Phwoo! This chapter is a bit longer than I'm used to writing. I'm surprised so many words came out of me this time xD Anyways, I would like to make a few disclaimers: first off, I have no clue as to what the dwarven halls that reside in the Blue Mountains look like, so their description is what I'd imagine it as. Second, despite what the wiki says, I am not portraying female dwarves with beards. Peter Jackson did not grow them beards in the few short clips you manage to see them in, and honestly it makes no sense. For women to grow beards, their bodies would need to make an unnatural amount of testosterone, which in turn would make the females infertile. SO, that being said: women dwarves = no beards!
Chapter 2
I had thought that travelling with Thorin, as grumpy and broody as he was, would provide some amount of entertainment; however, he seemed rather keen on ignoring me and acting as if I was simply his shadow. I had expected Gandalf to have at least stuck around a while longer, but the old wizard had left our company the night after I met them at the Prancing Pony. Thorin and I had remained at the tavern however; the dwarf writing out numerous letters to his kinsmen. A few dwarves had even come to Bree to meet with Thorin. After a little more than a week of waiting and gathering supplies, we delayed not a moment further and set out east towards the mountains. What little Thorin did speak, he managed to tell me in his cute-annoying gruff manner that we were headed to Thorin's Hall to meet with a number of his kin. There he would try to persuade others to join his quest. Apparently I was coming along to help convince the others that this quest wasn't in vain because with a Dragonborn, how could we not succeed?
I, of course, made a comment about this dwarf population living in a place titled after his namesake. His response was that it was the choice of his people to name their refuge after their new king. The image of Thorin with his permanent scowl in place, sitting on a golden throne, with lots of dwarven ladies surrounding him, serving him plates of mead and roasted pork swirled into creation in my mind. Snickering and giggling to myself, I quickly stopped upon noticing Thorin's suspicious glare. Clearing my throat and recomposing myself, we continued on in silence.
It was as the sun began to sink and hide behind the horizon that our sixteen day journey came to an end. I gazed at the dwarven entranced, carved out of the side of the mountain, in awe. Dwemer ruins had rarely been this intricately decorated; the details of the columns and décor were astounding and surprisingly beautiful. From the dwarves that I had met, I had never imagined that such beauty and art could come from them. I told Thorin as such as we brought our steeds to a halt and led them to the stables to be fed and watched over by the stable-hands.
Giving Haldis's haunches a pat as I followed Thorin, the dwarf king glanced up to me. "What, did you think we were all hardened, mead-craving warriors?"
Glancing around, I pretended to think on his words before refocusing on him, my lips quirking into a smile. "Yeah, pretty much."
I was surprised to see Thorin sport a small smile, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. "Not all of us have that luxury unfortunately. Not all Nords are dragon hunters, am I correct? There are dwarven smiths, woodworkers, architects, hunters, farmers, merchants; we are as resourceful and varied as any other race."
Nodding upon seeing his point, the large doors to the entrance of this dwarven hall opened, the hinges creaking and groaning loudly as two dwarves dressed in surprisingly nice fabrics –though they still had that hardy-dwarf look and feel to them- strolled out, bowing to their king as we neared. One was short, even seemingly so for a dwarf, his head just managing to rise above my waist. Braids riddled his ridiculously white mane that seemed to want to engulf his severely wrinkled face, and his nose stuck out sharply. He honestly almost looked like an over-feathered bird. The other dwarf seemed to be a bit younger, though still rather old, but he was much more heavyset. His hair was more grey, streaks of black seeming to cling onto his strands from his youth, and it was pulled back and tied into one thick braid. His beard was done in much the same nature, though it was tucked under his belt and kept from flinging about as he walked –or hobbled.
It was the older, wrinkled fellow who spoke first, rising from his bow to stare up at me. His eyes narrowed as he evaluated my presence. "My king, we are glad to see you return safely. And it seems you have brought an extra guest. I was under the impression all of those who you summoned had already arrived. Shall I go have another bed readied?"
Resting a hand on the old dwarf's shoulder, Thorin met his kin's eyes with surety and kindness, an almost-smile tightening the muscles on his face. "No, Berinor, that will be alright. We will not be here for long I suspect."
