The world was fair on Durin's Day- JRR Tolkien
It was later than she expected when Dis, her household and Meisar's own converged into her chambers giddy, abashed and dead-set to the morning's work all at once. Certainly, as her slumber had been slightly diminished through the night, she would have liked to remain at peace but for a few moments more, a final solitary rest. Alas, it was not to be, and to wake on that morning was to know that it would change the world forever.
It was Durin's Day. It was her wedding day.
The fuss a woman endured on her wedding day! Once she had emerged harried from her bath, hair plastered to her wet body and shivering, they had set upon her like flitting hens. Most were already attired on point for the day in their finest; the usual characters, Freyda, Gyda, Siv (still in her gown from the feast) were lacing their stockings, fixing their hair as they pecked about her. Emli hastily threw a robe about her and set onto her hair with a fluffy towel, drying it so vigorously from root to tip Meisar was sure her head would wobble off altogether. "We must get you dressed, bride!" Emli harangued.
"It is still early," Meisar yawned.
"It is going to take awhile, my lady," replied Emli crisply, motioning to the chambermaids who had just entered bearing her attire, and minus the bridal gown altogether; it stood on its mannequin in the corner of her room, waiting. The seamstresses were already checking every inch of it thoroughly one last time. "That many layers?" Meisar queried, wide-eyed, as the clothes were laid out upon her bed.
"And a few more," chirped Dis. They started with the gossamer silk chemise, trimmed at its cuffs and at its hem in the daintiest of Lake-Town lace, all white and virginal, the most luxuriant of anything save for Thorin's own skin that had ever touched her own. To be furbished in undergarments alone of such an unfamiliar sumptuousness was only the beginning. She slipped her arms through the filmy unlined sleeves, eyes studied the lace at her wrists with an abashed grin. "For something no one will see?" She blushed a little and caught herself. "Except for Thorin I suppose."
"You are a queen now my lady. No more sulking about old calico, with that tatty wool on your legs!" lectured Aroin. She brought the silvery silk stockings, held just above the knee with silver and blue ribbons. "Good legs," Oin and Gloin's purple-and-gold clad sister remarked. The collar of her gown stood up at the neck, giving her a slightly sinister appearance. "Strong legs. Good to be wrapped about the king this night. You're not the spring-kissed maiden the lady princess was when she was wed," she nodded to Dis. "Mahal willing at least one strong child will come of this marriage. Otherwise we're doomed to be inherited by a pack of ruffians from the Iron Hills. Keep pigs in their beds."
Raincloud jumped onto Meisar's lap and Aroin narrowed a stern eye at him. "Off! Off! Dog hair on your underskirts majesty and on your wedding day no less; what did I just say about the Iron Hills?"
"And who is it you think Thorin Oakenshield shall wed this day?" Meisar half-smiled, scratching the hound behind his ear who now curled submissively at her feet. "A princess of old, all gilded and fair? No, I am but a wildling myself, who has encountered such a strange fortune."
"Nay, not a wildling or a princess of old, but the woman he loves, and how to define that in words one cannot so easily," said Dis. Dis touched the flimsy sleeve of Meisar's chemise, her touch like a ghost. "The woman he shall love in every way, no matter what comes."
"Though I pray we shall all look upon the king's face and his joy when a son of his own is born to him," offered Brynja gently. "A fine mother you shall be; you treat these wild curs with such tenderness." Brynja stooped and picked up a wriggling Redcoat to snuggle to her bosom.
"Yes," Meisar agreed quietly. Her belly drew inward, deep inside, and not from the tight lacing of the under-bodice now being affixed upon her. The approving sentiments of the dwarrowdams, their soft dulcet hums of accord, unnerved her slightly, their attentions all too honed on something she felt ought to be hers and Thorin's alone, ever even to speak of. Her ladies and the chambermaids carried on in the meantime, rubbing her hair with softening elixirs from root to top and brushing it until it was a shining sea. It was plaited and pinned in an elaborate coiffure, with the courtship braids in front.
