Chapter 5: Honey Cakes
Beorn has employed her help in the kitchen for the afternoon as the rest of the Dwarves continue doing odd jobs around the property. Cooking has never been her strength, but the recipe is easy enough to follow and it is rather relaxing. Apparently Beornings were known for their remarkable honey-cakes, a sweet cake that Gailien has only ever had the pleasure of tasting a few times and is eager to see if Beorn's claim is true.
As Beorn reaches past her as she swirls a wooden spoon around a large metal bowl, she cannot help but stare at his wrist which is cuffed in a shackle, the remanent of the chains dangling. Beorn has informed them already of the history of his people, his knowledge of Azog.
"I am not the only one to wear the shackles of my past," he says. Gailien's mouth opens partially, feeling slightly embarrassed for being caught staring. "Though you keep yours hidden by your clothes."
"I have never been held prisoner," she counters, her tone seeping with confusion. Her wrists and ankles are bare for she has indeed never been taken prisoner before. Beorn only gives her a knowing look.
"I do not mean the same type. But they both bind us to a time that we would rather forget." He takes the bowl from her hands, pouring its contents into another. "Yet it is that exact same path that defines who we are today."
Gailien's now free hand slowly rises to her back, feeling the jagged skin even through her blouse (her jacket left by her bedroll). Lately, her thought process has been challenged and rather than combating that challenge, Gailien is beginning to embrace it. No easy feat, but one that she knows is needed.
"You do not remove yours even though you have the choice. The Dwarves could take it off within a day. Why?" she questions, feeling braver than normal. Though they could not be any more different in appearance, Beorn and Gailien share a similar nature which has drawn them to each other.
Beorn does not take any offence to the question, which she is grateful for. "Because it is a reminder of what I fought for. Who I fought for," he emphasises. Gailien looks at his shackles once more. For years she cried, wanting nothing more than to be rid of her scars, to be normal and as tall as the other Elves yet Beorn stands here, letting his shackles hang from his wrists as a reminder by choice.
"I haven't been fighting for anybody though," she says quietly.
Beorn leans down, barely even reaching her height. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, small one. You can fight for yourself. And you wouldn't be travelling with the Dwarves for so long if you did not consider them as worthy of your loyalty."
Dwalin's cry of outrage echoes through the house, followed by Balin and Thorin arguing about something trivial. Gailien smiles, knowing that Beorn is right.
"Come now," he says, standing back up. "We have honey-cakes to make."
And honey-cakes they made. A mountain of them, enough to feed an army of Dwarves and Hobbits for days. Gailien isn't sure if Beorn just doesn't know how much to feed the Dwarves, but he expresses his enjoyment at baking which he has not done in many years and Gailien doesn't have the heart to express her feeble concerns.
Gailien snacks on the growing pile as the bake and by the time that Beorn is satisfied with the number of yellow cakes, her own stomach is sick, but she does admit that his are far better than any she has had before.
With the sun beginning the set, the Dwarves retire for the day and Bombur makes the usual stew, but they are gifted with fresh bread which soaks the stew nicely. The Dwarves all sit at the large table, chatting amiably about their day to any who will listen.
As Gailien bites into her slice of bread, a hand grasps her tied hair gently. "You didn't cut it," Fili notes with a small smile. "I'm glad." Gailien shrugs, dismissing any importance it holds. "We thought you must have been terribly upset about something."
"What would I have to be upset about?" she asks, trying to prove a point but Fili only tilts his head forward.
"You tell me."
"Don't worry, I'd still think you're pretty even if you cut your hair," Kili says offhandedly with a mouth full of food, sitting on her other side. Gailien snorts out a short laugh. She leans over, kissing his cheek.
"Thank you, Kili," she chuckles. Not that she worries about being pretty, especially living on the road with Dwarves but the sentiment behind the compliment is all the same. Kili gives a bashful smile, blushing slightly. Gailien shares a mirthful glance with Fili who rolls his eyes.
As they finish off their evening meal, Beorn carries out a large tray piled with less than half of the honey-cakes they made that day. She swears Dwalin almost drools at the sight and hands reach for the sweet goods barely a moment after it touches the table.
"So, this is what you've been doing in the kitchen all afternoon," Fili remarks, biting into his own. "Oh! This is good." The same moans of pleasure erupt through the entire company, leaving Gailien in giggles over their exaggerated reactions. Though, she did make a similar sound when she first tried one.
"I'm guessing their good," she says with sarcasm. As an answer, Fili reaches for another two. Her eyes search the company, pausing on Thorin who takes his time eating – though she can see the delight in his eyes. She moves her gaze on, fearing the humiliation of being caught staring. Soon the plate is emptied and Beorn brings out the second. The Dwarves look at with eagerness, but most hold their stomachs, already full.
A few select Dwarves, including Kili, Bombur, Dwalin, Balin, and Nori still dig into the second pile. Gailien watches in wonder as they just keep eating and before her eyes, the Dwarves begin murmuring amongst themselves.
