Clove sat upon the big, battered chest at the foot of Kíli's bed, watching over her two charges and winding one lock of hair around her finger. There she stayed until a glow illuminated the crack beneath the door, announcing the sun's return. Erebor's mirrors once more flooded the halls of the dwarf kingdom with light.
The two brothers slept on, Fíli's head near the foot of the bed with his brother's feet inches from his nose. Kíli lay sprawled out with arms thrown to either side, his mouth open, and one leg dangling off the far edge of the bed. Adorable, she thought, but her attention remained upon Fíli. His face was buried in the crook of one arm, and a snore emerged from the hollow he'd created, one that amused Clove to no end.
With a quiet sigh, she slipped from the chest. The creatures had not returned, and Clove wondered if perhaps they couldn't. Did the attacks drain them? She nibbled on her thumb nail, worrying over the point. She had to discuss this with her sisters, for she refused to sit back and wait for one of the ghosts to catch Fíli, Kíli, or Thorin alone.
It was past time for the brownies to act.
OoOoOo
Dawn was not far off as Pepper sat upon a chair near the low-burning fire, finger-combing her tangled hair, her thoughts full of Ríkin. That stubborn dwarf had taken her by surprise. It had taken Pepper hours to clean her tresses of all the cake and icing Ríkin had smashed into its dense mass. She'd snickered to herself at every remembrance of the event during the night, her toes curling in pleasure to remember the shared laughter…and the dwarf's bold kisses.
During the worst of Faerie's assaults, she'd often dreamed of a day when she'd find a male to spark her interest. Ríkin…was not what she'd expected. Her lips curled as she tackled another knot in her hair. Her fantasies had often centered around a selkie during those dark years – how not, with her step-father and brothers? Now, it seemed her heart was fixed upon an opinionated, grouchy dwarf. How had it happened? The suddenness more than anything was what kept her up all night, probing her emotions as she tried to make sense of it all. One thing was for certain – her heart was engaged and refused to be dissuaded.
The front door burst open, startling her, and a red-headed, buxom dwarf with bells in her beard breezed inside. Tova, she realized. Ríkin's mother. Pepper sat, fingers stuck in her hair for a half second as the lady hummed her way into the main room, not seeming to care that Eikin and Thekkin were still abed. Tova's beard jingled with every purposeful stride, and a smile danced upon her lips as she looked around with warmth that could not hide the steely determination beneath. A basket was slung over her left arm, and in her right hand, she carried an earthen jug.
Pepper climbed to her feet as the dwarrowdam set the basket and jug upon the table, Tova's demeanor one of perfect ease.
Watching Tova, Pepper fought off a sudden wave of grief. How she missed her mother. Was Poppy safe? And Tien, the selkie who had raised her as his own, how did he fare? Were they finding war-torn Earth more hospitable than Faerie? Her mind filled with pictures of Tyr, Lorn, and Solt, her three selkie brothers, and sorrow filled her. Her head bowed as she submersed herself in place, taking comfort in Eikin and Thekkin's bright nodes.
You knew the cost, she admonished herself. Poppy had, as well, when she'd ordered Pepper to grab her sisters and follow the dwarf king. Chances were, they would not meet again in this life, and Tova's presence brought that home for the first time in months.
The dwarf matron placed her basket upon the big, square table to one side in the main room. "Alright then," she said in a low, business-like voice. "The king has commanded us not to address you, Helper, but I'll not sit back without knowing more about the maid who has captured my Ríkin's attention."
What? Pepper's spine snapped straight. Thorin had ordered…?
"Come, speak with me," Tova said.
Pepper stared. If Thorin had decreed for them to be silent, how could she justify speaking when no one had lit the candle? The joy of the night before waned. Would Ríkin be penalized for his transgression?
Tova hummed, brow furrowed. With an abrupt nod of the head, she walked through the house, invading her sleeping sons' rooms and disturbing their rest. Both grumbled, rolled over, and once more drifted off. Tova continued on, peeking under beds, opening cupboards – Pepper's eyes widened in disbelief – and peering around the curtain into the copper tub in the water closet.
At last, Tova returned to the main room. The dwarf folded her strong arms across her chest, humming all the while. With a second nod, she trooped over to the table, dragged the basket across the table's surface to her side, and lifted food from within it.
What was this about?
