Chapter 4: Strands of Hair
Beorn as a human looks still as mighty as a bear. His large eyebrows almost mould into his hair, accentuating his long strong-boned face. But his eyes. Gailien can see the kindness behind them. They sit at a large table, her elbows resting on it sit level with her chest. Beorn had offered her a drink but after seeing the size of the tankard, she politely declines.
The company (par Gandalf) barely reach his hip bone and Gailien feels even smaller than usual. She stares at her arms which look like they could be his veins. How could she have ever thought she was strong when this man exists?
She scolded Thorin when they awoke as it did take her longer than she would have liked to fall asleep as her body could not settle with the constant buzzing of the bees. But it seems that she will have to get used to it as Beorn has agreed to let them stay for a few nights. They will replenish their stocks and let their bodies recover from the past few hard weeks and in return, the Dwarves will use their skills around the house – mending and crafting anything that Beorn requires.
"Not many travelling tradesmen around here," Beorn had said. It was quite an introduction they had with the man as the Dwarves arrived in pairs – Gailien and Bilbo being the first.
Gailien does feel bad, not proficient enough in any craft to be able to do anything and she fears that if she tries to help, she will only make it worse for whoever she does try to assist. But after expressing her lack of knowledge to the tall man, he asked her if she would be willing to help with the animals – feeding and grooming if they needed it. She readily agrees and he gives her a quick tour of what she will need to do. It is easy enough; hay once a day for the horses, checking them over for any bites or wounds. The larger livestock is fine on its own, but the chickens also need to be fed and couped up at night.
With Beorn ready to patrol at any time, the Orcs stay at bay, lying hidden beyond the tree line which allows the Dwarves to roam the property without worry of being attacked.
The horses are stunning. Black and white paints with feathered hooves and flowing manes. They are taller than the ponies they rode out from Bag End – she hopes Clove made it somewhere safe – but still smaller than a normal horse. Which reminds her to do her own hair.
She spends the morning with the horses, brushing them down and speaking Elvish to them which she finds more soothing to their ears than Common Tongue. Soon, lunch arrives and Gailien makes her way back inside. A few Dwarves are covered in dirt from their work.
"What have you boys been up to?" she asks the princes as they sit on the hay covered floor, eating a bowl of fresh stew. They are both sweaty, dirt smudges on their faces.
"Thorin was showing us how to forge a new lock for an iron gate," Kili says, gesturing to his head to Thorin who is at the table instead. "Haven't seen you all morning? What has he got you up to?"
"I've been helping around with the animals. And the company of horses is refreshing." She may or may not have snuck them out some apples from the small orchard to earn their favour. And she must say, it was frightfully easy compared to some of these Dwarves.
"I'm sure the others would love to hear that," Fili muses. "Preferring horses over them."
"They don't talk back," she smirks, taking a sip of her oversized mug. "And they are much easier on the eye to look at." The statement is true for the majority of the Dwarves, but she will not deny that there are a few handsome Dwarves among them.
"Now I'm just offended," Fili snorts.
"Don't worry brother," Kili sings, running a hand around Fili's shoulders. "It's just because we are so ruggedly good-looking that her Elvish eyes need a break."
The three break out into laughter. "You caught me," she says with teasing resignation. Kili keeps his bright smile planted on his face, enjoying the teasing and takes her words to heart. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if I'm not easy on the eye at the moment either." She tugs at her frizzy hair. "I'll be back," she offhandedly remarks.
Gailien stands, leaving her empty plate and mug in search of Beorn. Not that he is hard to find. The large man is out the back of the house, sitting with the chickens that are roaming around, pecking at the grass.
"Beorn," she greets. "I was wondering if you have any scissors that I would be able to borrow."
Beorn looks down to her as he towers over her even when he is sitting. "Wait here, small one." Gailien smiles kindly, and a little timidly as Beorn stands to his full height and begins walking off to his shed. She waits, hands clasped in front of her as her ears pick up the sound of things being moved around in the shed.
"Oh!" Her feet jump back, the chook's beak pecking at her toes through her boots. She resists the urge to kick it away and slowly pushes the side of her leg against it. It clucks, flapping its wings but moves off to another place.
"Here, small one." Beorn returns, holding out a pair of scissors. They are a little large in her hands, but the blade is sharp and clean.
"Thank you. I shall return them as soon as I am done." Beorn nods, sitting back down on the hay pile to return watching his chickens. Though she loves animals, she does question what entertainment watching chickens could possibly bring. Maybe it allows him to think.
With the scissors by her side, Gailien saunters back into the house. Most of the Dwarves have left, save a few who are still in conversation – drinking and eating. Her feet take her back to her bedroll where she will be able to catch the falling hair, so it does not drift around his home.
Crossing her legs, she undoes her pony and takes out another leather strap from her pack. She splits her hair into two strands, tying the leather just below half-way behind her so when she pulls them over, they will be of even length. Not that it matters too much, since she wears her hair tied back most of the time.
She pulls the right one over her shoulder, tilting her head to see it better and starts the bring the scissors up to it.
"What are you doing?!"
The voice of Kili startles her so much, that she drops the hair, her muscles stiffening as she searches to find whatever Kili sounds so aghast about. To her utter astonishment, he is staring right at her with a look of dread. Her own eyes are wide, shifting between the Dwarf and the scissors. The remaining Dwarves are now also staring at her with a mixture of expressions.
"I'm…I'm cutting my hair. It's gotten long-"
"Why in Durin's name are you doing that?" Fili gasps. Gailien slowly picks up her unruly strands of hair again. The ends are broken, splitting and dry. Not to mention living in the wild has caked them I dirt but that could be handled with a good wash.