Petticoats of heavy starched linen had already been added on thrice over. Chemise and bodice, kirtle and under-skirts were all elaborately, ceremoniously layered and her hair arranged before the wedding dress was finally brought from its stand. The seamstresses looked upon it with tears of pride in their eyes as the bride dressed. White-on-gold damask, the gold pattern barely visible about the body of the gown and at the broader trumpeted over-sleeves that ended just below the elbows, but on the under-sleeves and in the narrow forepart of the skirt shone more brilliant with a mirrored gold-on-white material to the rest of the gown, still subtle enough not to be gaudy. The over-bodice with its inlaid precious stones and silver-white brooches pointed slightly downward at the waist and her bosom would have pushed halfway to her chin had the bridal gown itself not borne a modest square neckline that only grazed her collarbones. Finally Emli and Freyda held her many voluminous, heavy skirts up around her ankles while Griet and Bertha laced her feet into a pair of silver fox fur booties, with little pointed toes studded in sapphire. A dwarven bride whether a queen in waiting or a miner's wife was not to be any less than beautifully adorned in all manner of jewels and sumptuous fabrics on her wedding day.
"The bridal crown," Dis gestured to the chambermaids to bring it finally. They carried it over, handling it as if it were the raven-crown itself. The headdress… the headdress was a cumbersome thing, a great round jeweled crescent that was set to her cranium with its pointed tips fixed just behind both ears, and held in place with thick jeweled pins. To its back then was affixed her veil. It felt so heavy she thought her neck might be snapped should she dare lean her head backward. But it was the bridal crown of the queen of Erebor, and she tried to think it beautiful for the sake of that alone.
The women fawned and fussed about her, and she could begrudge any of them for their titillation. They wanted her to be perfect for her wedding.
How could she have told them, everything already was perfect?
Noting their various states of readiness, Emli made a determined, stony face and summoned all of the women out of the chambers to see to their own grooming, Eda picking Siv up from a head-aching heap on the floor, her jewels rattling, her hair in need of a good strong pomade. The dogs had already licked her face clean of its rouge in her unconsciousness and it ran in messy lines down her cheeks.
When they were gone, Dis alone remained and she brought a velvet box studded in gold and set it on the bed. She opened it to reveal a set of jewels so beautiful it took Meisar's breath away.
"These are queen's jewels!"
"They belonged to my mother. As they do all the queens of Erebor," explained Dis.
"How came you by these treasures? After all these years?" She could not even bring herself to touch the exquisite piece, a draped collar of sapphire and diamonds with matching teardrop earrings of sapphires big as thumbnails.
Dis smiled broadly. "They were preserved in a treasure room in one of the lower halls."
The collar of gold, laid in many diamonds and sapphires clasped over the entirety of her neck and platted across her chest. "Sapphires are the jewels of the Line of Durin," Dis explained to her happily. Sapphires and thread of gold were woven into her hair and beard. She was not wearing rubies.
"I am overwhelmed, dear sister."
"When you sleep tonight, and it's all quiet, then it will sink in."
"I do not think we will be doing much sleeping tonight," Meisar said and grinned sheepishly.
Dis reached back to fix her tiara, craned her neck to look down and see that Meisar's face was blank and pensive. "Are you happy, my lady?"
"Dear sister, I have not been so happy in all of my life."
.
From the Long Lake to Erebor bonfires went up in celebration of Durin's Day. Thorin watched them burn against the setting sun from the imposing terrace at the mountain flank. The people were happy tonight.
"Fair a mood this land," Dwalin remarked happily. "And are ye fair a mood at as well?" he slapped at Thorin's back heartily.
"Aye," the king said. "Oh, aye."
.
