Sorry I've been away from this story so long, dear readers. I hope you're still with me. I've been posting for Through the Eyes of Another, but it's time for poor Dwalin's fate to be discovered. Oh, and a reader asked who I thought Frain would look like, and I put my money on Turkish actor Kivanc Tatlitugs. Let me know if you agree!

Chapter 49

"How far are you going to let them take him?" Relianna asked Thorin with wide eyes. "You have to stop them!"

"As far as the Great Hall?" Frain asked with a puckish grin.

"No!" Relianna said. "Thorin, you must do something!"

"I was thinking as far as the main gate," Fili called from down the table.

"No!"

"I think Dale would do better, don't you?" Kili asked looking around. "Just far enough to make a point."

"You're assuming he'd wake up by then," Lord Kerba said, weighing in with a straight face. "That was a pretty hard knock there. He might not regain his senses until Lake Town."

"Thorin, you can't possibly!"

Balin looked up with tears running down his face and one hand flicking a handkerchief. He tried to talk but managed only a wet gurgle and waved the others on.

"It's a hard decision, indeed," Thorin said while stroking his beard, caught between chagrin at Lord Freggin's description of him and satisfaction at Dwalin's comeuppance. "I think Thranduil should handle this."

"Thorin!"

The next morning, Dwalin stormed through the gates of Erebor in a towering rage. It was an hour after the first shift went on duty, and he barked at the befuddled guards to stand aside. Without a word, they stepped back and stared with mouths hanging open. They knew, indeed, the entire mountain knew what had happened the night before. It was the only topic of conversation—other than descriptions of Lord Freggin and his … daughter—and so many bets were placed that one could almost hear the jingling of coins in the halls. Most had him returning some time the next day, and the largest hour-by-hour betting pools had him coming back before midday. A small yet devout crowd steadfastly believed word would come that Dwalin and Lady Fregma were wed. Balin was sorely tempted to throw in with them, but he knew his brother too well and didn't want to waste his money.

"What're you lookin' at?" Dwalin yelled as he passed startled servants. He had made it back from almost certain matrimony thanks to his own resourcefulness, but if a passing caravan hadn't offered him a ride back to Erebor, well, he didn't know what he would have done. His face was a bright red, although his hue wasn't caused entirely by anger. No, his face, scalp, ears, neck, and hands were covered with large, red, weeping blisters that nearly connected there were so many. The largest blister by far was on the tip of his nose. The rest were festering under his clothes, causing nigh unbearable itching.

"Kin, eh?" he said to himself as he scratched one ear. More sentries saluted him, and he returned their deference with a scratch on the other. "Friends, eh? So they thought this was funny, eh? Humph. In fear of my life, I was. Probably still laughing," and with that he started up the stairs to confront those who allowed those two—Thorin ought to declare war, he thought—to dare insult his person and subject him to the humiliation of wheeling him away.

Striding up the stairs with those thoughts in mind, he struggled to keep the scratching to a minimum. Unfortunately though, every step up necessitated the movement of cloth on his legs, so he alternated between scratching his bum and knees. In fact, he was so busy scratching that he didn't notice bags of coins being tossed to and fro. A few intrepid dwarves had bet that some "illness" would befall him and allow him to get away, but this wasn't exactly what they had pictured, and so they retreated with their bookmakers to decide what precisely constituted an illness in this case.

Itch by scratch he ascended the final few steps to the family wing and debated how he was going to handle himself in front of those who had allowed this travesty. He decided to excuse the ladies since he knew they were too tender-hearted to have agreed to such a thing. No, the blame lay squarely on Thorin and his brother, although he'd save some ire for Frain who no doubt made smart remarks at his expense. Lord Kerba also deserved a jab since he could have counseled Thorin to have mercy but most likely didn't.

"Had fun with this, did they?" he muttered. "When they see me, they'll be sorry. Mebbe even the lasses will cry."