"Because...Because it's long!" she cries, completely perplexed. She knows that Dwarves only cut their beards in shame or grieving, and but Kili never mentioned anything about the hair on their heads. And she is not a Dwarf.
"I think I need one myself," Bilbo calls out, twirling one long piece of his own hair that sits at the base of his neck. The Dwarves' stares shift to him. Bilbo notices their eyes and drops his hair, looking around them with the same expression as Gailien. "What?"
Thorin pushes his chair back, the legs grating against the wood loudly. He marches over to her with heavy feet. Leaning down slightly, the King plucks the scissors from her hands.
"I need to give those back to Beorn!" she cries.
"I will do so," is all Thorin replies. He walks past his old seat, walking straight towards the door leading to the garden. The only sound is his footsteps then the door hitting the frame as it closes behind him. Gailien and Bilbo are left with the mouths hanging open. Neither of them has any idea what has just happened.
Needing fresh air, and some time to comprehend what has just happened, Gailien stands back up, pulling the leather ties from her hair. "I'm going to stretch my legs then," she mutters to whoever is listening. Silently she walks towards the door at the front of the house, feeling eyes on her back.
She squints as the sun pierces her eyes, but the air is refreshing from whatever tension was growing inside Beorn's home. "That was so strange." She shakes her head, pressing forward and walks around the property, making her way to the large field where the small horses roam. Her forearms lean against the fence, frowning slightly as she watches them gallop as a herd through the field, their long manes flowing like silk against the wind.
She is so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn't hear Dwalin approaching until he stands next to her, resting a foot against a fence post. He holds out the scissors in his hand. "Here."
Gailien frowns, taking them slowly. "I don't understand what just happened," she says, looking at the scissors as though they could offer her some type of explanation. But they are just as they look – scissors - and offer nothing.
Dwalin, on the other hand, does have words to offer her. "They thought that you were feeling ashamed of something." Gailien scrunches her nose – it still doesn't explain anything. Why would they think that?
"But I'm not a Dwarf," she counters. "And I don't have a beard." It does make her wonder what she would look like with one though. It would be an interesting appearance.
"No, but you are an Elf," Dwalin intones in a drawl. "Or at least, part of one. And unless we are mistaken, then an Elf cutting their hair is akin to a Dwarf shaving their beard. So, you can imagine what thoughts were running through their minds when you held the scissors to your hair."
"Did that really warrant Thorin taking the scissors away though," she counters with an eye roll. "I don't follow Elf customs anymore."
Dwalin sighs as the girl just doesn't see exactly why they did not want her to do so. "You must understand lass, to see another Dwarf cutting their own beard is a hard sight, especially when they are kin. It is a shameful and grievous ceremony." But Thorin keeps his beard short – she wants to counter. "Thorin… Thorin thinks highly of you so it is not a surprise to the rest of us that he would not want you to cut your hair, knowing its importance to Elves."
Gailien stares down at the scissors still in her hands. Thorin thinks highly of her? Suddenly, she doesn't feel the urge to cut her hair as much anymore. "It was just getting long," she rebuts quietly. Dwalin chuckles softly, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"I know that lass. From the moment I saw you I knew you wouldn't be like the rest of your race. I just had not figured out if that was a good thing or not." Gailien smirks with a soft chortle.
"I hope you have now," she says. Dwalin nods, perking his brows for a second.
"I sure have lass." His hand drops resting on the picket next to him. "Tell me, Gailien, what are your thoughts on Thorin?" Gailien narrows his eyes, trying to determine the reasoning behind such a question.
"I thought we have already had this discussion," she answers with caution.
"Rivendell was a long time ago," Dwalin counters, meeting her narrowed eye. "Kili has been teaching you our culture, has he not?" Gailien nods affirmatively. "Well, then you would know the importance of braiding." Dwalin sighs again, seeming to not enjoy this conversation either. "I only ask lass, because it is no secret that Thorin allowed you to-"
"Oh, you still have them!" Dwalin's words are cut short as Bilbo appears, jogging slightly with a tint of red in his face. "Do you have any idea what that was all about back there?" Dwalin and Gailien share a look. She is not sure whether she is glad for Bilbo's interruption since her curiosity is growling but a part of her is glad that she will not have to answer any of the questions he may ask.
"Just a culture muddle," she answers. "I'm assuming you are after the scissors. I can trim your hair for you if you would like?" Her face stays towards the Hobbit but her eyes dart towards Dwalin. "Assuming it won't cause an uproar," she adds.
"Ignore them," the warrior grumbles. "But you're best to do it outside."
Dwalin saunters back to the house, leaving Bilbo still confused and Gailien even more so. Had it meant something – Thorin allowing her to touch his braids? "Let's find somewhere to sit down, Bilbo," she says, forcing her thoughts away. "Somewhere where they won't stumble across the hair and strangle us."
They find a quiet spot behind the shed and Gailien spends her time carefully trimming the Hobbit's head of reddish curls. After she has finished, Bilbo offers to cuts hers, but she declines, stating that her hair is fine as it is, keeping it to herself that Thorin's rooted discontent is the reason. Not that she will ever do something like this purely for a man but…maybe keeping her hair long will not be such a bad thing.
Keeping it short was a way to distance herself from her race who care very much so about its length and healthiness. That and it is slightly easier to care for shorter.
Annd Uni has officially started. And so has my work (#crying. Kidding, I love my job) but I am glad to be back out since quarantine has ended in my country. But it took me almost the entire day to do one lecture's work. Also, this chapter definitely could have been written better but I barely have the time to write let alone edit.