We continued to walk forward, entering the hall, and I droned out Thorin's talk with his steward, and second-in-command/lieutenant/whatever-his-job-is. Even despite the obvious differences already presented between the dwarven hold before me and the dwemer ruins I was used to exploring, I had anticipated the inside to be dimly lit, cold and grimy, and small metallic dwemer work spiders to be skittering around. The halls were large and wide though, much like how the doors were as well, and still every surface seemed to be carved delicately and artistically. Now that I thought about it, why were the doors so expansive? Dwarves were naturally short in stature, so wasn't it a bit excessive and unnecessary to build such large halls? Hmm, I'd have to ask Thorin about that later! The spacious room however, was filled with dwarves. Some were simply standing idle and talking with others, while there were also those who seemed to be rushing around, attempting to go about their daily work. I even managed to catch glimpses of some females. They seemed rather average looking much to my dismay; like shorter, stouter women with larger, round noses. And here I was half expecting them to have beards! Wait… No, a few did have rather nicely trimmed sideburns, actually really nice sideburn. Huh.
We soon left the hall however, and we made our way through a much smaller corridor lit with torches. That quickly came to an end when the passageway opened into another large hall, though smaller than the entrance we had paraded through. With a large stone table seemingly having risen naturally out from the ground in the center of the room, dwarves surrounded the slab; their combined, boisterous voices bouncing off of the stone walls and making me cringe. One hell of a way to give someone a headache I'd say.
Our presence went unnoticed as we first entered and I watched as Berinor and his companion left their leader's side and disappeared into side passages. All the while Thorin, dare I say majestically, walked to the head of the table, slowly catching the attention of each dwarf present in the room, a wave of silence passing over the crowd. Once Thorin took his seat, the rest quickly followed. Every eye was on Thorin, waiting for something to be done, or something to be said, but it continued to remain silent. Damn, did this dwarf have a keen sense for dramatic entrances! I may yet find myself liking him! Or at least have a growing respect for him.
Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, his fingers intertwined together to form a rest for his chin. At last, the King under the mountain spoke. "Friends, I have called you here today to ask for you aide. Long since have my kinsmen and I been driven from our home in the Lonely Mountain. We have wandered and searched to find ourselves a new home, and it is here in Ered Luin that we have managed to settle; however, our fate has finally taken a change. I have decided it is time to take back Erebor from the dragon that stole it from us; to take back what is rightfully ours." Staring off into the distance at first, Thorin's gaze slowly turned to each and every dwarf sitting at the table. He met their gaze straight on, fearlessly and without doubt. "And I turn to you and ask: Will you help us reclaim Erebor?"
I continued to watch the clan's meet from my position against the far wall, next to the door where we had entered the room. No one had seemed to notice me; everyone's energy was directed towards the king and his request and the usual political bickering that ensued. Yeah, I would definitely be staying out of this debate; I couldn't stand politics of any sort. I barely even got involved with the civil war back in Skyrim, though many tried to get me to loudly proclaim my allegiance to one side.
The yelling and bickering had continued on for hours and I had managed to entertain myself by grabbing some food servants were taking to and from the table, and sharpening my battleaxe, making sure it was clean and in good condition. It was an old weapon, a relic of the Companions, and I had been lucky enough to have it presented to me. Wuuthrad: the same axe which Ysgramor used in his crusade against the Snow Elves of Skyrim, the province's original inhabitants. It had once been shattered, the fragments stolen and then lost, but over the years the pieces had been found and scavenged together, re-forged by my uncle, Eorlund Gray-Mane. Originally the axe was to go to one of the Circle, one of the most elite of the Companions, but it was then that I had found out I was Dragonborn and was leaving for the Throat of the World to begin my training. And so my uncle, in agreement with Kodlak and Skjorr, bestowed Ysgramor's axe onto me. With the magic I knew in one hand, and Wuuthrad in the other –well technically it was in both of my hands but we're skipping the technicalities for now- I had only named one other weapon as my own since, and no one dared touched either unless they wished to suffer my wrath.
"Why is it you are so sure you will succeed in your venture, Thorin son of Thrain?"
The yell of a single dwarf over the others caught my attention and I looked up to see Thorin having stood to his feet facing another of his kind who seemed to be slightly younger. The spoken question had the others at the table murmuring to themselves as the king remained quiet, and glancing to the greying dwarven leader, our eyes met and he nodded. Well, I guess that was my cue.
