Thorin the Wanderer
Please forgive my recent delay in updating this story. I hope to have more time to work on future sections very soon.
Eikenskjaldi woke the next morning, sleepily noticing that Morwen was still next to him, he was not alone in the bed. It was remarkably pleasant to feel her warmth. She rolled over, yawned and blinked at him. "I've overslept. I'd best get the fire started…"
"Don't go yet" he purred and drew her close. "I was wondering about your late husband's furnace …"
Morwen smirked. "My late husband's furnace - eh?" she rubbed her eyes. "The smithy should still be in good order - did you need to repair something? I'll unlock everything after breakfast."
"Are there any other iron smiths about - did Gerion take an apprentice?"
"No apprentice - he was talking to a farrier near Chetwood about the possibility of one of his sons coming to help out here - but that was before - before..." Morwen signed. "There's a smith in Great Wooton - but he's often traveling and some folks consider him unreliable - he's a bit of a dreamer, but he's young, and I think he may come to something."
She stretched and curled up for a moment under the covers, then she willed herself out of the warm bed and shivering grabbed at her loose bed robe. "Rest while I light the fire – dear and welcome guest!"
The sun was shining brilliantly in the bright cold blue sky but the air was still bitterly chilly. Taking an iron ring of keys from a hook, Morwen and Eikenskjaldi walked out behind the hall. Beyond the bathhouse was a large grey stone structure, with a heavy locked door. The interior was blackened, but the forge - while cold, appeared to be in working order, the bellows was in good shape and the anvil was heavy broad and strong. Morwen unlocked various cabinets holding clean and carefully oiled and stored tools. The dwarf thought the layout to be fairly well maintained and practical - considering that it was set up for a mortal. There was a good supply of charcoal as well as copper and iron ore. He could get started.
She went back to the house and reviewed her supplies of foodstuffs. Dwarves have substantial appetites, and while there was enough barley to make pottage, she'd need to see the village miller about getting more flour ground. Eikenskjaldi's gift of the four pheasants had certainly helped out, but she would but she'd still need to manage carefully until the weather was better. There was still cider ale and mead, preserved fruits and vegetables, dried beef, salted fish and one last pheasant, but Morwen would need to look for eggs, oil, salt, cheese and milk soon. She brought up more wood from the storeroom and she straightened up, washing the plates and cups from the previous day and examining the leftover food. Once she'd finished, Morwen started the pottage - a mix of barley with the last of the vegetables and meat from the previous night's meal - cooking in a lidded clay pot amongst the embers. Then she decided that it was time to visit the bathhouse while Eikenskjaldi was still occupied at the furnace.
Thorin's long hair was pulled back and tied with a thick length of supple leather. The heat from the forge bathed his sweaty skin in a brilliant reddish golden glow. He'd stripped to a thin linen shirt under the solid leather apron; and he'd rolled his sleeves well up over his elbows. Muscles in his arms and torso bunched and pulsed with a vital - almost erotic - energy. He seemed truly in his natural element here, amongst the force and the fire. He pumped the bellows and stoked the furnace. Having vigorously brought the flames to a roar he put a length of iron into the heat. Then at the right time, almost instinctively he pulled it out and placing it on the anvil he pounded it rhythmically with his hammer. It felt good to abandon himself in the repetitive manual labor at the anvil. As almost all Dwarves had received some knowledge of smith craft as wee Dwarrowlings – such work could prove remarkably soothing.
Morwen had intended to ask Eikenskjaldi if he was satisfied with the smithy but she found herself staring at him stunned by his powerful grace at the anvil. His painful beauty made her heart hurt and erotic heat coil in her belly. This wanderer was too beautiful - and even with her delight from the past two nights - she blushed at her own thoughts as she gazed at him – without a word she turned and headed to the bathhouse. She didn't want to disturb him.
She entered the humid chamber, stripped off her coat, and sat on the bench until she was used to the heat - then after a few minutes she splashed into the hot water.
Some hours later Eikenskjaldi had finished at the forge. He dampened the fire in the furnace but made certain that it would take less time to prepare and heat when he wanted to use it again. His brow was dark with soot but he scooped snow onto his face and hands, feeling the heat of the furnace on his skin calmed suddenly by a refreshingly icy sharp sting. The force and the effort of the labor had calmed him and gave him a sense of stillness. For years he'd traveled from place to place, taking work wherever he could, avoiding the temptation of staying in any one location too long – tortured by the guilt and shame he felt for the loss of Erebor. While his sister Dis and her sons - his nephews - the last of his immediate family- were safe in the Dwarves colonies in the Blue Mountains, he felt he had to keep on the move. His frustration and fury had followed him from city to town and sometimes his rage would strengthening his arm - but almost as often he'd feel weighed down with dread and despair. Here he felt strangely quiet. He found this 'quiet' to be oddly liberating.
He walked to the house, opened the door and saw Morwen sitting by the fire, lost in thought and combing her long damp auburn hair. She wore a long loose gown and initially didn't react to his entrance as she was staring into the flames. His first thought on seeing her was that she ought to wear her hair in many long elegant braids as the Dwarf women did – it seemed to him to be a perfect choice for her. She glanced up, noticing him and smiled "I was dreaming - forgive me… Would you like Ale or Cider?"
"Cider." he smiled and she filled a goblet.
As she approached him she gently touched his ruddy damp cheek "How cold you are - shall I heat water?"
"No – you're wrong - I'm perfectly fine." He took the cup from her and steered her back to the fire. "I want to talk to you - will you let me comb your hair?"
She was a bit surprised at this charming request but was happy to agree. Relaxing on a sheepskin rug near the fire he sat behind her and gently ran the bone comb through her soft thick hair until it shone with the warmth of copper. He divided her hair into seven smaller sections and gently braided each section as he spoke.
"I'm a traveler - a wanderer - taking work where I can." He said and she gently nodded. "Wandering from place to place…But if I were to wish to stay in this place - for a time - as an itinerant smith…" he paused "Might I stay here with you and use the forge? I promise that I'll compensate you…"
She listened carefully and paused before answering him. Her experiences with the Khazad merchants had taught her that Dwarves have no respect for rashness. Even though her answer to his request was crystal clear in her mind she waited to give weight to her words.
"You're free to stop and to stay here in your journeys… You may call yourself a wanderer but I know you, Eikenskjaldi. You'll return to your home - never despair - you're like a compass and you'll always be drawn back to the Lonely Mountain- I can hear it in your voice. While this hall is my home, you are always welcome here… I intend to go to the market in Thandlon if the weather is good tomorrow, as I'll need some supplies - you ought to come along and see what smith craft is wanted."
She turned to look at him, and the weight of the seven narrower braids rather than one long thick braid made her feel slightly light headed.
He looked at her. "You look…civilized now." He smirked, showing her a small silver mirror. "Be careful - I haven't bound them yet. You should use silver beads to clasp them - or carved gemstone beads."
She glanced into the mirror and laughed with embarrassment and delight. "I have no gems or silver beads… This style is too fair for a poor widow – but it is very fair indeed."
"Of course it is…It's civilized – it suits you."