Familial Bonds

Cooking Class

The prompt for this one once again came from Knowing Grace who wanted mishaps in the kitchen.

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When Dís had set out that morning with strict instructions for Thorin to have something edible ready by dinner time he had looked helplessly at his daughter who somehow – miraculously – had managed to restrain herself from making some smart-alec comment about his rather blatant lack of cooking skills.

"Can you cook?" he asked rather despondently to the child who shook her head with a smirk on her lips.

"Nope," she paused. "We could always ask Mila?"

Thorin glanced sharply at the dwarfling who maintained an immaculate façade of innocence.

"I'm not asking for help with dinner." Soren just shrugged in response.

"We could always try cookingI suppose…" Soren looked anxious at the mere thought of it.

"We?" Thorin replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Aren't girls supposed to be good at this thing?" Soren shot a worried glance at her father who stifled a laugh at the terrified look on her face.

"According to your aunt it takes years of practice and a great deal of patience," Thorin said bemusedly, wondering if it did.

"Well, that counts you out on both counts," The young one quipped garnering a flat look from her father.

"Thanks,"

Thorin slumped in his favourite armchair by the empty hearth and let a long groan. Soren threw herself onto the woven mat at his feet and 'played' with the wooden bear he had carved her when she was a babe. However the intermittent looks she shot towards him every five seconds made any actual play impossible.

"What?" Thorin grunted at last, annoyed with how she kept glancing at him.

"Nothing." A pause. "Why're you so afraid of Aunty Dís?"

Thorin snorted in surprise at the unexpected and rather unwarranted question. "I'm not afraid of my sister."

"Suuure you're not." Soren said with a giggle. "Everyone's afraid of Aunty Dís."

"Even you?"

Now it was Soren's turn to snort. "Why do think I'm not around when Aunty wants to teach me to cook?"

Thorin barked a laugh before he realised what she'd said. "Wait, Dís' been teaching you to cook?"

"Umm…"

"Kitchen. Now."

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Dís hummed softly to herself as she walked home. She had left her sons behind to help on of the stall owners pack up – at her own insistence of course – and was enjoying a rare moment of solitude. Between the three males of their household and little Soren there was more than enough chaos to go around at all hours of the day and night. That meant that such moments without someone tugging on her skirt or asking her impossible questions or favours were rarer than hens teeth.

Privately though she was also excited to see how Thorin had managed dinner. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was a hopeless cook and she found herself wondering how long it had taken him to suck of that fool male pride of his and go and ask for some help.

So the Lady Dís slipped into her house soundlessly and set down her bags in the entry hall, poking her head into the kitchen which seemed to be smelling… different.

What she saw was cause enough for her to freeze for several good long moments before breaking out into rib-cracking bouts of laughter.

Soren, with a healthy dollop of dough or something on her forehead, spun around in shock, her pale-silver eyes wide and terrified.

Thorin was on the other side of the kitchen, frozen mid-motion as he held a pan upside down, trying to shake loose whatever was within it. Whatever it was, it wasn't coming out.

"W-what are you doing?" Dís managed to gasp out between laughs. Her brother's and her niece's faces were taking on nigh on identical meek expressions – something not oft seen anywhere!

"Cooking." Thorin stated, as though that was obvious. He seemed oblivious to the fact that a good portion of his hair was plastered with some sticky substance from root to tip.

"I'm sure you are, brother," Dís tried to school her expression into a calm façade, but cheeky little grins kept poking through.

"It's not my fault this time Aunty!" Soren chimed, grinning toothily under the dough that was gradually making its way down her face.

"It was so!" Thorin said with an outrage look in her direction.

"Wasn't!"

"You said you could cook!" To this Dís snorted, loudly.

"Soren? Cook?" she shook her head slowly. "You might as well ask a mountain to fly."

"And I didn't say I could cook," Soren told him, shooting a sharp look at her Aunty. "I just said that Aunty tried teaching me to cook."

"After a few attempts she ran and hid each time so I gave up. Which was probably for the best," Dís added as an afterthought.

The King-in-Exile looked about at the mess in total befuddlement. "But-"

"Clean it up, Thorin," Dís commanded. "Come along Soren, I got you some things to try from the market. Thorin, clean. Mop and bucket are in the corner."

Thorin Oakenshield made a strange whine as they left, leaving him to the absolutely destroyed kitchen.

Out in the entry hall Dís grinned cheekily at the dwarfling. "You did well, my young apprentice,"

"I was rather good, wasn't I? He has no idea," Soren smirked, making a show of dusting off her hands. "Did you get me any candy Aunty Dís?"

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A/N I hope this turned out how it was intended to… I'm not really a kitchen person; I make salad and that's about it.

Please forgive and silly little mistakes! Also pretty please review! I don't care if a month or a year has passed since this chapter; I would still like to know what you think. Constructive criticism accepted.