Placing a bit more pressure on the grindstone in my hand, it squelched against the metal of my axe, gaining the attention of the crowd. Pocketing the stone, I clasped the battleaxe back into place on my back and stood to my feet, my arse feeling relieved to be off of the hard ground. "That's because he has the one thing dragons fear most: a Dragonborn." I spoke loudly for all the hall to hear.
It was silent. Completely, dead silent; it was honestly kind of awkward. Which made me sad because my entrance was just as dramatic as Thorin's! Pfft, biased dwarves!
"You're trying to tell us that this woman is a Dragonborn from the north? What purpose would one of the Nords have for travelling this far south on only the slight chance that Smaug remains in his hold?"
Suppressing a role of my eyes, I inhaled deeply. "My reasons don't matter. What does matter is that I am here, and I am lending my aide to Thorin, King under the mountain. Is that not enough assurance for you to join him?" My question lingered in the air, and it seemed that Thorin would finally get his answer as the clan's talked amongst themselves for a time. Walking up behind Thorin as he sat, I leaned against the back of his chair, peering down the table along with the exiled king. "Do you think it will work?" I spoke quietly, my words being only for Thorin to hear.
"I do not know. We can only wait." Was his soft, yet firm reply, "No matter the answer, we will be back on the road as soon as the summit is dismissed." I only nodded and we waited in silence until the other dwarf clans were ready.
At last it seemed everyone had come to a decision, and the leader from each clan took a stand. The grim and stern expressions set on their faces told us of their decision before they even managed to speak. "We do not dare take the risk. I am sorry Thorin, we cannot give you what you seek. This quest is yours alone."
The others nodded in concurrence and Thorin raised his hand, signaling for them to say no more. "I understand the weight of my request, and I do not begrudge you for your refusal. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Please, remain in the Halls for as long as you require; my kin will see to that you are well taken care of. If you will excuse us, we must be on the road again."
As Thorin stood and began to walk out the room, I followed silently behind, not wanting to ruin the effect our exit had. I was honestly surprised though. I had imagined Thorin being more aggressive in getting the support of the other dwarves. What would we do now, I wondered? We took our exit quickly, and the main hall's traffic had become completely nonexistent since we had entered the council chambers. How early was it? Damn, I should have taken a nap while I had the chance!
Exiting Thorin's Hall, our horses were already saddled and prepared, and Haldis looked eager to get going. No doubt the dwarves wanted her gone as well knowing how bratty and spoiled the mare could be.
The silence coming from Thorin seemed unnatural, not like the silence I was used to, and I couldn't help but watch him, concern for the dwarf weighing on my heart. Peeking over as he made final preparation for his horse, I hesitated before speaking. "You're not worried, are you? It's honestly better that they didn't come. Such a large army would have slowed us down and complicated things." I pointed out, sharing my optimistic view. I honestly wasn't too worried. Sure, Smaug was one of the oldest and meanest dragons I had ever heard of, but we still had to meet up with Gandalf and some others. Hopefully Thorin's trust in them wouldn't be misplaced.
Throwing myself onto Haldis's back, I glanced at the dwarf king, smirking. "Are you sure that colt can carry you all the way to the Shire? He seems a little young to be carrying your bulk around." I jested, lightening the mood. How the poor little thing had even carried Thorin all the way here, I would never know. How old could that calf possibly even be? He had to be way too young to even try and cart around anybody, more or less anything.
Giving me a strange look, Thorin returned his attention to the road ahead as he spurred his horse into motion. "He's not a colt; he's a pony."
It was silent as I took in the information, blinking to try and process what was said. "A what?"
I honestly could not help myself from being amused each time I glanced down from my large steed to the dwarf king's mount. Thorin was well aware of my amusement and it only seemed to make the already grumpy demeanored dwarf grumpier, his scowling eyes glancing to me in distaste several times. "I would fill my time with something more than finding amusement in the stature of dwarves if I were you."
Speaking since we last left Ered Luin, his warning-veiled-as-a-casual-comment did not impress, leaving me to shrug in indifference. "I'm not judging you; I'm honestly more amused by the pony than anything else. I would have continued to think him a heavily-furred colt if you had not told me what he really was." I explained, trying to keep my laughter hidden, hoping to no further insult the dwarf. Then again… "Yet, so what if I am amused at your small height? Would you send me away? Leave me behind so I could not follow? You need my skills and knowledge, Thorin, as much as I need the aide of your company. And seeing as it is not your dwarven treasure I am after, I am more of a valuable ally than a threat. Unless I misjudged you, Thorin son of Thrain, and your pride is more important than the health and wellbeing of your people."
