Evie looked down at the brooch Thorin had given her as a wedding present. She watched the gems glimmer in the candlelight, the myriad colors of the giant opal dancing in the flickering light. To imagine that such a fine gem could be hers seemed nonsensical, and yet here it was, nearly filling up the petite palm of her hand. It was a treasure, undoubtedly, and yet she tried to see it through Thorin's eyes. To him it was precious because it served as a reminder – a relic of a lost time of prosperity and plenty, of riches beyond the mind's imaginings. A wealth his people would reclaim, some day. Evie feared these dreams of grandeur, these irresistible plannings. She knew even now, on the morning of her wedding, that she would live each day in the shadow of Erebor and that one of those future days its haunting call would finally demand an answer. She loved Thorin Oakenshield for all that he was, but that meant she was marrying into a grief which could not be spoken, and that as happy as Thorin might become in Ered Luin, to hope that he would give up his destiny of returning to Erebor would be an unforgivable folly.

But the eventuality of her husband's departure was still many years away, or so she told herself, and that mollified the hobbit enough. Enough to get up out of bed, at the very least. Dis would arrive soon, she guessed, and so the bride may as well start getting dressed and preparing herself for what just might be the most important day of her life.

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It seemed like only moments later that Evangeline Took was standing in the middle of her room and that same brooch was now pinned to the bodice of her dress, proudly announcing the affluence of her groom's house and her ties to the mountain. Her golden hair had been swept behind her, done up in countless braids and ties so that it framed her fair face and then fell behind her shoulders in a cascade of elegant waves. Her dress was made of the finest dwarven fabrics, a creamy white adorned with rich golden accents – white to match the opal now resting delicately on her chest and gold to represent the wealth of Durin's line and the legacy of Erebor. Upon her insistence, small white flowers were woven into her hair (if the ceremony absolutely must take place indoors within the mountain's halls, at least she could bring some of her prized natural world inside – there would be flowers aplenty, despite customary dwarven decorating, which was much more austere).

Dis was flitting around the room like a small bird, and her hands always seemed to discover little things which required her attention, be it a single curl which had escaped a braid in Evie's hair or a fold in her dress which needed smoothing out. She was in a much greater state of anxiety than Evie herself, or her mother, who seemed as calm as a springtime afternoon. Marigold stood silently by her daughter, watching Dis jump from place to place and mutter to herself. The hobbit's eyes sparkled with a particular sort of gleam, and it was something Evie had not seen in a very long time. She reached out to hold her mother's hand, and the elder female squeezed it tightly.

"You look beautiful, my darling."

She said softly, and Dis slowed in fluffing out the skirt of Evie's dress and took a small step back, as if the reality of everything had suddenly hit her. Evie's grey eyes turned to meet her mother's, and the indescribable look in them made the bride's stormy orbs light up with sentiment.

"If only your father could be here to see this…"

She said the inevitable words, and even though Evie had thought often of Fellin Took over the last few days in particular, she was still unprepared to hear the longing in her mother's voice.

"A dwarf and a hobbit coming together… Only he could have imagined such an impossible thing. And yet here you are, a lovely little rose of the Shire, come to take a husband of Durin's line itself. If your father had told me this day would come when you were just a tiny rascal running about in the forest I would have suggested he had gotten too deep into one of Old Took's barrels of ale, but now… After watching you grow over the years… You have traveled all over Middle Earth, and have perhaps seen things and made alliances even your father and your grandfather had not. Your adventurous spirit has taken you to many lands, my sweet Evangeline, and it is clear that it has finally brought you home again at last."

She paused, breathing in sharply as the hobbit tried to fight the instinct to cry. Marigold was strong willed, too tough to crack under any sort of pressure, and yet this was the day she had been so equally overjoyed for and afraid of for so long that it was hard to maintain her unassuming demeanor.

"It is not the Shire, certainly not, but I knew you would never remain there long. Here you are making a life for yourself, a family… I see that you have a very kind sister," she reached for Dis' hand with her free one, "and I know that your husband will care for you far better than I could have ever hoped for. Your life here will be full of trials and tribulations, but it will also be measured in grace and accomplishment – I hope you can enjoy the victories amongst the struggles, and that your love will see you through whatever the future may hold. We always knew you were destined for great things, Evangeline, and you know how your father always said 'greatness is not a fate, but it is made by the great.' I know that you will make greatness wherever you go, and I cannot express how eager I am to see it blossom here in the mountains so close to the Shire, to watch it flow along the trade routes you have opened and to witness it dancing across all of Eriador, leaving a positive influence in these prosperous lands."

Evie bit her lip, holding back her own rush of emotion. She leaned forward and hugged her mother, ignoring the small noise of protest Dis made as she wrinkled up her dress in the motion. Evie held the other hobbit tightly for a moment, sputtering on her next inhalation.