"Will they be here soon?" Meisar asked, fanning herself with a twitchy hand, feeling all too hot suddenly in the chamber. She watched Oliada cross the room and open the door, peer out, nod no. In her formal dress of marigold silk with large puffed sleeves, she wore cuffs of gold at the tips of the sleeves that came up to her forearms. About her neck was a heavy crescent shaped collar, with a great round gong still below it, and more plate metal jewelry still, adorning her shoulders, connecting the big cumbersome collar-necklace. Under the yellow over-dress, set at the waist now in a thick jeweled belt, was a soft aquamarine patterned skirt.
"They come soon," she assured.
"You are looking well tonight, Oliada," Meisar said.
"What we wear in East when there is wedding," Oliada shrugged in Meisar's direction, looking proud of herself in the mirror, so much it almost made her smile. Almost. She took off the heavy pointed cap again, momentarily, held it out for Meisasr to see. "Except… if I were bride, no cap. Bridegroom braid my hair at altar. I braid his."
"In that way, we are not so different after all," Meisar grinned at her. This time, Oliada smiled back.
The dwarrowdams were all gone save for Dis, dressed all in blue velvet with her tiara set primly over her forehead, her hair in a matching snood; they had gone already to the terrace to wait on the bride and groom's arrival.
"The escort has come!" Dis announced at last, a rattling in the distance springing her up to her feet. "Come, Bombur is here, and Bira, and all of the children!"
"Then let us make haste," Meisar smiled sheepishly. "For I am quite eager to be married, my dear sister."
Coming around with her white velvet cloak, Dis fastened it at her neck with a silver-and-sapphire brooch and closed it all about her. "You are ready then?" smiled Dis.
"I am."
They exited the chamber with Oliada following a few paces behind. "Nerves, milady?" Dis asked. They ascended the stairs slowly, with Dis behind her bearing the long train of her gown. The stairs were still broken; together she and Oliada held her hands and helped her over in her heavy bridal attire toward the waiting escorts. The bridal crown wobbled on her head a bit. It was such a cumbersome, heavy thing, and yet she could not have been prouder to wear it.
"Nerves my lady?" Dis asked when Meisar seemed the least bit uneasy on her feet.
"No," she sighed quietly in return. "I wish for this day, and this night, to last forever."
At the foot of the stair, Bira had come waddling up with her children and grandchildren, all the little ones rambling about her feet and her daughters in their finest stationed quiet and elegant beside her, except for Lulia, who had her ax proudly drawn with her brothers and cousins. Bombur's wife was gowned in rich purple velvet with puffed upper sleeves and a farthingdale, draped in long necklaces of emeralds and gold. She was so very fat she looked like a grape, but waddle along as she did, she could still walk. Bombur was helped along on his feet by his sons. He ducked his head to Meisar with a grand smile. "I have come to escort the bride," he trumpeted. All around the littlest of the dwarflings drew their toy swords and held them aloft. "A well-armed escort is necessary for a bride as she travels from one home to her new one, of course," he said, patting each of the boys and Lulia on the head.
"Aye, and you shall each have your just rewards when we are safely delivered," Meisar reminded them. "Balin has a whole chest full for you waiting."
Once Bombur had been lifted and hauled by his sons over the next set of the dizzying stairs, he was arranged in the waiting chariot, Meisar beside him holding his arm, her train tucked neatly 'round her feet, and they led the party on, a mule decked in cloth-of-gold at its flanks bearing the arduous task. Bira had sewn him a new formal doublet of the finest evergreen velvet (oh the fabric itself must have cost her a few jewels to trade!) His shoulders were draped in many interlocking chains of gold. The children climbed about Bombur, clinging onto his shoulders and back and holding onto his legs, while he jovially ignored the soil from little feet on such fine clothes.
"Were that your father were here. I can only imagine his pride. Truly, it is the greatest pride of all dwarven parents to see their child well-married. Secretly, many of us hope for it though we have little say in the matter," Bombur mused.
"I hardly knew my parents. I have no inkling of what they would think."
"We shall serve that purpose to the very best, my lady. And I think they would be quite happy with your choice of husband," assured Bombur.
