"No." The voice of the King Beneath the Mountain echoed off of the stone walls of the meeting room in which they had retired to. "Absolutely not."
Faramir drummed his fingers against the granite table top nervously, glancing up at the figure his irritated brother cut amongst all these Dwarves.
"And why not?" demanded Boromir, towering over the Dwarven King who appeared neither concerned nor intimidated by him.
Then again, mused Faramir, the King had enough of a presence that he seemed to fill the very room despite the top of his head barely reaching Boromir's chin.
"There are many reasons," answered Thorin. "Not least of which is that he is but a child."
Faramir immediately took offence to that though he could see how the Dwarf, with silver streaking his long dark hair and shorn beard, could see him as a child.
"I am no child," he said, getting to his feet. "I am nineteen years old."
Those sharp blue eyes settled on him. "At nineteen Dwarrow babes are still on their mother's teat."
"I am not a Dwarf," he said quietly.
"That," said Thorin. "Is quite obvious."
"You don't understand how dire this situation is!" exclaimed Boromir, his voice cracking with emotion.
The Dwarves all looked at each other and then began bickering amongst themselves in Khuzdul. Finally after a few tense moments the shortest of them, an elderly Dwarf with a long white beard and lines creasing his face, who had a kindly look about him. Faramir though he'd heard the King call him Balin.
"Then why don't you tell us laddie?" he said, all but nudging Thorin out of the way so that they weren't in range of his impressive glower.
"If." Faramir had to swallow down the lump in his throat. "If I return to Gondor without at least a betrothal to the line of Durin, my father will have me executed for treason."
"Your own father?" whispered Balin, his face filled with horror and sadness.
Silence filled the room as this piece of information seemed to have shocked all those present.
"If we are to wed," said Thorin, holding his hand up for silence as some of the Dwarves in the back of the room began to complain. "It will be for political reasons alone, while in time there may be kindness, and affection, and friendship between us there will never be love. My heart belongs to another."
Faramir nodded and glanced up at his brother. "As does mine."
"There is no word for divorce in Khuzdul, because it is not something done by my people," said Throin, folding his arms across his barrel chest. "I may not be a young Dwarf anymore, but Mahal willing I may have yet another hundred years left. Now I am aware that your people are long lived in comparison to the men of the West, but that means you will be bound to this grumpy old Dwarf for the rest of your life."
"I understand," he whispered.
"I have no issue with you taking another lover." And here the King gave Boromir a look of understanding, and Faramir felt his heart soar when he realized that Thorin knew and didn't seem to care. "As long as you are discreet."
"Yes of course," he answered.
With that Throin walked over to him. "Sit."
Faramir had a feeling that there was not a man nor Dwarrow alive who would deny such a request when spoken by Thorin Oakenshield. With a small smile at his now betrothed, he slid back into his seat, watching as the kings thick fingers nimbly unwound strands of his dark hair from a blue and silver bead, carefully unwinding the braid it held in place once it was free.
There was several gasps of surprise, and then Balin's voice. "Thorin?"
"Silence," ordered the King, and then much to Faramir's surprise a section of his hair by his left temple was separated and quickly braided. Thorin stepping back once the bead had been secured.
"It suits you," said Boromir, his fingers ghosting over the braid.
"You are now my betrothed and can send word to your father," said Thorin. "Also inform him that there will be no wedding until my nephew is back in Erebor where he belongs."
"Very well," said Boromir.
"Dwalin," said Thorin, and a terrifying looking Dwarf nearly as big as a man and covered in tattoos pushed away from the wall where he had been lounging, and came to stand beside his King.
"Aye," he said.
"Can you please show our guests to their rooms for they must be exhausted after their long journey, and get one of the servants to ready the courting room?" said Thorin, and the huge Dwarf quickly nodded.
"Come on then." He gestured for them to follow him towards the door. "This way."
Faramir had been brought up amongst the huge stone walls and battlements of Minas Tirith, but even he had to admit that Erebor was one of the biggest and incredibly beautiful places in Middle Earth. Fortunately Mister Dwalin seemed to be the strong and silent type, only talking in order to give directions, though he did level his impressive glare on the Dwarves they passed who tried to comment on Faramir's braid.
They eventually reached the rooms which the Dwarves had set up for them, and they were surprisingly nice. Two large interconnected rooms with high vaulted ceilings, a canopied bed, desk, dresser, and through a door at the far end of the room were bathing facilities.
"Thank you Master Dwalin," he said, turning back to the Dwarf and giving him a small smile.
"If anyone gives you any trouble," said Dwalin, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You come and tell me alright laddie?"
Faramir reached up and gripped the Dwarf's wrist, giving it a small squeeze hoping that it would convey how grateful he was that someone had his best interests at heart here.
"Yes," he said. "Thank you again Master Dwalin."
"No problem laddie." Dwalin gave Boromir a brief nod, and then left the room closing the door quietly after himself.
The moment they were alone, Boromir strode over and cupped his face in his large hands.
"It's the only way." Boromir pressed his forehead against Faramir's. "It was the only way to keep you alive."
"I know," he said, taking his brothers hand and kissing his fingers. "I will be fine here, the Dwarf King will treat me with kindness I am sure of it."
"I will come to you as often as I am able, and as soon as father is dead I will send for you."
"I love you," he whispered, craning his neck so as to press his lips to the jut of his brothers jaw.