My words slid slyly from my mouth, my snow-colored eyes glancing sideways down at the dwarven leader. I knew Thorin cared for his people –it was obvious in the way he interacted with them- but I had to ensure Thorin thought me too valuable to his quest to toss aside later. This quest was about the pride of my people; my family, just as it was for his.
"Your usefulness still remains to be seen, Nord. Your presence at the clan's meet was of no help."
"Tch, oh yes, let's put the blame of dwarven stubbornness and idiocy on me. That's surely the answer." I retorted.
That was the only thing he deemed worthy enough to speak however, remaining silent for quite a time. Whether he was ignoring me as had become the normal for us or was thinking on what I had said, I did not know, but when he spoke again, it was not of what I thought it would be. "You told me you were a Nord from Skyrim, up north; that you were a Dragonborn. Tell me more."
The smile that lifted my lips could not be helped, and I replied with a simple nod. "Skyrim is one of the provinces of Tamriel. There are nine provinces within Tamriel, and within Skyrim there are nine regions; nine capitals, nine jarls who govern over the country along with the High King. I hail from Whiterun, capital of the Whiterun Hold. My family is one of the oldest clans within all of Skyrim, rivals against the Battle-Born, though our families used to be close. Both clans can trace their lineage back to Ysgramor and the Five Hundred Companions. Anyways, there is a guild of warriors in Whiterun who take on tasks and quests for those in need and those others cannot complete: we are called the Companions, and we are what remain of those who followed Ysgramor. I was a young girl when I first joined the Companions. It was exciting and I felt I was doing my ancestors proud for fighting in their name and memory… 'I am a warrior and will die as I live –in glorious battle!'" Explaining all of this had memories jogging circles in my mind: the first time I had ever entered Jorrvaskr, walking up the Skyforge stairs to tell my uncle I had joined the Companions. There was also the time when I had been training with Vilkas and accidently smashed his foot with a mace. Even with my healing magic, he hadn't been able to walk right for a week.
Smiling to myself at the fond memories, I realized Thorin was watching me curiously. Clearing my throat, I gave him an apologetic smile. "I followed in my ancestors' footsteps, made my family proud. And then a dragon attacked Helgen, a city to the south, and I was sent out with a number of other members to help slay it. It died and, well, it became obvious I was one of the Dragonborn. So I left home for High Hrothgar to begin training with the others."
"Is not every Nord a Dragonborn?" He asked.
"No. No one is quite sure what makes one Dovahkiin, but when you're recognized as one, it becomes your duty to protect the land from any dragon-kind that may threaten it." I explained.
"'Dovahkiin'?"
"It's Dragonborn in Dovah. It's dragon tongue." I explained, scowling to myself. Hadn't that been obvious? I was distracted; however, as we turned down yet another familiar path. My lips parted as I was about to ask Thorin if we were perhaps lost, but he spoke before I could get a chance.
"Yes, this is the place. How can anyone tell these hills apart? If it were not for the mark on the door..." The male grumbled to himself, and looking to where Thorin spoke of, I could indeed make out the traces of a rune, glowing a dim blue against the green painted door. And behind that door I could make out singing and laughter. Hmm, well they seemed to be having fun.
Sliding to the ground, I pat Haldis's nose and told her to not wander far before I walked in through the gate and towards the hobbit home. "It would be wise to wait for me." Came Thorin's call, but I ignored him and quietly entered the house without a knock, bending over to enter and closing the door behind me as I leaned against the doorway to the kitchen where the dwarves were finishing the cleaning of their dishes. Damn, we missed dinner. I told Thorin we should have rode faster!