Escorted by Bombur and Bira, their enormous brood of children and grandchildren trailing about them, she made her way toward the cold smoke scent of the night air coming in.
.
In the Hall of Kings, Thorin knelt before the behemoth lump of gold that had once been his grandfather's likeness. In stone he would be rebuilt soon enough. But for better or worse, this shell of a tribute was his legacy. For he had been as glittering, as magnificent, as proud, and as broken.
"Guide me, so that I may love her as you loved me, for all of your imperfection, for all of mine," he prayed quietly, his knee to the ground, his hand to the cold metal.
Dwalin waited a comfortable distance behind. "The hour draws near, my king," Dwalin urged, smiling. "Are you ready to meet your bride?"
Thorin stood and took a last look. "I am."
.
They would be married on the terrace of the fortress city, in a pretty nook of stone overlooking the city of Dale and the lake in the distance. Braziers were lit on either side of the arch of stone beneath which they would be wed, guests arranged in a half-circle around that arch which would serve as altar and canopy. Only a few were deemed honorable enough to have attended, old comrades and friends from quest and journey east. Indeed it seemed half the kingdom was left unawares and expecting a much later date, and better for it the lucky few had already agreed, the fuss and preparation for a modest celebration far daunting enough.
A cacophony of celebratory whoomps rose from the gathered guests as Bombur, family trailing behind, made his way through. "Here! Here! He has brought the bride safely to us!" Balin chortled. He hugged Bombur and the children scattered in front of him, eager for their reward. Balin doled out sweets to their wanting hands, candied yams and hard jelly candies for Yrsa and Anbur, powdered lemon squares for the boys, as had been prescribed by the marriage contract itself.
The women had all come except for the usual suspects. Emli, Gloin and Gimli appeared, fashionably late as expected, Emli in a dark crimson gown with slashed sleeves turned up at the cuffs to reveal the butter-gold silk chemise beneath. The high-necked matching partlett was trimmed in a lattice of garnet and diamond. Gimli and Gloin were outfitted in matching crimson doublets and elaborately patterned sur-coats of dark brown velvet trimmed in fox fur. Their beards and hair were combed and plaited, identically adorned in contrasting clasps of silver and gold. Eda in simple dusty-rose velvet with a fur mantle, grimaced with Siv wobbling on her arm hiccuping in her gaudy gown from the night before, her hair pomaded in points identical to Nori's, standing at her other arm and grinning.
Freyda and Gyda stood together hand in hand and whispering to each other, waiting for another familiar face, who would come at Thorin's side.
Meisar was seated in a plush chair of royal blue velvet to await Thorin's arrival, and her long veil unpinned from the back of her bridal crown and gently laid over her.
In the coming night the veil was half opaque and she could only hear outside of it the sounds of the dwarves rising from their seats in unison. A hand squeezed hers and Brynja's sweet familiar voice leaned down and whispered, "he is here."
The women closed about Meisar as petals shielding a flower's heart from the rain. Thorin and his men met them and stood opposite, and the two parties faced each other. Dis as honored matron, stepped forward to greet Dwalin, stationed before Thorin. "Honorable princess," Dwalin greeted her with a deep formal bow, "I bring for yer lady her betrothed. Do ye bring for my king his bride?"
"I do bring her, with honor."
The bridal-entourage parted around her and Balin bid Thorin to kneel before her. He lifted the sheer cream veil.
"Is this the dwarrowdam you have fair come to wed?" Balin asked, barely able to contain his joy.
"Aye, it is the one that holds my heart, and I have come here to wed," Thorin responded. He wanted so much to kiss her his lips ached and cramped.
"Then let us have the ceremony begin, the vows be read, the mead be drunk, so that these two may be joined in matrimony," Balin hastened to add, beaming wider.
