenching her jaw and forcing herself back beneath the water.
In the end, Geir said he was not going in until at least one of them were out, Rín noticed the sword he kept. placed over his raised knees and she understood his reasoning. It would do none of them any good if they were to be caught unawares. The Orcs still lingered at the corners of their minds.
Nakedness was not something that mattered much to Rín and her fellows, it had never been something any of them or their faction had ever had cause to dwell on such things beneath Erebor - there was no time for niceties.
But now, looking at herself as she ran the soap up over her arms and shoulders, Rín took a moment to study herself. Her arms were far too skinny, and her nails were caked with dirt. If the stream had not been one that flowed, then she was sure there would have been a black cloud floating around her like a thunderstorm.
Slowly, and almost to her surprise, her arms turned from a tanned-mud-colour, to a far lighter shade that clearly showed the red-gold hairs of her arms. It felt like she was growing a new skin.
Finally deciding that she was clean, or clean enough in any matter (one could be too clean) Rín finally made her way back to the shore, passing an unhappy Nannulf who had just lost his third bar of soap. With a sigh, she passed him hers and met with a sheepish grin, she continued up, trading places easily with Geir.
Rín had quickly pulled the tunic over her head and was just tying the laces when there was the crunch of pebbles behind her and she whirled to find Thorin standing there, a stony look on his face. He just looked at her for a moment, studying her almost curiously.
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.
Rín blinked at him in conclusion. "We needed to wash." she replied bluntly. "We have not done so properly in many years."
Thorin seemed to consider her answer, his eyes flickering to the three in the water, Nannulf attempting to catch the soap that kept slipping from between his fingers, before returning to her. "I see." he said gravely.
Somehow, and for some reason, Rín felt like she had done something wrong, "I looked for you and could not find you otherwise you could have joined us...although you do not much look like you are dirty enough to warrant a bath." she said in a rush, only cursing her traitor mouth after the words had been said.
Was that a flicker of laughter she saw in his eyes at the comment? Whatever it was, Thorins gaze was once again stern. "That does not matter," he said shortly, "You are needed back at camp, all of you." he added, when she made to follow him.
"You could simply walk the few meters down and tell them yourself you know." Rín muttered under her breath as she spun on her heel and headed back towards the waters edge.
"Oh and before you return to the encampment Hlífhrím," Thorin called out from behind her, "I would suggest locating a pair of pants."
A/N: I'm interested to see how everyone feels about this chapter. A LOT of introspection and very little dialogue. Let me know eh?
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