"Do I smell a wager!?" Bofur exclaims, smirking as he glances around the company. Fists start pounding the tables in excited cheers. Even Beorn seems to enjoy the rowdiness of his company. She is happy that they are still able to keep their nature even after all this hardship and running. Hardiest folk of Middle Earth indeed.
Beorn brings the third and final tray of neatly stacked cakes and the Dwarves (and Bilbo, Gailien, and Gandalf) all rearrange the table, so the competitors sit on one side and the rest are able to watch. They are to eat until they can no longer.
Already knowing that Fili will want an advantage, she calms her mind, willing herself to see the outcome. A small spoiler which dampens her excitement, but she knows that Fili will appreciate the extra coin in his pocket. Things in such the near future are easy to see since they are so likely to happen.
Sure enough, the momentary vision of a certain Dwarf's success reveals itself. She and Fili stand to the side of the table, Kili being one of the participants.
"So. Are you still going to play favourites, or will you let me in on your knowledge?" Fili asks in a quiet voice, not wanting to give anybody else the same idea. Gailien nudges him with his elbow.
"I don't have favourites," she counters. "And how do you know I've seen it?"
"Please," he scoffs. "I can tell when you have visions."
Gailien laughs softly I resignation. "Alright, but I want payment for my efforts." Of course, she is going to tell him either way but may as well make a profit from it all since she will likely not be allowed to place her own bet. Gloin is already going around, taking note of their wagers.
"Even split?" he offers, holding his hand out subtle between them. Gailien nods but keeps her face forward, sliding her hand into his. They shake once and drop their hands back.
"Dwalin," she whispers. Fili scrutinises her, expecting the answer to be Bombur but she has no reason to lie if she profits from his wager as well.
"I should have you two called out for cheating."
Gailien jumps slightly, barely keeping her feet on the ground as Thorin's voice growls with mirth behind them. Even Fili stiffens, arms jolting out slightly as is a warrior's instinct. Gailien half turns, meeting Thorin's eyes with a glare.
"You nearly gave me an early grave," she hisses. Thorin raises an eyebrow, still waiting on her response to his accusation. "What's your price?"
Thorin's mouth lifts slightly and his hand pats his side. "My coin purse is feeling a little light."
Gailien stares at him over her shoulder as they seem to be testing the other's will. But Thorin doesn't have anything to lose if she does not give in, but she will be caught out for unfair play. Fili waits silently, watching them both. Finally, Gailien shakes her head, letting the smile that has been threatening to play it, display. "Dwalin," she answers his unasked question.
Thorin narrows his eyes. "Are you sure?"
"It's the same name she told me," Fili replies.
"Don't you trust me, Thorin?" Her tone is cheeky and playful, meaning to play on their history. Thorin rolls his eyes as his own smile grows. Gloin comes around and takes Thorin and Fili's wagers, missing over her with a quick glare and she smiles back innocently. Thorin stays with the pair, standing by her other side as the competitors begin eating, Bofur counting each round.
Her forearms rest against the table, watching the five Dwarves stuff their faces. Kili is the first to go, not unexpectedly but he barely holds back regurgitating all over the table and walks away slowly with his hand held over his stomach. He comes back to his brother's side who gives him a hard pat on the back. Kili glares at him, becoming a sickly colour and for a moment, Gailien prepares herself to jump out of the way if need be but it never comes.
Next to give out is Nori who is so full that he just lays his head on the table, not bothering to even return to the audience. Nobody groans at his exit and Gailien suspects that almost everybody has wagered on Bombur. Balin, who she is honestly surprised even joined in, finally gives out and the company breaks out into laughter as he barely rolls off his stool.
Her hands clasp in front of her face as her nose scrunches with her laughter. As she steps to balance herself, her foot lands on Fili's and she quickly removes it, mumbling an apology as she tries to balance herself. A soft hand lays against her lower back at the same time her hand reaches out for the table. Butterflies erupt in her stomach, knowing exactly who the hand belongs to, but he keeps looking forward, as though his head and hand are two separate entities that have no idea what the other is doing.
It stays there, whether he realises it or not, she does not know but she doesn't dare move. Her torso leans against the table slightly painfully, and she blames the warmth of the hearth for the heat on her face. Her attention is poured onto the two remaining contestants.
Dwalin and Bombur sit next to each other, pressing more honey-cakes into their mouths as Bofur counts on with growing excitement each time the number grows. It is a ridiculous amount and she wonders where they store it all, but no one has vomited yet so she concludes that they must have either overly large stomachs or very quick digestion.
Focus. Bombur. Dwalin. Honey-cakes. Then she can feel his eyes on her, but she isn't courageous enough to meet them, her eyes pointed towards the cakes but her mind anywhere but. Her small smile drops though, as she realises how close his hand plays to her jagged scar that he would be able to feel through her clothing.
She doesn't want to reject his advancements – if they are even that, but she fears that if he does move his hand ever so slightly, she will react in a way that will make him never want to touch her again.
"I need a drink" is her pathetic excuse that she mutters, pushing off the table and turns away before her eyes can glimpse at his reaction. But as she reaches the threshold of the kitchen area, she glances back and Thorin is laughing, watching the small competition take place.
