T.A. 2903 Ered Luin
Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and king without a mountain stares at one of the documents in front of him as though his gaze could reduce the annoying piece of parchment to ashes. This is what he gets for leaving Frerin in charge for four months. Little wonder his younger brother has already happily declared that he has no problem at all stepping aside as heir, should something happen to Thorin, in favour of Fili.
At forty-four Fili is nearly the same age that Frerin had been at Azanulbizar and the weight on his shoulders in almost as heavy. There is not much, Thorin muses, in the way of youth for a crown prince of the line. Especially one who's people are exiles. Would that Fili had been given more opportunities to be young and less time learning to shoulder the same heavy burdens as his uncle.
"Thorin!" Only one soul calls his name in that tone and she is the only one permitted to do so in any case. Dis strides into his office, face black with temper, and dark eyes glittering with controlled rage. Thorin finds himself hoping, quite fervently, that he is not the target of her anger.
"What is it, namad?" He sighs, half hoping that she won't tell him that Frerin and the boys have caused some amount of mischief (and while Frerin is utterly useless with state matters he's very good at making sure Fili and Kili get to enjoy being young), he has too much work to do to fix whatever mess the three of them have made this time.
"Frerin is gone," Dis announces with a growl. Thorin feels the same pit open up in his gut as did after the battle at Azanulbizar was over and neither Thrain's nor Frerin's bodies could be found. Frerin hasn't simply disappeared in years, true while he was wandering they didn't always know exactly where he was but he always returned when he said he would and told them before he departed.
"What do you mean 'gone'?" Thorin demands, concern for his brother making his tone harder than it would be with Dis otherwise.
"He's left. He didn't come home from the forge last night," which isn't so unusual the last nine years. Frerin's final trip to see his old friend hadn't ended well and Frerin hadn't handled it well at the start, sometimes old feelings flare up. "I thought he'd gone out drinking and then stayed there for the night, so I sent Kili with lunch. The forge is stone cold, no one has seen him since yesterday and Kili found this."
Dis hands him a note. The handwriting is unfamiliar and the paper of a kind that isn't seen in the mountains, delicate and fine. It's small, brief, so it must have been delivered by one of the messenger birds Frerin keeps.
'Irak-Adad. Please help. Papa is dead. Mama is ill. There is no one else to ask.'
There is no name, only a rather stylised drawing of a flower. Not that Thorin would know most flowers if confronted with the real thing, let alone a basic drawing. Frerin is obviously familiar with it, however, because he hadn't stopped to announce he was leaving.
"His room?" He asks because he has to be certain.
"His travel gear, weapons and a few personal items are gone," Dis sighs. "Given what he's taken, wherever he's gone I don't think he's intending to come back."
T.A. 2941 Hobbiton, The Shire
The second time Thorin comes across the little sign post he lets out a stream of curses that would most likely inspire his sister to smack him across the head with a brick.
"You'll be another one of Mister Frerin's lot, then," an elderly hobbit says as he ambles up, apparently not intimidated by Thorin in the slightest.
"Frerin?" Thorin asks, because that seems to be the most important part of the sentence.
"Oh, aye, lives up Bag End with Belladonna Baggins and her Bluebell. Been here near on forty years now," the hobbit puffs on his pipe, the smoke fragrant and sweet. "It's not much further than my old smial," he continues, "come on, you follow me, and I'll see you right."
Frerin. Belladonna. Forty years.
Now that he thinks about it everything makes sense and he curses himself for never thinking to look in the Shire for his brother. In his own defence Thorin had always assumed that Frerin's Bella (he never used her full name) had just been an oddly named dwarrowdam, not a hobbit of all creatures. He doesn't know much about them, secretive little bunch that they are, but he knows from his dealings in Bree that they don't live all that much longer than Men. Whoever she is, she must be pretty elderly by now.
"There you are," the hobbit says, apparently not concerned by Thorin's silence, "straight up the path, the one with the green door. You can't miss it. Was starting to think Mister Frerin didn't have no family. Nice to see I was wrong." He thanks the hobbit and continues up the hill, nerves tugging at him.
He had all but given up hope that he would find his brother. To stumble across him in this sleepy little place, now of all times, when he is about to embark on the most important journey of his life would be the greatest of providence and the best of omens. Should this be some other dwarf he isn't sure his heart could take it. Not after his father and his grandfather, not after Vili. Not after the other dwarf leaders have turned their backs on him so completely. If this turns out to be some other dwarf with the same name Thorin thinks he might just give up on Erebor altogether and go back to his life in the Blue Mountains. It would be safe, dull and hard but he cannot deal with the loss and the disappointment any longer.
