A/N: Next in my Dain's pigs series, not as long as the others but still good hopefully.
Written, as always, for Dets and using her ideas of characters.
Thráin stared as at least a dozen pigs and piglets raced past him.
He turned to his cousin's son with wide confused eyes; Dáin was munching happily on a sausage next to him, a mug of ale in his other hand, and a relaxed grin on his face that had been rarely seen by any watching him in the last 150 years.
Thráin sat gaping for a few seconds at his little cousin (not so little anymore admittedly, a seasoned veteran warrior who survived more wars than most of the Durin family) trying to come up with a reason for the pigs still racing happily around the large, cavernous mess hall.
Thráin's speechlessness tripled when Dáin, without looking up from his ravenous eating, whistled sharply and the scattered pigs raced towards said Dwarf who sat back slightly in his seat to pat one of the larger ones on the head, and then leant down picked up the smallest, held it to his chest and went back to munching through his meal.
"Dáin?" Dáin made an mmm noise and tilted his head towards Thráin slightly in acknowledgement, Thráin opened his mouth again and couldn't think of what to say, he shared a look with Óin across the table who just smirked at him and went back to his conversation with Bombur, the quiet Dwarf of his inûdoy's company, and Ori.
When Thráin said nothing further Dáin turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow, "Yes cousin?"
"Dáin, why are there pigs?"
"Shh."
Thráin turned incredulous eyes on his cousin's son, "Did you just shush me?"
"Shh, don't worry about it Thráin." Thráin watched with wide eyes as Dáin rose from his seat, his tankard still in hand, and walked out of the room (better than he'd walked in years when he was alive) a trail of pigs following him.
Thráin was left sitting at the table feeling more confused than he thought he'd ever felt before.