Gandalf was the first to notice me, a smile and a nod in my direction being the only welcome I received before his focus turned back to this large company of dwarves. Dishes were flying through the air, from one dwarf to another, as one with less of a beard and more of a fu manchu mustache and a hat covering his head played the clarinet, bouncing dishes off his elbows. I made sure to keep out of the way and keep undetected, enjoying watching the little song and dance. The atmosphere in this small home reminded me of the dinners back in Jorrvaskr, the Companions' mead hall. I was so glad I got Thorin to allow me to join his company; this would be fun and a lot better than traveling on my own. As the singing stopped and the laughter dimmed slightly, my own chiming laugh could be made out as I clapped. "Such a bunch of talented dwarves, I've gotta say!"
Yells of surprise filled the crowd, and I think I even heard the homeowner let out a groan of despair at yet more company occupying his house. Many of the dwarves got to their feet, though most in an uncoordinated and unsteady manner. It took a bit of confused babbling between themselves before one of the dwarves spoke up; Gandalf remaining silent through all the commotion to no doubt watch on in amusement. "Mr. Baggins, I didn't know you had a wench! My feet could sure use a good rubbing if no one else needs her!"
My bluish-white shaded eyelids narrowed, plum-colored lips pursing in distaste as I stared at the dwarf with auburn hair styled into a star-like shape. Don't punch anyone. Remember, they're drunk! "She's awfully heavily armored to help Mr. Baggins with housekeeping, Nori; though the armor does suit her quite nicely." The dark-haired, hat-wearing, clarinet-playing dwarf's comment confused me, distracting me from getting angry. Was that supposed to be a compliment or was my choice of armor being judged? Because if someone else decided to look me over in the most obvious of ways because of my traditional, Nordic, hide armor, I might be tempted to freeze someone's fingers off!
It was a heavily bearded, bald dwarf that stood next, his suspicious glare almost had me wishing he was ogling me instead. "If she's not with Mr. Baggins, then I want to know who invited her. What business does a human woman have at a meeting unknown to anyone who isn't wizard or dwarf?"
Well damn, if I had known my presence would have received this sort of reception, I would have listened to Thorin and waited for his slow, pony-coddling arse. Resting my hands on my hips, I met the rather tall dwarf's challenging stare. "Oy, Dwarf, if you're going to insult me, do a better job at it than besides calling me a human." I snapped, my lip curled in a snarl, "Mey."
The Dovah insult slipped out naturally, but even when he didn't know when he was being called a fool, the dwarf knew it was an insult, which only caused him to go into an uproar, and in turn making the others get excited. That, however, was quickly silenced by the harsh knocking coming from the front door, immediately shutting everyone up.
"He's here. I was beginning to wonder how far behind you he was." Gandalf at last spoke, standing from his chair and following the hobbit, who I finally took notice of, as he shuffled his way through the crowd and to the door. Moving so they could move past me, the dwarves seemed to follow after the first two, earning myself a few curious glances mingled in with a look of distaste from the bald dwarf as they passed. Ignoring them all, I looked around the slightly less crowded kitchen for some scraps of food that had hopefully been left over. I caught sight of a lonely apple, and quickly grabbed it and took a bite, remaining at the back of the group as I listened to Gandalf introduce Thorin to the hobbit; Bilbo was his name I think.
I wasn't particularly interested in Thorin's judging of the hobbit; it didn't matter. We were just here to convene in a private place, gather our bearings, and be off. What did it matter if Thorin thought Bilbo to be a gentle folk? However, Dwalin's comment did make me snicker.
"Thorin, why is there a woman in the kitchen, not making any food, and clearly armed? I didn't take you for the sort of man to bring about a woman for entertainment."
The barking laugh honestly just erupted past my lips; I had no control over it. Oh naïve, somewhat tall dwarf, we shall see who entertains whom. Glancing over as the sea of dwarves parted to let their leader through, Thorin and I just stared at each other, me continuing to munch on my snack. "Interesting bunch you've got here." I commented casually, talking as politely as possible as one can with a mouthful of my snack.
Letting out a sigh through his nose, Thorin closed his eyes before turning to the company. "There is much we have to speak of."
Haha, so I rather enjoyed this chapter, as drawn out as it was. I feel as if you guys got to know a bit more about Thyra and her home. I'm trying to fill in details for those who don't know Skyrim lore all that well, or even at all, so that way everyone can read the story and still understand it. And it sort of occurred to me… would anyone from Skyrim know what a pony was? Because all I've ever seen is sturdy horses built for power and stamina. And so Thyra meets a midget horse for the first time. Comments, questions? Just give a review and you will get your answers! :D
~Kago