Meisar stood from her seat and drunk in her Thorin, her eyes flooding, her skin porous, all of her quite saturated with the sight of him. A mantle of dark fur was draped nobly about his shoulders, and he wore a long, sleeveless outer coat of sapphire blue velvet embossed over with the geometric emblem of the throne of Erebor. The unadorned inner doublet was a darker, muted shade of midnight blue, and the silver clasps that fastened down the front of it were silver, and matched by gauntlets of silver and sapphire at either arm. His breeches were fine soft leather, the mithril belt set proudly over the rich outer doublet and the fine embroidered tunic beneath, which was a royal shade of blue, befitting the king he was. His hair lay silken and dense over his shoulders, meticulously combed, and crowning those glories his raven crown. He looked every inch a king.
"The cloak," Balin whispered to Dis, and Freyda. The women stepped behind Meisar and gently unpinned the heavy velvet cloak from her shoulders, opening and removing it, pinning her veil back again to trail behind her, so that her gown was revealed to the gathered guests. The dwarrowdams all made sweet sighing sounds of awe and the dwarves bent their heads in quiet reverence. She gazed quietly toward Thorin and his blue eyes were all black with awe and yearning at the sight of her.
In his formal wear of dark green knee-length tunic and wide belt of burnished gold, Dwalin cut an uncannily handsome figure, with the hide of a silver fox draped over his shoulders. He wore dark new doeskin breeches and fine boots lined in fox that matched his mantle. By Thorin's side, he looked proud, but his eyes were wandering toward a dwarrowdam in shades of blue and green that matched her eyes.
Balin stepped in front of them and raised up a great carved hammer above his head, displayed for the dwarven witnesses before him. The hammer being put up drew them into a tight full circle, surrounding the bride and groom. "By the sight of this hammer you have all borne witness to these two who come to be married, and upon this hammer, I ask each of you, do you swear to protect these two dwarves, to honor their commitment, to share in the duty of shielding them always from harm, from sadness?"
"Aye!" an enthused chorus went up.
"Then taken are each of you to this oath, to protect this sacred creation, to stall the hammer of destruction, just as Eru's hammer was stalled from destroying Aule's creations. Here! Here! Sworn then are you all to defend these dwarves from destruction, to raise shield and ax to the hammer which has tried and destroy us before, and failed. What say you?"
"AYE!"
"Then by your oath, let the marriage ceremony commence, starting with the reading of the marriage contract, here with these sworn witnesses present to hear." They stood face to face now. Torches were lit on the broad terrace, overlooking the fires that yet burned, the music and revelry of the people suspended in the air. Balin strained at his monocle to read the contract, every word of it enunciated carefully, and the long parchment of it dusting at Balin's feet. As the dwarves stood patiently and shifted on their feet and Bombur's children ate their sweets as quietly and politely as could be managed, Thorin's eyes rose and then dipped, again and again, toward Meisar, as if the mere sight of her could have taken his breath away and left him winded and on his back.
"Well then," Balin's exhausted voice finally proclaimed, jauntily for its hoarseness, breaking their silent worshipful reverie, the reading of the contract for those inestimable moments but background noise. "Now that the terms have been proclaimed aloud, let us have vows," Balin continued and bid Thorin and Meisar face each other with hands clasped to one and other's. Thorin's fingertips around her own were light but intense. Her skin prickled lightly and she knew he felt it, the skin at this throat tightening, eyes that had washed back into their regal blue filling with ink again.
"A wedding among the dwarves of Erebor, by custom, is held beneath an arch of stone, for it is an emblem of our people, a great canopy, under which we have existed, prosperous, and peaceful. A mountain is a great solid thing, like a marriage. One must chisel sometimes a long way to find the heart of another's mountain, and when we do… it is a thing of unconditional love and beauty, known sometimes at first sight, and more lasting, more pure than any stone plucked from the Earth." Balin's gentle words floated across the alcove like a soft summer breeze, serene and comforting.
"Thorin, would you do the honor of beginning?"
Dipping his head once in quiet reverence toward his bride he raised his eyes to gaze intently into hers once more. "For though you were a stranger you were my One, and mine eyes and mine heart were yours when we did meet."
