Thorin the Wanderer

The next morning was cold but the day promised to be clear and bright. Eikenskjaldi and Morwen started off towards the closest village. The itinerant smith had dressed simply in his patched but warm cloak and he carried his hammer with him as evidence of his status, and Morwen wore a heavy coat with a hood and long knitted gloves. She'd tied off her new braids with scraps of thread and Eikenskjaldi was secretly thrilled that she was so delighted in the braids and that she was happy to still wear them, he just wished that she had some bright beads to complete the look. He imagined patterned copper beads cut as eight pointed stars, or small round silver bells that would softly chime as she moved or perhaps green amber or moss agate beads - as they would match her eyes. He had to admit that she truly looked - in his opinion - quite 'civilized' with her hair braided like this. With her rosy completion and thick ruddy hair he could almost see her as a Dwarf maiden; strong, stoic, brave and elegant.

They arrived in the main market square well before midday, and in spite of the heavy snow and cold the village was bustling. Thandlon was a small but fairly prosperous walled town located near the angle where the Hoarwell and the Loudwater Rivers ran to join the Greyflood. It boasted three taverns, a buttery, a large bake house and brewery, various shops, a mill and a hostel house for travelers. The open market thrived even in the late fall and winter. In this region men followed a tradition of gift giving at the equinoxes and solstices, and there were booths of toys, trinkets, baubles, ribbons, sweets and sundry small gifts and tokens. The Dwarf and the widow agreed to meet two hours after the noonday bells tolled in the central square.

Morwen went to visit a few shops, weaving her way through the winding cobblestone streets. She stopped first at the baker, then to a local cheese maker who specialized in a goat cheese that was especially loved by Dwarves, as well as some sweet and spicy yogurts. She glanced in a perfumery and inquired over soaps and scented oils - eventually she chose a small hard soap scented with sandalwood, and a small bottle of Bergamot oil. Then she headed to the miller. Bruel, a kindly older man with silver blond hair and pale but cheery eyes saw her as she approached the mill. "Well met Miller Bruel." She addressed him.

"Greetings widow - I wondered how you have managed during in the storm. Are you alright?"

"I'm well enough, but in need of ground oats and barley flour." As she spoke, she pulled her hood back from her head and her warm auburn braids spilled around her shoulders and down her back. They discussed her request, as a young man entered quietly from another room. He was fairly tall with dark curly hair, a gentle oval face and large luminous light green eyes. He paused staring at her and she glanced up at him.

"Wait - is that little Morwen?"

"Crispin?" she hadn't seen Bruel's younger brother for quite some time - he'd left to travel with merchants over on the eastern side of the Misty mountains long before she'd married Gerion – and she scarcely recognized him now.

Bruel interrupted her as he turn to his younger brother. "The smith's widow walked to town in the snow to get flour ground before the holiday…Brother - be kind enough to take her supplies to her house - the old hall by the spring…Its about half way before the Swanfleet meets the Greyflood. We'll send you the bags of barley and oats tomorrow."

Eikenskjaldi made a few inquiries and soon the itinerate smith had received various requests for horse shoes, bridle bits, door hinges, knives, nails, hooks, pots, kettles, scissors, needles, and scythes. He made a list of who had requested what item, and when they expected it, and all of his customers had all paid something in advance. He looked about and saw, to his satisfaction, that this village was populated predominately by the children of Men. Men were generally unobservant of the Khazad - amongst them one dwarf was much the same as another. While most Dwarves were happy to interact with mortals; they preferred to live amongst themselves. In his travels Thorin had met up with small communities of Khazad within the largest cities - but in general there were very few colonies in small towns and villages. He noticed a few adventuresome hobbits wandering about the stalls but he saw no Elves - thank Mahal! Thorin had learned many things in his travels, but his contempt and distrust of the Elves had only grown and become more deeply embedded in his heart and the less interaction that he would need to have with these faithless creatures - the happier he would remain. The Khazad had suffered more than even the Elves could express. Sometimes only the company of dwarves could ever be comforting to other dwarves - some suffering could never be expressed only endured . The most genuinely empathic mortal he'd encountered was Morwen. While many folk had expressed sympathy at his people's grief; it was always at best sporadic expressions of pity.

Thorin reckoned that he could manage well here for a time, but he didn't want to attract too much attention to himself. Painful experiences traveling through Gondor had taught him to keep his identity to himself. He'd heard the cruel whispers about that dwarf blacksmith beggar prince from the Lonely Mountain laboring at a common forge because his palace was now the home of a Fire Drake. Some lesser noblemen had made a great show of concern with his state, but Thorin quickly learned that there was nothing behind their promises of help except their foul breath, and nothing behind their words of sympathy but smug contempt. When he was an unidentified tinker or a traveling laborer he wasn't patronized or mocked, pitied or stared at as if he was some sort of freak.

At midday Thorin paused at a tavern and treated himself to a meat pie, a bit of cheese and some stout. Then he wandered through the open market, all the time keeping an eye out for Morwen. Stopping at a booth with various holiday trinkets he found himself wondering what she might like … a bracelet…bonbons…silken ribbons. He stopped for a long time perusing the items at a stall selling colorful clay beads and brass & copper trinkets. Then he looked up and saw her green hooded coat across the market square. Morwen was working her way carefully through the stalls and booths edging past children, elders and merchants all the time carefully cradling her cloth bag of food supplies. He also noticed a man walking behind her – not directly behind her but it was clear to Eikenskjaldi that this fellow was making an attempt to follow her from a distance. A man with curly black hair and a slight salt & pepper stubble, probably about 6 foot tall, wearing a very plain and threadbare light bluish tunic and dark leggings was watching her - and while she paused to glance at the booths or speak to the vendors; he stayed focused on her – making no attempt to disguise his actions. Thorin watched him from under his brows wondering if he was a thief or a threat. The man called out and caught her attention, and Morwen turned and greeted him. They spoke for a few moments then she continued on through the crowd, not yet having seen Eikenskjaldi. But it was the man who eyed him from across the market square - his heavily lidded peridot colored eyes caught Thorin's eyes for a moment - a moment too long, and the dwarf prince bristled. Morwen had not witnessed this posturing - she'd stopped to talk to a vender. Thorin watched the man walk away, noting his movements and the direction he went. He moved out at an obtuse angle and approached her. She was collecting some small bundles from a booth, but she heard him and turned.

"Dear Master Dwarf – Did you have any luck finding commissions? Have you eaten?"

He nodded to her even as he scanned the area, keeping his eyes moving about the crowd. "Have you gotten what you needed?" he replied glancing quickly at her bundle - there seemed to be little in the bag… "This winter festival – I don't recognize it..."

It's more of a local tradition…the notion of transformation through the solstices and equinoxes - autumn to winter to spring - with bonfire celebrations on the longest night - Small tokens and gifts are exchanged to express joy and hope for the future. Would you like some sort of gift?"

Eikenskjaldi nodded absentmindedly as he kept his eyes roving as they wandered through the stalls …

"Are you looking for someone …A kinsmen maybe? There are…"

"Who was that dark haired man?" Straight to the point, Eikenskjaldi interrupted her. Frowning, he felt restless and strangely disturbed but he couldn't really say just what had caused this stress.

She paused, trying to understand his question. "Crispin? He's the miller's brother – Bruel the millers agreed to grind oats and barley for me and he promised to bring the heavy bags to the house tomorrow along with some of the other foodstuffs. Crispin's come to help his older brother recently. He just asked me about the best way to the house from the river road - do you know him?" She half turned to see if he was still in the crowd, but the miller's brother had left.