He rings the bell first, when he reaches the funny hobbit house with its round door and neat gardens. The delicate chime is lost in the sound of merry making inside and he smiles for it. There will be precious little time on the road for revelry and it's best they enjoy this safe place while they can. He knocks hard three times then turns to look out over the rolling countryside by the light of the moon. This gentle place is beautiful in its own way, but he can't imagine any kind of useful burglar coming from it. He would like to think Tharkun knows what he's up to but there are few such certainties.
"Gandalf," he says when the door finally opens. The wizard steps aside to allow him entry and he keeps his attention on the tall figure rather than the gathered company who have been waiting for him, not wanting to be disappointed just yet. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way twice. Would not have found it at all but for the mark on the door."
"That's what comes of being stone headed, brother," a familiar voice that he hasn't heard in too long says. Fili and Kili part to make way for Frerin and a female hobbit follows, though Thorin pays her no mind as she chastises Gandalf over her door, his attention is all on the brother he had feared lost to him.
"So, this is where you've been hiding," he breathes. Frerin has hardly changed. His beard is a little longer and there is a touch of grey at his temples, more even than Thorin has, but he looks much as he always did. Except his eyes, the same dark eyes that he shares with Kili but no longer carry the merry mischief they once did. They have aged as though he carries a great weight upon him.
"This is my home now," Frerin confirms.
Thorin wants to grab his brother and crush him against his chest, he wants to scream in joy and let loose the tears that have threatened to choke him over the years every time he has thought of the blond. He wants to lay his fists about and demand his brother explain why it was necessary to cause such heartache and grief, rage that Frerin should have been open and honest instead of sneaking away. He does none of these things, they must all wait until they have a moment in private because they are not for the ears of near strangers, and turns his attention to the wizard instead.
"How did you find him?" Gandalf hums uncomfortably.
"In truth I had no idea he was here," he rumbles. "I promised you a burglar and Belladonna Baggins was the very best who came to mind."
"Really, Grey One?" The hobbit next to him says as she glares up at Gandalf. "You couldn't have opened with that rather than this adventuring nonsense?" The opinion Thorin was about to express on her suitability as a burglar is derailed when Frerin turns and puts his arm around her. Describing her as a seamstress will not go down well with his brother, if this is really the same Bella he spoke about for so many years.
"We can discuss it after Thorin has eaten," Gandalf says, and he smiles gratefully at the wizard. Thorin hasn't eaten since breakfast and even riding hard it's clear that he has arrived much later than everyone else.
"I set some food aside earlier," another hobbit pipes up. This one is stood next to Fili and not at all disconcerted by the way Frerin is holding the older hobbit, most likely her mother. "Fili why don't you go and get that other ale cask I showed you earlier? Planning daring quests is thirsty work, or so I've heard." Much to Thorin's surprise Fili winks at the girl and drags his brother down the hall with him.
The plate of meat pie, eggs, sausage and potatoes is cold but tastes delightful in his hunger. The ale is rich and dark, smoother and lacking the bite of dwarven ale (much as hobbit pipe weed seems to lack the bitterness of the pipe weed his people prefer) and he is amused to hear his brother exclaiming over the use of his best ale to entertain the invading rabble.
"Peace, uncle," the girl tells him, and it brings to mind the note that Frerin left behind. This girl barely looks old enough to have written it, but then Belladonna doesn't look old enough to be Frerin's Bella either.
It turns out to be an evening of revelations. The discovery of his lost brother in the home of this hobbit woman whom Frerin hovers over protectively and her daughter, who leans against the doorframe next to Gandalf with her indigo eyes that glow strangely in the dim light. The map and key that Gandalf draws from his robes with a flourish and the confirmation that there is another way into Erebor that might give them the chance to reclaim their home. Both of the hobbits know of Erebor, doubtless told much of it by Frerin, and neither are impressed with the idea of attempting to steal from a dragon. Truth be told Thorin doubts they'll be any good at it anyway.
"You need someone who can work with stone, Grey One," Belladonna pipes up once Gandalf has filled the room and declared that she is the best and only hobbit for this job. Her daughter looks put out about that more than anything but Thorin darkly wonders just how many of their secrets Frerin has divulged. "Whether the dragon recognises my scent or not I need the earth beneath me to go unseen. Working with stone before was difficult and exhausting. Now it's impossible. I'm not what I was before I met Bungo." She sighs. "But Bluebell could," she adds, "she wields the Blessing with greater strength than I ever did. She could work through that amount of stone, I'm sure."
Thorin has no idea what this 'Blessing' is and though he would like to have it explained he can recognise from the way Belladonna has danced around the fringes of it that this is a sacred secret. His people have a number of them after all. Then there is Frerin to consider, he must know what this woman is talking about judging by the way his hand hovers over the scar he gained on the field of Azanulbizar. That wound should have been fatal, even under the care of the most skilled healer, and yet it hadn't been. Something this hobbit had done, some magic she possesses, had healed his brother and returned him to his people. In light of that he will not ask for clarification now but there will be a time when he will need to, he knows.