That thought cheered him greatly. Two beautiful women sobbing with compassion and sorrow brought a half-smile to his bumpy face. He absently scratched his nose. One finger wasn't enough though for a whole-hand itch, so he dug in and thoroughly scratched his nose and nostrils inside and out with all ten fingers to make a good job of it. Conjuring the scene, he imagined Relianna looking horrified and accusing Thorin of being heartless.

"How could you?" he imagined her yelling at her new husband who cowered in shame. "You lack all honor to have done something so heinous to your cousin and kinsman." He pictured Thorin begging for her forgiveness but to no avail. "No, Thorin!" she'd say. "You'll have to do more than that to make it up to Dwalin who's only ever been loyal and faithful to you."

"But my love I didn't mean it to go so far …," the celebrated King of Erebor would beg and plead. Dwalin scoffed, thinking that Thorin had better do more than that to get back in his noble wife's good graces.

"No!" Relianna would cry. "Not another word! Not until you make it up to Dwalin, and until you do … until you do … I'll, I'll be sleeping in my own chambers with the door locked!"

That would get him, Dwalin thought. Get him where it hurts. Sleeping alone tonight, aye? Mebbe she'll keep the door locked for a week! He'd give up Erebor to get that door open, I'd bet. Ha!"

Trudging along, he found some solace picturing Thorin's gasping and tormented expression.

"No!" he would cry. "I'll die without you! Even one night without you will send me to my grave!"

Yes, Dwalin thought, that would do quite nicely, and with that thought he pushed on the doors of the dining hall. He was looking forward to their embarrassment and shame and stood there looking like an avenging warrior with a bad rash, although his impressive stance was somewhat marred by another two-fisted scratch of his ears.

"Fried cake, Dwalin?" Frain asked while waving a plump donut in his hand, his expression carefully nonchalant. He looked over the platter where pastries were stacked five-high. "Only a couple more of these ones though." Gloin crammed his into his mouth with the flat of his hand and bit down hard.

"D'licious," he mumbled and wiped his mouth along his sleeve. The others ate with blank expressions, and Dwalin glowered at each in turn, although he spared the ladies who had their napkins over their mouths, trying hard to swallow without choking.

Poor lasses, he thought. Devastated by their husbands' cruelty.

Shifting uncomfortably, he scratched one bright red cheek and the side of his neck. Since itching often begets itches, he moved from his neck to both hands clawing at his stomach. By that time, Fili and Kili had their heads down, their shoulders shaking, and Thorin rubbing his mouth and chin, hiding a smile. Balin buttered a roll, behaving like nothing unusual was happening. He would savor this moment and commit all details to memory.

"Please join us," Thorin said, indicating the chair next to Relianna. "There's plenty." Bemma still had her napkin over her mouth, and Frain thumped her gently on the back. Dwalin hesitated and then reached behind with both hands to scratch his bum.

"All right there, Plum?" Frain asked. She wheezed and coughed but nodded.

"Come, brother, don't stand on ceremony," Balin said, "take a seat. Here, have some sausages." Dwalin eyed him with a dark scowl that was mitigated somewhat by his scratching under his armpit.

"You put me up to this," he said with a snarl.

"Not at all," Balin replied with a huff. "It was your 'goodly tone' that did you in."

Frain guffawed first followed closely by Dain while Dwalin stood there scratching and working his jaw. By that time Relianna had her napkin over her nose and mouth, but she jumped when Dwalin patted her hand.

"Don't be too hard on him, lass," he whispered. "A week of sleeping alone is punishment enough."

Turning shocked eyes on him, she threw her napkin over her face and shrieked loud and long with her shoulders bobbing up and down.

Poor lass is taking it hard, Dwalin thought, but he'll survive and be a little more the wiser.

"Relianna?" Thorin asked, leaning over in concern after she struggled to breathe. "Relianna?"

She's not answering him, Dwalin observed. Just as I thought. He refused to feel sorry.

