- 38 -
Run was making dough for bread when there was a knock on the door. She moved her hands to wipe them on the apron, but then recognised the steps of her guest, and returned to work.
She heard him walk into the kitchen, and then she felt warm hands coming to rest on her shoulders. Thorin leaned forward and rested his temple against hers, and she closed her eyes to memorize the moment, because any displays of affection did not come often on his part, and the best he could offer was rarely spoken words. But at times, when she could see the fire in his eyes, it was enough.
She heard Thorin's breaths becoming louder for a moment, then realised he was sniffing at her hair.
"Athelas," she explained. "Kingsfoil, as folk call it."
"It smells..." Thorin broke off, pondering.
"Differently for everyone. Used to smell like forest and leaves on summer afternoon for me." She paused, then smiled to herself. "Now it's Ered Luin mountain meadows," she added, and felt Thorin's cheek move as he smiled at her words.
"Isn't it supposed to have healing properties?" he asked.
"Not unless you're a high elf or an heir of the kings of Gondor, no." She wiped her hands on the apron, but did not manage to get rid of all the flour. "It still can be used for cleansing wounds, and for soothing and strengthening draughts."
"Soothing, like for sleep?"
"That too." She turned and he let her go, stepping back. "Would you stay for breakfast?"
Thorin shook his head. "I can't. Come over for supper tonight?"
"I can't. We're going herb-picking with Sage, and she has to be back home early today."
He nodded. They were used to this, to not having time. Glances and smiles, that was all. And sometimes a touch of her hand on his or his on hers, when they were alone and no one was near.
"Have a good day, then," he said, and briefly smiled at her.
"And you, Majesty," Run replied, answering his smile with her own.
There was a muffled sound of a song outside, and the door opened, and Sage all but danced into the house, singing some nonsense about flying as the wind over meadows and mountain ridges and forests and the river Lhûn. She noticed Thorin, froze momentarily, startled, then laughed at her display and swept him a graceful curtsy.
"Good morning, Your Majesty."
"And good morning to you, lass."
Sage took a peek at the sack of herbs he was holding. "For princess Dís, isn't it?" she smiled, a spark of pride in her eyes. "I helped to prepare it."
"Zâraminh always speaks very highly of you," Thorin said, with unusual kindness, making the girl blush, a feat Run had thought no one capable of.
"Rendering my apprentice speechless and making her blush, all in one go. I am impressed, Majesty," she jested, putting her hands into a bowl of water to wash away the dough.
"At your service," he muttered, and even Sage laughed at his words, which were a part of customary dwarven greeting.
"Are we going up into the mountains?" the girl asked, excited. Energy was radiating off her, and she was eager to go climb up high and say hello to the wind she had sung of.
"Yes, I'd just cover the dough with something. Your mother's coming today?"
Sage nodded. "Soon, I suppose. She'll do the baking."
"Alright, then we can go." Run wiped her hands on another part of the apron and took it off.
"Where exactly are you heading?" inquired Thorin.
"Up into the mountains, all the paths I usually go. But it's safe there," Run said, and saw a merrier gleam in Thorin's eyes when he recognised the joke.
"So we're be walking together."
"And eating breakfast on the way," Sage chipped in, patting a sack thrown across her shoulder. "Fresh bread and some cheese, and Mum's best at that."
Thorin put his hood over his head and out they walked, going up the winding path, sharing the modest breakfast and talking, although the latter was mostly done by Sage and Thorin. Sage kept asking questions about the dwarven realm, curious, but the questions were the safe ones, not asking for secrets, just the customs and traditions everyone could know of, and she asked some of Mahal, too, and Thorin was answering her with patience unusual for him, except when dealing with his nephews, and in turn asked her about herbs and her learning and about the town's everyday life. Then he asked her to sing a song, and with a moderate amount of coaxing Sage agreed, and sang a song of a road winding far towards the horizon and adventures waiting ahead, and how the homecoming was the greatest adventure of all. Thorin praised her skills and voice, and asked for another song, and then there was a gleam in Sage's eyes, and innocently in her still childish sweet voice she sang the tale of Beren and Lúthien, one of the elven songs that the infrequent visitors from Grey Havens had taught her. Then it was Sage's turn to ask for a song, but Thorin refused, and instead offered to tell a story, and when Sage agreed, in quiet voice he spoke of Durin's awakening and the crown of seven stars sunken in the waters of Mirrormere.
But soon Sage got tired with their pace, too leisurely for her, and almost run up, light on her feet like a leaf on the wind, and they heard her song echoing among the pines. Run recognised the common folk tune, often used as a lullaby; but if one listened closely to the words, it was no lullaby, but a love song, and Run caught Thorin's glance. If Sage had only known, Run thought... and then it dawned on her that her apprentice probably did know, and that was why she had chosen that particular song.
They walked on, side by side, following Sage's voice, and Run was content to simply be, so close to Thorin, and glad to be able to see how he smiled slightly each time she glanced at him. Curious, she wondered idly, that so many of folk love songs, even thought the words seemed merry, were sung to such sad melodies. She felt a warm touch on her hand as Thorin briefly held her palm in his, and Run smiled at him, and as she saw his eyes alight with joy, she then thought of folk songs nothing at all.