Authors apologies - I do hope that you good people will forgive my haphazard postings. I have run this chapter through the editing monster several times, and my muse kept on transforming my plans in strange and unexpected directions. I pray you will forgive me as I introduce a few unexpected characters.

Thorin The Wanderer

"We need to talk..."

Ve paused at the door and released the straps that bound the small pack to the dog's shoulders. Gryma pranced in and settled by the fire, as familiar and comfortable as any housepet, moving only when Morwen reached over him to get the kettle. Ve pulled off his traveling coat and accepted the warm water and the clean towel. Soon he was clean and comfortable - if not quite as comfortable as his wolfdog who was now blissfully asleep on the floor. Morwen turned to him with a large goblet in her hand.

"Ale or mead ?"

"Ahhh… I'll take some small beer. I gather your mead is potent… It seems you've learned too well from that dowager beekeeper!" Ve smiled brightly. His face, ruddy from the sun and wind, bright eyes and his large generous rounded nose were classic to the idealized good looking dwarven type. Looking at him made Morwen smile – it was so good to see dear Ve again. She could almost imagine that she was a child once more, in her father's house, surrounded by Dwarves - in the happy times before he'd sent her away.

"My mead's too strong?" She winced, wondering if she'd inadvertently intoxicated her lover into his promises. She removed the length of cloth she'd bound around her hair to protect the braided section by her ear with Eikenskjaldi's love token as she passed him the large cup full of beer.

He took it, nodded to her and took a great swallow. After a moment, Ve sighed … "So they left you here all alone after the man died?" He shook his head sadly. "You ought to have sent to someone."

"No one had come by from any of the caravans, nobody from the Mountains or any of the colonies, and there was only one lost traveler about a month ago … who did you wish me to contact?" Morwen knew she was overreacting to Ve - but she didn't know what to say at this point. Her emotions had been exaggerated since Eikenskjaldi had left.

"I - I'm sorry. But – you were all alone! Abandoned – it's savage! Your father meant well for you but this was all wrong…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Laddie, we need to talk."

The council meeting was long since over, but Thorin had been sitting alone at the large carved wooden table in the Great Hall in Ered Luin for some time. All the members of the council had left but he had stayed on – initially to review some lists of supplies and taxes, but he had long since finished that paperwork. He'd been lost in thought and was sketching ideas for a decorative collar and a few pendants and other ornaments as courting gifts for Morwen on a scrap of parchment. The beeswax candles had melted down without him noticing the passage of time - and now Balin had surprised him.

As the de facto leader of the colony, Thorin would regularly sit in on any discussions regarding local administration - which could vary from maintaining good commercial relations with the Hobbits in the Shire and the handful of local villages of Men in the general vicinity, as well dealing with the occasional encounters with Elves on their way to the Grey Havens and taciturn bands of Rangers. He was also kept well informed as to the status of various mines, the state of trade, and the general supplies and the health and welfare of his people. There had been far too many lean times in the early years of the expulsion from Erebor, and Thorin was obsessed with making certain that his people would never be blindsided by hunger or illness again. Recently he had had nothing more serious to adjudicate among his own people beyond reviewing taxes and recognizing various marriages, births and deaths amongst the survivors of Erebor.

He quietly rearranged the documents in front of him as he replied with a gentle sigh to his oldest friend and comrade in arms. Glancing up he saw his advisor looking at him from the other side of the room. Balin looked both composed and thoughtful as he approached. Thorin knew that look all too well.

"What is it Balin?"

"I was wondering about your plans. I heard about Dis and her current …situation…"

"Then you ought to be happy. I'm making certain of the continuity and the safety of the Colony. My sister and her sons are my heirs. Dwalin will be a stable and reliable bulwark to support them. You do want your brother to be happy - don't you?"

"No one has anything but love and devotion for you or your family - but I worry…The folk needed stability and you've done so much for their benefit. We're prospering here - and well… you need to prosper too. This last venture you went on - the fact that you're so silent about it - Laddie, tell me where you went."

"I went looking for work – was waylaid in a storm – I was able to make some connections." Thorin paused and looked at Balin, hoping he would believe him. "I've followed the wise advice you recommended long ago - stayed at the anvil - for my peoples sake. Such work is honest and it keeps the arm strong – until other situations arise …Try not to worry, Balin, trust me I'm not going to storm off single handed to take any of the Old Holdings …not yet."

Balin smiled into his beard "So you will be traveling soon?"

"Soon enough."

Balin stepped closer as Thorin continued to shuffle the scraps of parchment. " D'ye no trust me then?"