"I cannot guarantee your daughter's safety," he tells Belladonna honestly.
"The wilds are no place for gentlefolk," Dwalin adds and Frerin smiles.
"Belladonna saved me on the fields of Azanulbizar," he says, "snatched me right out from under an orc's nose. She knows far more than you think, and we'll be with you to watch over Bluebell."
"You assume I'm going to go," the girl replies tartly.
"You assume I'm completely ignorant of how your gift works, nathith," his brother replies and that is an unwelcome development. He glances at Balin who signs 'heart' at him to indicate that his brother has adopted the girl as a daughter. Quite why he isn't being open about it is anyone's guess, but it still complicates things. Knowing that she has some sort of gift, no matter what that gift might be, doesn't make it any better.
"Mama talks too much," the girl grumbles. Then she sighs. "Where do I sign?"
Just like that his company has gained three people, his burglar, her mother and his brother. He can't decide if this is a good or a bad thing. There is still so much to discuss with Frerin and none of it to do with the quest, so many questions that have to be answered but right now all he can feel is relief. Relief that his brother is alive and apparently happy, relief that he has Frerin's support and that things seem to be starting to go his way.
"Come along, sweetling," Belladonna says, "let your uncle have some time with his kin. We need to pack, and I suspect it will be an early start."
The girl, Bluebell he reminds himself, rolls her eyes. Her expression is similar to the one that Fili and Kili often pull when he and Dis treat them as children instead of young dwarves of age. Thorin hasn't lived as long as he has, survived battles and dragons and the cities of Men (not to mention various attempts on his life) without learning to be observant. So, he sees the look Bluebell gives Fili and the commiserating half smile he gives her in return as he raises his tankard. He sees the way Kili waggles his eyebrows and nudges his brother with a smirk and wonders when they became so like he and Frerin at that age. Behind them Frerin clears his throat and gives them a warning glare. Thorin adds his own, because the last thing they need is a spurned young woman and a mother out for blood.
They don't linger long. As Belladonna pointed out it will be an early start in the morning, and it is late. Thorin is fully prepared to bed down for the night on the floor under his cloak and so it comes as a surprise to find a pile of blankets and pillows in the parlour, although Frerin seems to have expected it. Gandalf takes himself off to the guest bedroom on the other side of the entrance hall, the bed in there being man-sized even if it hasn't been used in some time. Frerin leads Thorin, Fili and Kili to the spare room and Thorin can't help but notice how quiet his sister-sons are around their uncle.
The bed is large enough for the three of them to share and they strip out of their boots and outer layers before Thorin notices the obvious signs of the room normally being occupied. Frerin's belongings are in here, far more neatly stored than they ever were in the home they all shared but evident all the same, and he yanks the door open, stamping down the hall as Fili and Kili dart after him. Their voices are loud as they demand to know what is wrong and it is likely that noise that summons Bluebell.
"Is there a problem?" She appears at the end of the slightly curved corridor, obviously ready for bed in a heavy nightgown and with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Riotous curls have been tamed into a thick braid that hangs over her shoulder and Thorin hears Fili fall silent.
"I'll not turn my brother from his bed," Thorin replies and her eyebrows pull together in a confused frown.
"He didn't tell you?" She asks and continues before he can ask the question. "Mother and Frerin gave up sneaking through the smial in the middle of the night about ten years ago. We keep the room like that to keep the nosey old busy bodies quiet whenever they come to tea. There's been enough interference in their lives, they don't need more."
There isn't anything Thorin can really say to that. It isn't like Frerin would be the first dwarf to take up with another's widow and he's at least being discrete about it. It wouldn't even have been necessary if not for decisions made by others. He thanks Bluebell without further comment and returns to the room they have been given for the night, catching Fili's arm as he walks past his sister-son. The younger dwarf's attention has been wholly on the hobbit girl and Thorin very much doubts he has heard any of the discussion. He only hopes that Fili can show a measure of good sense and avoid the unnecessary complications that will occur if he decides to attempt a seduction.
A.N: So book Thorin is a chatterbox in comparison to movie Thorin, but both of them strike me as being intensely private. Some may have wanted there to be a shouting match or flying fists but Thorin knows about playing to a crowd and the kind of impressions he needs to make, even if he doesn't always follow through. A fight with Frerin isn't going to make the right impression at the moment, he needs to be a leader and a king, not an angry brother because the quest is important and he can't afford to lose the little support he already has by having a moment of family drama before they've even set off.