After looking around the room and seeing everyone in various states of hilarity, Thorin put up his hands and asked for quiet.

"I must admit I was as surprised as anyone when Lord Freggin showed up at my door," he said, "but we wouldn't condemn you to such a fate, old friend."

"Aye?" Dwalin said, not mollified in the least and scratching at his ear lobes. "I didn't gain my wits until half-way to Lake Town."

"So how did you get away," Frain wanted to know, "and why do you look like you slept in poison ivy?"

Dwalin's lips tightened, and forefingers scratched one temple and then the other.

"You didn't?" Fili asked. Dwalin didn't answer. "Oh, you did, didn't you?"

"They said they were glad I was pock-free," he said. "Turns out it's something of a rarity up there. They head-butt mountain goats for sport. Didn't know that, did ya? They also exchange head lice on the wedding night to seal the vows."

"Ew, I like my way better," Frain said.

"So do I," Thorin added.

Dwalin was persuaded to tell his story after much pleading and apologizing from the ladies. After he came to his senses on the road, he said, he heard them talking about how pleased they were that he was free of disease.

"It seems other suitors Lady Fregma's tried to bring back all came down with some loathsome disease that disqualified them," he said.

"So you had to find some way to look diseased," Frain conjectured, "but poison ivy? Well, if you're desperate it'll do."

Dwalin shot him a look to shut up, and catching the hint, he sat back and motioned for him to continue.

"They've had many a suitor try to beg off," Dwalin said, "so it wasn't enough for me to have a rash only on my face and hands."

"Oh, Mahal, above," Lord Kerba said while watching him scratch down his back. "Where didn't you rub it in?"

"A few places," Dwalin replied sourly.

"I'd have skipped that one," Frain said. They watched him scratch all around a spot that was intensely itchy but couldn't be scratched in mixed company.

"Things shifted," Dwalin said in his defense.

"So they let you go?" Kili asked.

"After they saw this," and Dwalin motioned down himself, "they had no choice. Lord Freggin declared me too dainty to leave Erebor. Said I wasn't fit for the wilds."

"Ouch," Frain said before throwing a look at Thorin who glared in return. "What an insult! To be called dainty, well, can't think of worse myself."

"So how did you get back?" Relianna asked.

"A passing caravan."

"That I sent," Thorin said with a smile. "We wouldn't have let them take you. They had my orders to take you back before you reached Lake-town."

His words didn't mollify Dwalin in the slightest, however, and he blurted out the question that had been burning in his mind since he awoke in horror to see Lady Fregma and her father riding on either side of his cart.

"But why did you let them take me in the first place?"

"It's what you deserved, brother," Balin said, suddenly serious. "She did exactly what you would have done, so tell me now if you think clapping hands and wheeling away your intended is the way to go about it?"

"I never clapped hands on it," Dwalin shouted, not willing to look Balin in the face. "I was kidnapped, and you all let them take me away." He scratched his bald pate before digging in under his chin.

"'Trundle you away' is the correct phrase, I believe," Balin said.

"Or perhaps 'spirit you away,'" Kili said.

"I prefer roll myself," Fili countered.

"Would 'cart you away' work?" Frain asked.

"Enough, enough," Thorin said with a fond smile at his increasingly irritated friend. "Frain? Relianna? Oin? I ask that you take good care of our brave warrior here and ease his discomfort."

"Right you are, Thorin," Oin said. "Come my lord, my lady, let's set him to rights."

The others watched Dwalin scratch out the door followed by Oin, Frain, and Relianna.

"You take the top half, sister, and I'll take the bottom," Frain said.

"I don't think he's got any poison ivy down ... there … oh ... yes … I see now. Very well, Frain."

Kili ran to shut the doors so the rest could choke on their food in peace.

So I hope you enjoyed. Poor Dwalin. So what's the medieval equivalent of calamine lotion? Please review! I'd love to hear from you!