A months time saw Mara sitting outside under the shade of a tree in the yard once again. The ruins of the old house had been torn down, anything possible to salvage had been dragged out and cleaned, and a new house built on the old foundation. She was careful to arrange her long skirts to cover her legs, the sight of them leaving her distressed from the heavy scarring. She could not help but think that no one would want her for a wife now, despite the fact that the thought would never have bothered her before.
Though she tired easier than she was used to, she was close to a full recovery. Her legs had thankfully not been crushed, and she had been up and walking for a week now. It felt good to rest here, soaking up the sunshine that filtered through the leaves and watching the patterns it made on her skin. Leaning back to lay in the grass, she inhaled deeply the scents of wildflowers, reveling in the air that flooded her lungs. Her mind drifted, thinking about all that had happened since she had gotten here. She found that she was happier than she had been in a long time, despite her fading injuries.
A strong presence appearing at her side interrupted her musings, and Mara blinked contentedly up at Thorin. He had sat beside her and was spreading out a meal on the grass. "I brought food," he offered calmly, indicating the feast as he held out a hand to help her sit upright. The two of them ate in companionable silence, Mara humming in approval at the taste of her favorite meat pies fresh from the market. Neither spoke of the time she had spent in the healing ward, though both were secretly wondering about the possibility of a deeper connection in their relationship. Both thinking about the words Thorin had spoke while Mara was trapped in feverish delirium. Thorin longed to ask if she remembered. Mara yearned to know if he had been serious. Both were too afraid to ask and possibly ruin the friendship they shared.
It was new, whatever this thing between them was, and they would find themselves glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes, averting their gaze awkwardly when they were caught.
"So..." Thorin began, at the same time that Mara said "Are you...?" They fell silent again simultaneously, Mara grinning when Thorin nodded for her to continue.
"Do you work today?" Mara asked curiously, already guessing by his presence the answer. He had been taking more time to spend at home of late, finding one excuse or another to stick around. Mara assumed it was because he was worried about a repeat of the fire incident, however unlikely that was. The part she knew disturbed him most was that they had never found out what caused it, and though none of them suspected it to be deliberate it had still set him on edge.
Sure enough he nodded. "I'll go in tomorrow," he rumbled, looking as if he were trying to convince himself of that fact. "How are you feeling?" he asked then, eyeing her with a concern that set her heart fluttering.
Mara smiled. "Good, I feel good," she nodded. Her eyes danced with warmth, and Thorin found himself unable to look away. She was currently twirling a small section of hair between her fingers, the strands glowing in the sunlight.
At that moment a breeze picked up, swirling her skirts up until they had bunched around her knees. Mara let out a soft noise of dismay, moving quickly to tug the fabric back into place. She had not let anyone see her legs since the bandages came off, and the sight of them brought a shamed flush to her cheeks. She had almost covered them again when strong hands stopped her and she looked up to find her gaze held by liquid sapphire. There was no hint of disgust or pity in those eyes, just understanding, and it stilled her.
"Are you alright?" Thorin murmured seriously, one of his hands moving to trace the deep scars along one ankle. Mara trembled at the contact, closing her eyes as she tried to pretend someone could actually accept the way she looked now. That maybe even he could accept it, though she knew she had no business hoping for his affections.
"It's ugly," she whispered. "How could anyone want something so scarred?"
Thorin's hand clenched around hers in momentary anger at the way she was flagellating herself so, and her eyes jerked open in surprise when he dropped her hand. He was rolling up his sleeve, and then his arm was in front of her face, the sight of it stunning her. Tiny specks from burning embers were freshly marked on the skin, overtop a criss-cross of faded scars. No part of his flesh was unmarked, but it was not ugly, only captivatingly beautiful. Every line told a story of his past, every mark a testament to his will to fight on and overcome adversity.
"Dwarves are a scarred race," he rumbled softly. "How could we not be after all we have lived through? Wear your scars with pride, because they mark you as a survivor. They are not ugly." As he spoke he had uncovered the marks, forcing her to behold them with a new perspective. He allowed a finger to trail over each one, murmuring comfort. "I see bravery, and perseverance, and strength." He burned her with his gaze, her heart thumping so rapidly she felt sure he might hear it. "Never be ashamed of who you are," he commanded her firmly, waiting until she nodded to move his hands back to his own lap.
"I won't," Mara promised. "Thank you Thorin."