"I love you," she whispered softly, and Mary returned the sentiment, kissing her daughter on the cheek. Next the bride turned to Dis, folding her up in her arms as well.

"Thank you, Dis… For… For everything. You are my greatest friend and without you I know this day never would have come."

Dis smiled, her face twisting up as she fought the urge to spill her own tears and then almost instantly gave in. She held her future sister close for a quick moment before backing away and wiping her face on a handkerchief to stop her tears from falling onto Evie's shoulder.

"I never… I had always hoped that someday someone like you would come to us. That Thorin would meet someone who would change his life and make him see what a treasure each day can be, make him enjoy living in a way he has never allowed himself to before… And now here you are and you're so much more than we could have ever dreamed… Even in my fantasies I could not have imagined him as happy as he is now. I heard him singing the other day, Evie. Singing! I haven't heard his voice since we were children… We are blessed by Durin to have you here, and… And maybe your mother is right. Maybe there will be great trials, great storms we have to weather, but… We'll do it together. Oh, I can't believe that in a few hours I will be able to truly call you sister! I have waited so long for this day… I just know that we will all be so very happy together."

Evie could hope as much, and that hope stayed with her as they polished her up and prepared her for what was to come. The other two females were required to leave and go to their places for the ceremony in the Great Hall, leaving Evie with carefully placed kisses and a few blisteringly sweet parting words. Evangeline was unaccustomed to being fawned over – she had roamed all Middle Earth with traveling camps of adventurers, sleeping on the dirt and walking through the murk; she had stationed herself on the edges of a battlefront, with little to eat or drink and even less of the comforts of home, not to mention placing herself subject to attack at any moment; she had grown accustomed to living day by day in the wild without a bed to sleep upon or a clean patch to call her own, and now… Here she was in the finest garment she had ever seen, let alone worn, standing in a room built solely for her with ornate carvings on the walls and dappled stone tiling which spoke of the finest form of craftsmanship, to say nothing of the cost of the materials. She was a simple hobbit of the Shire, known not to make a fuss of things nor search out grandeur, and yet here she was surrounded by opulence. And this was supposedly humble for the dwarves – to think of Erebor with its emerald stone and its halls of gold was entirely beyond her comprehension.

Yet all that, all this… It was not so great a thing to the healer. She wanted only two things from the life she was about to begin – the love of her husband and the love of her people. She would endeavor to please them both to the best of her abilities, to serve and care for them in prosperity and in hardship. She would be a bulwark in the middle of their affairs, protecting them and guiding them when danger or doubt plagued Durin's Folk… She did not know how, but she supposed she would find a way. And surely her strength would come from them as well – from the equally matched tenderness and sternness of her brave husband, from the endurance and unmatched tenacity of her people… She was inspired and heartened by the legacy of Durin and the incredible wealth of his line in fortitude and nobility. She hoped she could continue that legacy, in her own way, and that indeed all this was a part of some greater plan at which she was only one piece.

Balin knocked on her door, a gentle, eager knock.

It was time.

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Everything was far more beautiful than she could have possibly imagined, but in a strange, foreign yet increasingly familiar, fashion. The stone halls were accented with long, bold tapestries which depicted images of kings and sigils of times long past, all emblazoned in dark, fierce colors which stood out starkly against the natural hue of the cool stone. There was no music, which surprised her at first – the dwarves had a habit of breaking into song at any favorable change in the wind, merrily boasting of their instruments with tunes fitting all moods and moments. But today there was no promising harmony, no soothing melody – instead a somber, expectant silence filled the massive hall. It was sobering, and made the incredible reality of the occasion immediately sink in.

With each step she took, Evangeline grew closer and closer to her future, and she had never felt its presence more deeply than she did presently. The room was silent save for the occasional cough or muffled whisper of the onlooking guests, who displayed the full array of emotional expression; some appeared pleased or in an easy sort of gladness, others turned up their noses or scoffed under their breath, others were distinguished in their quiet grieving, and still more seemed petulant and accepting if not at peace with the circumstances. Yet there were a few who seemed genuinely happy at the idea of their king finally taking a wife, even if she was born in the Shire.

None of their mixed sentiments seemed to matter in the slightest when Evie's eyes locked with Thorin's as she reached the end of the hall. He had entered first, with her following, and now she was presented to him by Balin, who was serving as her guardian, a position her mother would have filled had the honor not been reserved solely for those of dwarven blood. Evie had never seen the king in full ceremonial dress before – if she had thought herself sumptuously adorned she was staring at the male mirror of such dwarven magnificence when she looked at her betrothed. Thorin wore an elaborate golden circlet which was simple in its extravagance; Evie was almost surprised by how unpretentious it looked in comparison to the golden beads and jewels braided into his dark hair. She would have thought the lavish additions to Thorin's hair and tunic strange had it not been for the many painted and engraved images Balin and Dis had shown her of the great dwarven kings of the past. Many wore jewels entwined in their beards and their hair, demonstrating their enormous wealth and their status as king. Thorin looked humble in comparison to their images, and yet his appearance was so different from the bloodied warrior she had first tended to so many years ago that it was almost startling. But even then he had worn mithril, and there was no mistaking that he was not a nameless dwarf.

