Thorin the Wanderer
Friends please forgive me for taking so long to post this one!
"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 miller 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.
"He was following you…"
"What? You mean just now? Crispin wanted to confirm the best way to the hall - so that he could deliver the supplies tomorrow."
Eikenskjaldi grimaced. He was behaving badly and on some level he knew it – nevertheless, that man's presence had troubled him – had he seen him before?
Morwen looked at him, wondering what was passing through his mind. Has Crispin and Eikenskjaldi met before? Perhaps in his travels, the smith might have met the trader - or perhaps it was simply a mistake, no doubt all mortals might well look alike to Dwarves. Uncertain of the implications of Eikenskjaldi's questions and concerns, she attempted to change the subject. "Would you like to return to the hall or shall we wander a little longer?"
It dawned on him that Morwen might enjoy some time at the market. He guessed that because she was a widow that she'd been in seclusion for some time. He relented and smiled gently at her– "Let's look around here for a while…"
They browsed through the stalls and she explained some the local traditions and holiday specialities. They stopped by a small booth selling small sweet buns shaped like suns and moons, and little honey covered almonds, and warm chestnuts. They were offered samples - as he'd never tried such delicacies - but Morwen was delighted to see how much he relished the chestnuts and especially the candied almonds. She treated him to a small pouch of sweets to nibble on as they wandered once she saw how much he enjoyed them. They looked at small round bright cheesecloth bundles full of little paper toys & trinkets for children to play with, as well other small gifts and parcels. Morwen watched as Eikenskjaldi eagerly crammed the last of the candies and nuts into his mouth and smacked his lips. He was now quite thirsty and motioned to a small stall selling sweet warm cider in clay cups.
"A loving cup for Morwen the Fair and me." he called out at they got near the booth. A plump rosy cheeked hobbit managing the stall laughed and poured out the drinks. Morwen blushed at his comment – he didn't understand the implications of that phrase when used in public. He toasted her and quickly drained his cup. Eventually the two of them left the town and they returned to the hall before the sun set. Morwen asked him to light the fire while she put the foodstuffs away. That way she was also able to hide the small trinkets that she'd purchased for him in the pantry.
Thorin was glad to be back at the hall – he was happy to have commissions, and the town seemed fairly welcoming, but that fellow Crispin troubled him. He felt safe in this place, in a way he hadn't felt safe in years, and he felt very peaceful in Morwen's company. Once the fire was set he collected a goblet from the sideboard and started to wander back to the area behind the hearth – he bumped into her as she came up the handful of steps from the pantry. As it was clear to her that Eikenskjaldi was going to stay at least for a few weeks, she showed him the still room and the pantry, the containers of dried beef, fish and preserved fruits and vegetables, as well as the caskets of ale, cider and the bottles of mead. "As you'll be here for a wee bit, you might as well know where things are kept. We'll get supplies of flour, milk & eggs tomorrow."
He poured some cider and helped himself to a little salted beef. When he returned to the fire he saw her darning a tear in one of her linen shifts. "If you have any clothes that want mending or washing please give them to me, as I'll be doing laundry tomorrow." She said, threading a needle in the half light.
He nodded, and as he watched her patch her poor linen shift something tore at his heart…He suddenly wanted to dress her in gowns of silk and satin and never see her patch or mend or darn again – not because he loved her or even just desired her - but because she was kind and gentle and good. She deserved love and joy, not this sad lonely desperate half-life. He felt a lump in his throat and struggled to swallow his cider. It seemed that a mist clouded his eyes and he sighed, his heart felt suddenly leaden. Morwen glanced up at him, her eyes wide –"I hope you haven't taken a chill - Let me make you some warm honey water…" He ran up to the loft as she heated the kettle and pulled out some clothes for laundry - found some frayed leggings and a shirt with a damaged sleeve, and brought them to her. Settled in the chair by the hearth Eikenskjaldi took the warm honey drink and Morwen tucked a blanket around him. She sat on a stool and continued to stitch the torn clothes while he told her about the wealth of Erebor and Dale. It seemed strange to talk about such vast riches in a house where a poor widow struggled to patch worn & damaged clothes – but she seemed quite happy to listen to him and his tales.
The next morning they enjoyed toast and some of the special goat cheese that she'd purchased especially for Eikenskjaldi. He smiled wistfully – remembering his youth, the hunting trips in midsummer and the taste of this cheese spread over bread as he lay in the warm sun outside the Lonely Mountain. He told her a story about one of Great Thror's celebrations in the Feasting Hall of Erebor - an incident involving Thror's royal judgment - a darkly funny tale about a trick played on a particularly gluttonous, greedy and selfish courtier involving a pastry filled with blueberries carved from sapphires and amethysts. As they ate, she suggested that he try some tea with honey, as she still feared that he had caught a cold the day before. He drank some to please her and found - to his surprise - that it wasn't that bad.
Morwen straitened the sheets and finished cleaning up the breakfast plates while Eikenskjaldi went to the furnace. He needed to feed the forge and to pound out his frustrations – he felt fury that morning not only at his situation, his poverty and despair but at Morwen's circumstances. She'd never lost a realm, treasures status title or position -she was a poor, simple, gentle woman who was kind and unassuming, who labored so hard to survive, and she deserved better than this. It broke his heart to see her struggle. It broke his heart to know there was nothing he could do to help her.
