SONS OF OAKENSHIELD AND THE QUESTION OF MARRIAGE

Middle Earth, original Wren and Thorin, Timeline #1

The Queen is exceptionally beautiful today, an elegant dress of the colour of river pearls, argent ermine fur on the collar and the sleeves, heavy gems around her neck and in her earlobes. The luscious heavy hair is arranged into an intricate do, heavy braids falling on the elegant collarbones. The King leans in and whispers into her ear, "You look magnificent today, kurdu, you are the moon and the stars of this night." The raspy consonants of Khuzdul sound like a caress on his lips, and she returns his smile.

"I am not the center of attention today, my King, but I appreciate your sentiment." He smiles to her lovingly and strokes her chin with the tips of his fingers. Then it is time for his toast. He gets up and picks up the goblet.

"Today we celebrate the love between Bili, son of Bofur, and my sister Unna, daughter of Thorin. May your marriage be plentiful and may Mahal bring you many healthy sons!" The wedding guests cheer, and Thror sees his sister blush. He also notices a lovebite on her neck that peeks out when one of her heavy braids shifts to the side. He shakes his head and smirks. He should prepare for nephews as soon as sixteen months from now. His own sons were born after a full Dwarven term but he does not know how much his mother's human blood influenced his sister's childbearing.

"What are you thinking about, my love?" Queen Fjola's melodic voice shakes him out of his thoughts. He gives her a lopsided smirk.

"Of our sons." His wife sighs.

"Thorin obliterated another set of armour today, you have to convince him to mitigate his temper. Just because he is not pleased, it does not mean he can take it out on valuable items." The Queen is a genuine daughter of her people. Her appreciation for armour and other forged valuables is immense.

"I am afraid he is just trying to live up to the expectation that his name imposes on him," the King smirks, "My father has been known for taking it out on swording dummies."

"I am sure the legendary King Thorin Oakenshield had a much better reign over his emotions."

A loud gleeful guffaw behind then makes them turn their head and look at Dain, the King's younger brother. He is obviously laughing at the previous remark of the Queen.

"Have you not told your wife the story of how our father threw a dummy across the yard and toppled over a carriage of pumpkins once?" Dain's slanted eyes twinkle impishly. The King chuckles. "Or the time after that when he was so enraged with something that our mother said to him during a feast that he had to hastily leave the hall, since he was no fool to say anything back to her, and he closed the door behind him with such force that it cracked from floor to the ceiling?" The Queen looks at the brothers in disbelief.

"It is true." The King confirms, "Amad was the only person who could mollify him in his outbursts." Dain lifts his goblet and gives his sister-in-law a wink. She giggles. No one can resist the second prince of Erebor. Thror lifts his brow, and unknown to him he looks exactly like his father at that moment. Dain slams his palm into his brother's shoulder and leaves to talk to other guests. The Queen turns to her husband.

"Has Dain by chance talked to you about marriage?" Thror chokes on his wine.

"Dain? Is he even aware what marriage is? He seems not here half of the time." Fjola's eyes follow the graceful walk of her brother-in-law.

"Believe my intuition of a woman, my King, he is more than ready. He is beyond his battle age, I'm certain many will be interested. I can consult a matchmaker."

Despite his odd looks and strange interests, Dain seems to attract maidens like flame attracts the moths. He is seemingly ignorant. Unlike his brother Othin, who seems to be in a perpetual state of alert and chasing yet another skirt. His endless pursuit is not explained by the lack of success, but the fleeting nature of his interest. As soon as he knows that he got the attention of a maiden, he seals in with a kiss, which many say can not be that easily forgotten or surpassed in its skill and ardour, and moves on.

"I do not think Dain will fit well into an arranged marriage, my heart, he can hardly survive social restrictions of any sort on everyday basis," the King looks at his brother, who is leaning over a table, and sees yet another Dwarven maiden listen to him with an exaggerated interest, her bosom heaving in a bodice of her velvet dress. The King sighs, "Although it might be the easier way to alleviate many turbulent emotions in Erebor."

"Our marriage was arranged as well, and seems to turn out rather well," Fjola gives her husband a playful glance askew.

He laughs, "The only arranged thing in this marriage was that you forced your mother to hire a matchmaker and introduce us. After that it was all Mahal's will." She smiles to him and squeezes his hand on the table top.

"And see how well it played out. Three healthy sons. You should be proud of yourself."

"My mother used to say that sons are the achievements of mothers," he picks up her hand and presses his lips to her knuckles, "So thank you, my heart, for three sons." She smiles back to him.

"Queen Zundushinh knew what she was talking about. Her maternal achievements are unsurpassable." The guests roar with laughter and cheers, and the King sees his sister in a passionate embrace with her new husband. Their first son is born in sixteen months to the day.