It was as if everything had suddenly stopped – lips slowed and arrested their inane muttering and feet halted their shuffling – the great moment had arrived, and now they would all have to see it through.

Thorin dared a smile as Evangeline paused and knelt before him, as she had been instructed, and he placed his hand upon her bowed head. She breathed out nervously, sensing the great heaviness of her feelings within her chest and the impulsive fear which weighed her down, securing her in place but also terrifying her to the core. There was something reassuring about the gentleness of Thorin's hand upon her soft hair, the way he touched her… The healer sighed, consciously taking a deep, measured breath and allowing herself to be mildly thrilled by the realization that Thorin was doing the same as she heard his next breath come staggered and slow from above her.

"My bride," he began in Khuzdul, "I take you into my home. From this day forth you will be of Durin's House; my sigil will be yours. My household will be yours. My possessions will be yours. We will share in all things, and together we will bring prosperity to our kin."

Belinir, rather ironically, was given the great honor of assisting Thorin with the ceremony, and it was he who handed the king a great golden robe. Thorin held it up and then turned it, circling around Evangeline and then carefully placing it upon her. It physically symbolized her admittance into his house and therefore his protection of her. Whispers picked up throughout the gathering, but the ceremonial participants simply ignored them, continuing with the affair as if they were unaware of the rolling sensations crossing the crowd. Some spectators were in awe of the beauty of the robe (another display of the husband's wealth), some were in outrage over the act and that it had finally been done, going against all propriety and decency, others judged the bride and her diminutive size, critiquing the way she was kneeling or the style of her hair. But it mattered not, for the first step of the marriage ceremony had been completed.

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The robe felt heavy on her shoulders, as if it truly was stitched with the responsibility she would now hold towards this people, the comfort of her husband's protection, and the legacy of Durin's line. Evie closed her eyes, sensing with a thrill the way Thorin's fingers lingered on her shoulders just a fraction of a moment longer than was necessary. Here they were, pledging themselves to one another, and yet every indication, great or small, that he loved her sent a jolt to her heart as if she had been stung – and love's serum was a heady, destabilizing thing. It disrupted her with its potency, made her unsteady on her feet and unsure of herself. Sometimes she forgot which way was up when he stood too close to her or looked directly at her with those cripplingly blue eyes... Even now, kneeling before him, she felt a little weak. Her desire for him, for the maturing reality of this moment, was too overwhelming – but as the hobbit peeked up to chance a glimpse at her betrothed, she realized with startling relief that his expression nearly mirrored her own. His jaw was set and his face serious, and yet it was as clear as daylight to any who knew him well that the king was ill at ease; that he was struggling with the forceful emotions consuming his own consciousness just as surely as his bride was. Only she had the advantage of kneeling for the moment... Evie smiled, her full pink lips tugging up at the corners in humble sweetness.

Next an exchange was made between Thorin and Balin, representing Evangeline's progression from her previous family to her new one and confirming her identity within the House of Durin. She had gone over the ceremony so many times she could nearly translate the Khuzdul in her head, yet while she was accustomed to hearing the rough language in Balin's masterly auditory voice, the thunderous, rolling sound of Thorin's responses exhilarated her. She adored the rich, deep baritone of his voice as he claimed her as his own, and the particular resonance of it matched with the ever so slight hints of emotion straining it made her heart pound in her chest.

Next a circlet was placed upon her head, and even the anticipation of feeling it had not prepared her for the very real sensation of having it atop her brow, representing her commitment to Durin's Folk with a finality more tangible than anything. In one brief moment she had gone from a simple Shireling to a dwarven queen. It was strange that a little loop of gold could transform a person in such a total way, but someone had once decided such a thing was to be and everyone else had agreed to it, she supposed, and now it was what they called a tradition. To imagine that now she was here, a legacy to all those who came before her, crowned... Evie swallowed, trying not to think too hard on the subject. She was queen now, indeed, but her future actions would make it so much more genuinely than any golden circlet. Yet that proof would come as it was meant to, and for now there was one last step in the ceremony they had to perform, and this one greater still than any other. Evie now effectively belonged to Thorin as his wife and had been made his queen, but they were not fully wed yet. They must now be joined together.