Morwen sorted out the clothes to be washed and warmed water in the kettle. She donned a coat and moved the wooden wash tub outside. Scooping some clean snow into the tub she added the clothes and then poured in hot water. Steam rose as she agitated the water with her washing bat and a few flakes of dried Soapgrass root. After a while she lifted the warm cloth with her bat and carefully examined it to see how soiled they still were. Once most of the dirt was loosened, she drew the clothes out, poured out the soiled water into a snow bank, and added more clean water. After about an hour she'd rinsed out the clothes, carefully twisting the last of the moisture out. She brought the items inside and hung her shift and kirtle, Eikenskjaldi's mended clothes and a few towels over the hinged clothes horse by the fire. Her braids had gotten disheveled so she loosened them and ran a comb through her hair. She set a small screen in front of the clothes horse by the fireplace so that the laundry could continue to dry.
Morwen overheard bells jingling in the distance and went out to see Crispin in the distance. He approached on the sledge he'd acquired from the wintry lands beyond Ered Mithrin. It glided over the snows easily and the little bells on the bridles made a cheery sound as the two strong horses pulled it along the trackless territory. She found the sleigh charming, but she wondered how he could have possibly managed to get it across the Misty Mountains in one piece.
Crispin unloaded the heavy bags of barley and oats as well as a fragile container of eggs and tubs of milk. He was happy to stop for a cup of tea with Morwen. Like her he had grown to appreciate the warm sweet drink from the Shire. They chatted for a while trying to catch up on the many years that had passed since they last saw each other. Crispin told her about his time traveling on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. In Rhovannion he'd traded amongst the Dunlendings, seen the lands of the Horse Lords and spent time with the many merchants who came to the edges of the Greenwood. He told her about the endless plains of lush seas of grass in the realms of the Eorlingas, and the unbelievable, incomprehensible vastness of the great forbidding forest of the mysterious Silvan elves. His golden green eyes sparkled as he described his experiences traveling with the merchants, of the strange sights and the delightful and curious peoples he'd encountered. Morwen was charmed by his stories, especially the tales he told about the land of the White Horse. Crispin tried to tell her about the terror and power of the realm of Mirkwood and of the Elven court of Lord Thranduil. The pale elf lord was truly mesmerizing and few could resist his charismatic glamour. He describes the Elven King's unearthly beauty and height, his pale skin and shimmering silver white hair his magnificent presence - but he knew that his descriptions failed to capture the power of the event. Laughing he looked at Morwen as she listened as it dawned on him that she was the exact opposite of Thranduil - small and rosy cheeked with thick wavy auburn hair.
"Little Morwen, you never grew at all …still such a tiny bird – you're scarcely as big as a Halfling!" Crispin added
"Not true" she smirked "I was only eight when you last saw me. I'm almost certain that I'm a little taller."
"Are you very lonely without Gerion?" Crispin felt awkward asking, but he was surprised that those two had ever gotten married.
"In three more months, my year of morning will be officially over …I still miss him - but it's not as painful as it once was. Tell me - did you take a mate in your travels? " She imagined a blonde beauty from the horse realms for him - or maybe an olive skinned Easterling with long soft hair and musical bangles on her slim wrists and ankles. Perhaps Crispin had taken a lover from amongst the eldritch court of Mirkwood.
He didn't answer her question and she understood his discomfort as he replied "What'll you do - you can't stay here forever you know…"
"I hope to lease the smithy to a Dwarf family - if any will have it. This place could make a good home for a family – there's room for wee dwarrows… Khazadhi would prosper here …" she gestured about the room - imagining Lif and Gerda seated at the table – or maybe Gerda's kinsfolk, Nyr and Skaldi …
"What about that Naug tinker out at the forge? Is he here to test your furnace?"
There was a long and very awkward pause. Crispin winced - he'd spoken without thinking - Bruel was right, he did that far too often, but her affection for the dwarves had never made any sense to him. Even as a child she'd been drawn to things small and stunted - like Hobbits and Dwarves. Crispin imagined it was because she herself was so small.
Morwen sat very still, looking at the tea cup in her hand. "Crispin - the laws of hospitality may be different in the eastern lands that you've visited. But even as I've welcomed you here, and I am happy to see you again - I implore you to be civil. I know the meaning of that word and I don't care for it…"
"So you know better than the Eldar? They possess great wisdom." he snapped back. Crispin understood that he ought to apologize - he was only making it worse, digging himself in deeper, yet he felt suddenly proud of his few encounters with Thranduil and his courtiers.
"I'll not presume to guess at the thoughts of the Elves. I know what I know. Nevertheless, that word is not honorable." Morwen replied. In his travels Crispin has changed, he'd grown in patience and strength in many ways, but he was still prone to blurting out thoughtless and often cruel comments, just as he'd done as a child.
Crispin sighed "I'm sorry – I misspoke … Bruel says that I need to talk less and listen more."
Morwen shrugged her shoulders … "Not to worry - it's over. Do you think that you will eventually return to the East? I gather you enjoyed it there."
"I'm here to help my brother… who knows what the future holds."
After a few more minutes Crispin stood "I ought to go."
"The next time we meet - maybe you can tell me more of your adventures?"
Morwen walked out with Crispin to his sledge. He smiled at her and waved as he turned the sledge in a circle and wend back in the direction he'd come from. Thorin stepped out of the smithy - his face blacked with soot and he glowered as he watched the mortal ride off in his loud showing noisy contraption. The smiths massive arms were crossed over his torso and his stance radiated a certain possessiveness and threat that he wasn't even entirely aware of at that moment.