"Do repeat the same, my lady," instructed Balin.
"For though you were a strange you were my One, and mine eyes and mine heart were yours when we did meet." She blinked and saw his face upon the road, heavy, melancholy, beautiful. How the sight of him had taken her breath away and as the last of the words rolled from her tongue, still did.
"And for the rest. Thorin, my king, do take the lead," said Balin.
Thorin took a deep breath through his nose and the light squeeze of his fingers sent a light shiver through Meisar's as he began to speak again. "I vow my One that mine eyes and mine heart shall possess none but you. In Mahal's name I swear all loyalty and love, whether we are blessed or kept in hardship you are mine and I am yours. And steadfast and strong to endure our love is made as our people were, so that none shall part us. I vow to my One I shall love you until my last breath is drawn, and with my last it shall be your name upon my lips. And when we are stone again my One I will love you still. Until the mountains are worn to Earth and there is naught a star in the sky…"
Meisar parroted, stumbling over a few of the words which she had repeated like a mantra over and over. Watched by so many eyes, however loving, had a tendency to frazzle her memory, but Thorin's tender gaze had erased all unease from her. When the vows were completed and they turned to face the dwarves again, Thorin sat in the velvet chair while Meisar, her hand shaking with his jeweled comb in hand, tenderly separated and plaited a thick lock of his black hair at the back of his head. When the plait was complete, Anbur brought for her a small bead that was carried to her on a little velvet pillow. Balin took the glimmering hair bead between thumb and forefinger, raised it aloft. "Thorin, son of Thrain son of Thror, do you accept this hair bead to clasp this plait for all your life, to display for all of your people to behold that you are a dwarf well and eternally wedded to this dwarrowdam alone, neither hardship nor death parting you from this vow?"
"I do."
Hands shaking, Meisar clasped to Thorin's unbound plait a bead the fire-stone, mithril and sapphire bead. This fourth small plait would now be worn permanently in his hair, with this clasp at its end, for mithril was the emblem of his married status, an unbreakable substance which was the most beautiful of all Mahal's jewels.
"Then by the acceptance of this braid into your hair, how now do you say, my king?" Balin dictated.
Thorin rose and faced Meisar again. "And in the name of the Seven Fathers, my king, what do you offer?"
Releasing her hands from his he walked in a slow circle around her, seven times for Seven Fathers, as the dwarves watched close with bated breath. "I keep you in this circle of stone my bride, seven circles for Seven Fathers, in asking each of them who came before, to protect you always within my Halls, as I shall until my dying breath."
Thorin then turned to the gathered wedding party, and knelt, as humbly as a prostrating servant, before them. "Khazad, behold she who is my wife, and shall be of my House, the House of Durin, which shall protect and keep her always. In my father's place, I ask you to accept this dwarrowdam as my wife and queen, and welcome her thusly into my House for all times."
"Aye!" came another, even more joyful, unified voice.
Dwalin came forth then bearing a small bottle of mead. Standing before him and barely reaching his knees, Haldor, son of Nifur, son of Bombur, grasped both hands intently around the stem of a silver chalice, which Dwalin slowly and reverently filled. Dwalin took the cup from the dwarfling and bowing shallowly to Meisar, offered it to her. "My lady, we welcome you to your husband's house. Will you accept this warming gift of mead?"
"With gladness," she dipped on her knees lightly to Dwalin.
"In Mahal's sight then, share this cup, and by doing so, celebrate the completion of this marriage."
They each drank long languid sips of the sweet honey mead, cold and crisp, each holding the base of the chalice for each other to imbibe. When it was empty, Balin placed the chalice beneath the arch of stone upon the ground. He came back around and joined the hands of the bride and groom together.
Balin smiled warmly. "Meisar, sister of Taras, a daughter of Dale… behold your king and husband."
"I do behold him."
"Thorin, son of Thrain son of Thror, King Under the Mountain… behold your wife and queen."
.