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Evie was bidden to stand, which she did very cautiously. She knew there were hundreds of dwarves collected in the hall who would have snickered with glee were she to make just one wrong move and who would have celebrated her tripping over the heavy golden robe which she navigated around all too carefully as she stood. The hobbit managed to get up without any great mishap, and this was largely due to Thorin's steady hand surrounding hers and the way he helped her up as his first act as her new guardian. She was now his responsibility, as far as dwarven law was concerned, and as strange as that was it was also oddly settling. Evie glanced over at her mother, whose hands were knotted together over her chest and whose eyes gleamed with feeling, although certainly not due to the poetry of the ceremony – the bride had tried to explain to her mother the many processes of the formal procedure so that the other hobbit could follow along despite her inability to comprehend Khuzdul, but the older female had not cared so very much; for her this day meant only one thing, and the ceremony was only a formality. It was enough for her to simply be there and watch, playing witness to her daughter's final act of leaving her and starting a new family of her own.

Once the healer was standing again, she and Thorin locked eyes and the world seemed at peace once more. He extended his right hand, his axe wielding arm, and she placed her petite left hand in his. They both turned to face the assembly and Belinir and Balin together arranged a small dark blue cloth with the sigil of the raven upon it over the couple's intertwined hands. Belinir seemed resigned to his duties, and did not show any obvious distaste for his commission despite his true feelings. He had submitted to this marriage, and there was nothing else to be said on the matter. Balin, however, had a bright twinkle in his eye as he completed his assigned tasks, and it brought joy to Evie's heart to see it. Now that they were facing the crowd the hobbit was able to scan all the collected faces and find her friends – Dis was clinging to Fildur, tears streaming down her pretty face and her eyes searingly blue; Dwalin stood tall and silent, his expression wholly strange to the hobbit (perhaps this is what Dwalin looked like when he was deeply emotional, she could not know as he had rarely demonstrated his capacity for such a thing); Telchar was beside the warrior, his eyes large as he looked on in fantastic gladness. A fair number of Evie's other friends and acquaintances were also there, scattered throughout the throng. She was able to pick out Tekar and Kochar, the two kindest of Thorin's advisors, Boldar the toymaker, Glundin the master of Thorin's libraries who had assisted Balin in teaching Evie Khuzdul, Rikar the chef (who Evie had gotten to know very well on behalf of her stomach), some of Dis' friends who had been very kind to the healer, and a few others. In the very back of the hall stood a small collection of assorted hobbits, some of whom she recognized and some she did not. Only certain Shirefolk had been admitted into the actual ceremony, considering that it was all in the dwarven language and they did not know the customs associated with the affair, but many had been welcomed upon consideration of Evangeline and politesse to the visiting people. Evie was relieved to see that most were silent, although many were naturally shocked at the proceedings, no doubt by the hall itself no less than the language and the ritual.

Evie had no time to dwell on their thoughts, however, as she felt Thorin's hand tighten around her own, for it was time for the couple to say the words all paired dwarves must as they committed themselves to one other and to their people.

"May our hands unite to forge that which is greatest and most precious;
May the bonds of kin and kind weld our families together."

Evie tried to make her voice sound strong and sure, to match Thorin's proud tone, and she managed to at least sound somewhat confident, she thought. She had practiced the Khuzdul words so many times, over and over aloud before she went to sleep at night or while she was brushing her hair in the morning… She had prepared for this moment and she was intent not to misspeak or mispronounce a single syllable.

Now the crowd was to respond to them, and Evie hearkened to the rising sound of their voices coming together in affirmation of her and Thorin's union,

"May you bring honor to your house and strength to your line;
May you serve each other and all those who pledge themselves to Durin's Folk."

And now for the final confirmation, every voice in the hall combined to declare:

"In the names of Mahal and Eru –
May male and female be united, and never parted."

And so it was done.

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Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter completed – this was definitely the greatest challenge I have had to face in writing this story, as there is barely any information on dwarven customs in Tolkien's work and I have had to make quite a few things up to supplement that while trying to stay true to what feels real for them… I hope the chapter lives up to that, and that it feels right to all of you as well! This was very ceremonial, and for those of you who were wanting a little more love in the air, don't fret! We've got a great celebration to attend to in the next chapter and the one after that concerns the wedding night, which is something I've had written for a long time and have been holding onto. In any case, I spent a whole lot of time thinking about this chapter and struggling with just sitting down and writing it (I've been very very busy lately and I apologize for the slow updates!), and I actually really appreciate the way it came out. I hope you like it too – please let me know! And because we're at sort of a random point in the story (I'm sensing a bit of a time jump coming up soon), please let me know if there's anything in particular you would like to see from Evie and Thorin! I'm really open to suggestions since I definitely have a plan moving forward but it's very open and fluid! Anyways – much love to all of you and Happy late Valentine's Day! :) xoxo