Thorin closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He disliked this perpetual ongoing nagging from Balin and he disliked his own lack of patience even more. Best to be away soon he thought to himself. "Do you honestly think that I would do something foolish… do you imagine me battling alone to restore the great mansions of Mount Gundabad, or race after the ghost of Thingol to avenge the Naugafring? Do I seem so fatalistic to you?"

Thorin snapped, his tone was far more irate than he'd intended and Balin stood quite still - his face a mask revealing nothing - then he bowed briskly and turned to go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Brother we need to talk."

Crispin grimaced; he didn't want to have this conversation with his brother again. The miller had asked him to return from traveling through Rhovanion after his nephew had died from an infection. The loss of Bruel's son was tragic and he had every right to call on young Crispin to aid him now. Although it was painfully clear that Crispin was of no use at the mill, he still wanted to help even though he felt manipulated by his brother and by his own guilt. He understood, but still resented Bruel suggestions that he court the blacksmiths widow.

"I think you ought to go see the widow again…You need to make her take you more seriously maybe bring her a posy of flowers…. or quote a few poems - you know - the sort peppered with sighs. Women love that." Brunel muttered.

Crispin tensed - Poor plain Morwen – short and squat, one might call her comely, kind and good natured, but how could he possibly explain to his brother that the suggestion that he court her was a mistake -an utter mistake. Bruel was interested in setting Crispin up with an obedient, compliant and well off wife. Crispin was fond of Morwen but he didn't feel anything for her. Yes, marriages were rarely based on romantic love and while some level of compatibility and mutual attraction was considered practical, the love of the ancient ballads and the epic tales of great transcendent passion were just that - songs and stories. How could he possibly explain that he was more likely to love the shadow of a tree than feel anything for Morwen. Crispin was not blind to love indeed he nursed a great hidden passion - but he would never discuss his secret meetings with the sublime slender golden haired elf… and perhaps that was the reason that the presence of that brutish itinerant smith - snarling and sweating - staying in Morwen's hall had so upset him.

Bruel droned on "You might have heard some of those ballads from your time in the east something sweet and sad from - the lay of Luthien and Beren – or something like Turin and Beleg maybe?"

Crispin winced, and retorted joylessly, looking out the window that faced to the north east - "I'll go see her…"

xxxxxxxx

A pale eldritch figure with golden blond curls tugged at a pair of riding gloves, eyes suddenly sparkling with unbidden memories of the dark haired mortal and their secret forests trysts. Here in Imladris there were many paths to travel, many opportunities to surely 'accidentally' meet someone all unexpected in an empty corner of a remote hamlet or on a quiet woodland pathway? A breeze blew past with the taste of snow still lingering in the air. A storm was coming.

xxxxxxxxxx

Balin walked briskly down the passageway outside the Great hall, his countenance utterly unreadable. Turning a corner, he saw his brother brooding in the shadows. Dwalin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and only then did Balin relax enough to let a slow broad smile appear.

"So?"

"What? Did he show me the love knot that you mentioned? Did he sigh and speak of the worth of treasures as nothing when compared to his lovers smile? No brother, but I wager that you're right about this – he's stiff lipped and short tempered and he's sketching out jewelry patterns. He's grim and eager to be gone…"

"Who is it then – one of the young scalawags from outside the colonies? Someone from one of the families settled along the East road or near Bree? "

"To learn that we'll both need patience and time."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So now my wee maid" – Ve finished the drink, then paused "What – what's this?" he gestured at the plaited lock of hair with the sparkling bauble suspended from it - the ball bound onto the small brade there

At that moment, suddenly Morwen felt like a naughty child. She blushed…"More than a month ago – a traveler was lost in the snow and knocked on my door. It was a dreadful storm. And - well - that was when the Khazad tinker Eikenskjaldi came to stay with me for a time."

Ve gestured to the ornament. "Let me see that." Morwen leaned forward and held the braid out to show him. The small copper orb that hung from her braid was light and the color shimmered in the firelight. There was a bell set inside it, with a soft low tone. She had often worried that the orb might break or be damaged but Ve could see that it would take many sharp strategic blows to even scratch it. He examined the item critically, it was light but solidly made, craftily constructed; the ball was a perfect round oval without any bulges or warps to the surface of the piece. This work was not a passing trinket exchanged by a traveler grateful for a warm meal and a tumble in a soft bed. This was not something to be expected from any itinerant dwarven tinker either … Ve pulled his lorgnette from his breast pocket and hooked it to his nose. An examination of the tiny makers mark at the base revealed a stylized oak branch with a tiny raven profile. A shudder went down his spine as he looked in detail at the gift - this was a masterwork. Ve wondered if Morwen realized the bells significance.