The fires on the mountain flanks and in the city of Dale had begun to burn out by the time the wedding banquet began. Roast boar and elk, turkey legs simmering on the bone, and long braids of sweet bread, fruits and wheels of bright yellow cheese were served aplenty. Barrels of ale and cider, heavy mead and sweet wine like blushing cheeks filled tankards and emptied one after the other.
She sat at her husband's side in a seat of fine vermillion and velvet. Goblets of silver and gold had been brought up from the vaults and all overflowed with the stoutest beer and mead in Rhovanion. Their kin filled the hall, one of the less imposing rooms that was called Tania's Hall after Thorin's mother, for its walls were studded in veins of sapphire, which had been his mother's favorite. Unlike Thrain's or Thror's respective chasmal halls, Smaug had left this comparatively intimate chamber in peace. A long table was lined in dwarves elbow-to-elbow, feasting and drinking and heaping blessings upon the newlywed king and queen who sat at its head.
The knowledge that by their words beneath that canopy of stone, were they joined until they were stone again. It comforted and blessed her more than anything had in all of her life, save for the union yet to be endeavored. Under the table, Thorin was holding fast to her hand.
When enough drink had been imbibed, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur played fiddles, flutes and drums and many joined in song.
Unwearied then were Durin's folk
Beneath the mountains music woke
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang
And at the gates the trumpets rang.
Thorin laughed and kissed her again and again with the cold snap of mead on his lips. While Bofur stomped and sang of a merry old inn the morsels were not flying, with all in their wedding finery. Alas the cutlery was clattered and the belches were coming into rhythm with the stomping of Bofur's feet atop the nearby table, where the plates of cheese and fruit were empty and rattling in a raucous clanking sound at his feet. The dwarves sang of Durin's Day and the purity of the New Year.
He took her fingers and threaded them through his own. Her heavy gown covered every inch of her, from her wrists to her neck and the long silk train settled elegantly about her seat, to the bridal crown that capped her braided hair. And he could barely contain his want of her alone, as pure and simple as the day the day they had met.
"Atishlat ghaashum zabûrzizg." (I will keep your heart tonight). He raised her hand to his lips to kiss.
"You will keep more of me than that."
"My treasure, I will be yours before sun and moon are together in the sky."
Her ladies closed in about her seat, wide and ostentatious in their wedding clothes, all titillated and pecking. The blushing cheeks and far more set, resolute expressions of the older dwarrowdams let her know that the hour had come round at last.
Emli summoned her up with be-ringed wagging finger, once she had kissed her husband and her son of their cheeks to bid them their goodnight. "It is time the queen retires," Gloin's wife announced unceremoniously to Thorin, curtsying low and formally before him.
Meisar looked over and saw the prickling flush of heat on the naked skin of his cheekbone, the grip of his hand at once tightening on hers atop the table, then loosening, with an almost reverent grace to it. He drew his forefinger over her middle, circling the fingernail with the tip of his own.
"The hour is so late?" he sighed. Emli turned around back to him, velvet skirts all swishing. "My king, do not linger too long in your revelry. She will be in your bedchamber."
Meisar leaned down and kissed Thorin's temple, the dwarves all rising below and cheering for her departure, bawdy hoots and hollers melding with whispers behind the backs of hands. She lingered in the scent and warmth of Thorin's hair where it met the skin of his forehead. His skin was hot. "I shall come to you soon," he whispered, kissing her hand once and then again.
"Aye, do come to me swiftly. So that we will be one before sun and moon are," she smiled.
Her ladies closed ranks and drew her away with their usual eagerness, but far more pointed.
They would go on in merriment until the sun came up over the world above, either in the king's hall or in smaller private celebrations in quarters under the mountain. Some had already crawled drunkenly to their beds or curled up in dark corners or warm rugs before the fireplaces in the great hall. Alas the first night of winter was the longest, and it had only just begun.
Next Chapter: Supposing it needs little foreshadowing. It's that thing you know you've been waiting 40 chapters for :)