She takes the water pitcher, filling one of the smallest mugs she can find and downs the water like a thirsty horse. The cup almost slams against the table in her hand. Whatever she feels for Thorin is supposed to be a childish crush and she had no intentions of acting on them. And he just has to make things harder for her but doing things that make her heart flutter.
He has never made a show of any affection before, so she knows that this was just a reaction to the atmosphere of the night, but it is cruel to play on her like this. And even if she is to entertain the idea of something happening – nothing logically could. He is a king and a Dwarf and that is why she has been happy until this point just letting her mind run with fantasies.
"Here's your half." Gailien snaps her head around as Fili stands behind her, holding out a few gold coins.
She shakes her head, managing a small smile. "Keep them. I have no need for gold."
Fili waits a moment but pockets the money before slowly walking up to her, leaning against the counter with her. "Are you going to come back out and join us?"
Their mood is much too joyous for her at this time but perhaps before the end of the night, she will manage to leave her solemn mood. "Later," she promises.
But her promise is broken as Gailien stays in the kitchen until the Dwarves start settling down into their bedrolls and she wanders out past them into the front garden. Luckily, she has already done her duties before dinner, so she doesn't need to chase around the chickens in the dark or check over the other livestock.
The autumn night is cool on her skin and she wishes she had her jacket on, but it is refreshing from the overly warm house. Her Elvish eyes can see well in the dark so there is no danger of running her toes into anything. There isn't anything particular that has drawn her outside, even feeling a little hesitant with the knowledge that the Orcs still prowl around them with only Beorn's efforts keeping them at bay.
In the silence of the night, she can easily hear the door opening and the crunching of boots on gravel. "I'll come in soon, Fili."
"Not Fili I'm afraid," Thorin responds, sauntering up behind her. "Though I can retrieve him if you would rather speak your mind to my nephew."
Gailien is a little caught off guard, both by her new company and is offered. "Oh, no it's fine. I just promised him I would return earlier." Thorin continues walking until he stands next to her.
"So, will you speak your mind to me then? What has you so troubled?"
"Why do you think I am troubled?" she counters, though he isn't wrong with his assumption. "The Dwarves are loud, and I just needed a small break is all."
"I thought trust was supposed to go both ways," he rebuts with one brow raised and his head tilted down to her slightly. Gailien meets his eyes, almost feeling guilty for lying but if she is to speak what is on her mind, it will not be to him.
"It is nothing to worry over," she answers eventually, almost feeling uncomfortable in the silence that lays thickly in the air. "I've just over thought a few things. Nothing sleep will not ward off." Her mouth opens and closes a few times as she looks over the Dwarf. She swallows, hesitantly forcing the question from her throat. "You don't have to answer if you do not wish to do so, but." She pauses, sighing as Thorin watches her silently. "Your beard. Why do you cut it?"
Thorin adjusts the weight on his feet as a conscious hand rises to the short hairs on his face. Gailien sucks her lips feeling guilty for even asking such a personal question but it has been in the back of her mind ever since she learned about it.
"I do it to honour those who died by Smaug's fire." His voice is smooth, edged with only a slight rasp. "And I will continue to do so until he has been destroyed and Erebor once again belongs to the Dwarves."
Gailien understands the importance of the action. For a king to cut their beard is usually a grievous thing but he does it willingly and for such a beautiful reason. It touches her heart and she cannot help the water flowing to her eyes, though she does hold them from falling. "Thank you. For telling me."
Thorin nods then takes another step forward. His hand reaches towards her, snaking past her shoulder and around to her neck. His fingers run through her hair. "I'm sorry for earlier. I should not have stopped you from cutting your hair if you wish to."
"You won't take the scissors away from me again?" she taunts, secretly glad that the conversation has returned to a state of normalcy. Thorin huffs, letting her hair fall down onto her back once more. "I'm teasing. In a very strange way, I'm flattered that you care."
He smiles bashfully though his stance doesn't falter – still as confident as ever. "That reminds me. I have something for you."
Thorin reaches down into his small waist pocket as Gailien watches in surprise. She has not been given a gift in hundreds of years, let alone for no reason at all – besides Bofur's bear but that was more of a passing down. Thorin pulls something small out of the pocket and holds it up high between his fingers for her to see. It is small and made of metal with tiny engravings – decorative patterns. Her eyes widen as she realises what it is.
"You made me a hair bead?" she gasps, reaching out slowly, fearful that if one of them is to drop it, it will be lost in the grass forever. Thorin places it carefully in her hand.
"We had leftover metal from doing the repairs and it thought it would like it. I know how much you've been learning about our culture and after everything that you've been through with the company, I thought it would perfectly represent your place amongst us. If you wish to wear it, that is."
"Of course," she says, nodding feverishly. Her free hand pulls at her loose ponytail. "Though I'm going to have to detangle it before I can even think about braiding a piece." Holding it tight in her fingers, she reaches her arms out, wrapping them tightly around his neck. "Thank you, this means a lot to me." Thorin's arms embrace her back.