"So this wanderer you met calls himself Eikenskjaldi - does he? Ve muttered

"Oak weilder – yes." She replied, "He was very kind to me – a gracious companion to a lonely widow – a fair guest. He was amicable and charming and he told me many tales - of the beauty of the Lonely Mountain, tales of Thrors court and the tragedy of Azanubizar. He fought for the Royal house there."

"Perhaps he's part of Thrain's son's mercenary guard, so that's why he claims a name so close to Thorin's title."

"So Thrain's son is called Thorin – what title does he take?"

"He styles himself the Oakensheild – as he took an oak branch when his shield was shattered in battle – didn't the tinker tell you of that?"

"He spoke of the battle and of the loss of Thrain's son Frerin. Eikenskjaldi said he'd lost kin there too – it's a deep wound still. But I can imagine him as part of Durin's host as a bodyguard."

"So tell me - what does your tinker look like?"

"He's dark haired as you can guess." Morwen laughed, recognizing that Ve had examined the lock of hair that Eikenskjaldi had woven into the braid. She continued. "His nose is noble, but not as generous as yours is, my dear Ve. He's quite tall, and his face is narrow. His eyes are a deep sapphire blue and his beard is kept short, for mourning I should imagine. His face is usually somber but his smiles are great treasures."

"Ah well, not every dwarf can possess my good looks. It's a curse – mafarrakh d'afrukh ( a burden to carry) but it's my fate…" Ve winked at her - they both knew that amongst the Noble People, Ve was considered very handsome. He found this to be rather funny, smirking he continued, "Not to worry. You know, some gossips have hinted that poor Prince Thorin is Thrain's by-blow from a tryst with an Elf wench…There are those in the Iron Hills who claim that he's all willowy and reedy - very eldritch."

"How can this Oakenshield be as reedy as a willow? Have the Khazad of Urad Zirnul never seen a Tree?" Morwen retorted glibly. Most of her experiences were with the dwarves of the White Mountains, or the occasional caravans from Ered Luin or from the Southern Misty Mountains. The folk of the Iron hills were generally considered to be a bit parochial and dull amongst the Khazad – the joke was that they never look up from their feet unless they were mining.

"So – you must have met the great prince – is he as gossamer and delicate as the wits of the Iron Hills suggest?" she teased Ve back.

"Nay - but I gather that he's dark of visage and a bit grim."

Morwen shrugged and smiled.

Ve continued after a moment. "So… you do understand my dear, that this Eikenskjaldi wants to court you in a serious manner – his courting gift is - well - a masterpiece of craft. When you next see this tinker - tell him to make himself known to Ve Ullrson, of the Firebeards in the White Mountains… You're my foster and I know that your father – for all his misjudgments – would insist on this. He'd demand this lad court you with all proper respect."

"Court me? You and I both know that my father would not approve – he'd want to end this - thinking it a farce ..." Morwen sighed, "I know how he felt about Dwarves marrying Mortals."

There was a long pause.

"Do you really know what your father thought then?" Ve looked at her darkly.

Morwen, surprised by his sudden change of tone paused and looked up unexpectedly as he spoke.

"Your father loved you dearly, but he could be a fool at times. I knew him well and held him dear - for all his thoughtlessness - but I don't think you understand what he felt about love or loss or sorrow …"

"I don't understand…"

"Oh wee Morwen – once my brother loved a maiden and married her in spite of culture, convention and taboo – she loved him and bore him a child. Beyond all wishes or expectations – that child lived – and his bride might have lived and been well, had she not suffered a fever. He love both the child and the mother - losing his wife broke his heart …Brodhi didn't know what to do. "

"Ve, did my father know your brother?"

Ve laughed bitterly, feeling how close joy and sorrow could be.

"Your father? Did he know my brother? Aye and Nay… Your father was Brodhi - a Dwarf craftsman from the White Mountains, who chose to marry a mortal maiden – Glynnis - from a small village not too far from the Entwash. Unions between Men and Dwarves are unusual, but any children from them are real treasures. So few babes were known to have survived - that I don't think Brodhi had any idea what just how rare this was. I wanted him to wait until you grew older to decide what to do - but he was ill himself, so he fostered you out. And we told everyone that your father was called Brodda, a man from the East - hoping that you would appear to them to be just exotic enough for folk to not ask too many questions... You were too small to disagree. "

"Your father was my brother. I'm your Uncle and you my wee maid - are Khazadi."