A plate with cheese was set down first. Next to it appeared a loaf of bread, its smell strange to Pepper's nose. Pepper leaned in close, sniffing. Was it a traditional bread, perhaps? As she peered at it curiously, Tova proceeded to unveil a spicy sausage of some sort, a pot of mustard, and a bowl of hot eggs mixed with vegetables.
Once the food platters were placed, dishes were drawn from the basket and set out. Two of them, one on either side of the table. Pepper felt excitement rising within her, watching with bated breath as Tova grabbed a couple candles from elsewhere and plunked them down on the center of the table. She lit a twig in the fireplace's glowing embers and used it to set the candlewicks to light.
Tova seated herself, hands folded upon the table, and said, "Now. Will ye join me?"
Chills raced up and down Pepper's spine. Tova had lit the candle.
OoOoOo
Tova near cackled with glee as slowly, like the most timid of creatures, the Helper revealed herself. At first, her Ríkin's chosen seemed a ghostly outline, but with each breath, her shape took on density. Wet curls dangled down her back, their length damp and knotted if Tova was any judge, and freckles dotted a face both round and expressive. The lass's pointed ears, however, gave Tova pause. She'd never seen the like.
Tiny, Tova thought. The female was no more than a hand taller than the hobbit, and slender – too slender. She must eat more, she instantly decided. And while the Helper's clothes might be clean and neat, they were old, that was plain. A fellow redhead. Tova happily jangled the bells within her beard as the Helper lass seated herself in the opposite chair with slow reserve.
"I didn't think any of you knew to light the candle," the Helper said in a hesitant voice.
Light the candle. Hmm. Fool men. Good manners would have cleared up this misunderstanding quickly enough, but she bet herself one of Bombur's delectable cakes that none had considered it. She sniffed. We need a queen. The sooner Dís arrived, the sooner some sanity would be restored in their relations with others, Tova was sure.
Tova's head tilted to the side, finding the Helper exotic and strange. Not the monstrous, green-skinned creature Eikin had privately expressed a fear of discovering. She smiled kindly at the Helper as she repressed a good chortle at her youngest son's expense and prepared her a plate. "Eat, child. We will talk." Pouring them both mugs of gingered kvass, she broke the ice by recounting an amusing event from Ríkin's childhood.
OoOoOo
Pepper was shocked at how quickly it happened. She found herself at ease, laughing at Tova's anecdotes about Ríkin and his brothers as children. If she'd had any fears where Tova was concerned, they were gone in minutes.
The conversation turned, and in return, Pepper told Tova…everything. She answered Tova's questions about Faerie, her family, and the horrors the brownies had experienced. She explained Etiquette, the candle and the saucer. At the dwarrowdam's insistence, Pepper even relented and showed Tova the ragged scar across her belly, a jagged thing that stretched from hip to hip. The injury had been courtesy of a minotaur in an echnari game that had almost claimed her life and sanity.
Thankfully, the topic moved on to subjects less painful shortly thereafter. How long they chatted, undisturbed, Pepper was not sure, but they ended up upon the roomy wooden sofa before the fire, Tova gently teasing the snarls from Pepper's hair while laughing as Pepper gave her a detailed account of how her hair had come to be in such a deplorable state.
It was Eikin who interrupted them, the dwarf tripping over his feet when he caught sight of them. He gaped, Pepper decided, like a fish. Interest flared, but then his face turned not jolly as Pepper had anticipated, but concerned. "Amad," he reproved, "ye know the king commanded us not to speak with our brownies."
OoOoOo
Tova considered hitting her youngest over the head with a pillow as the brownie blinked from sight, but then she conceded – aye, he was right. She'd assuaged her worries a good hour before, but she'd enjoyed Pepper's company. She was pleased with her son's choice, very pleased. Tova patted Pepper's hand and said, "I believe I'll seek audience with the king."
Pepper's smaller hand gripped Tova's before slipping away. Tova sipped her gingered kvass, amusement sparkling through her at the sight of her youngest son. His braids were a mess, and his hair sloped to one side atop his head.
Standing, she told her son, *From now on, leave out a saucer of liquid at night. Cream, ale, it matters not.*
Eikin's expression turned perplexed. "Amad…"
*Do it. Your brownie is too thin.* Her irritation with the men folk returned. *They cannot eat of our food unless you do so. The brownies have been scrounging for food all this while. The saucer is the invitation to share in our provisions.*
Eikin's eyes bugged out, and Tova was pleased to see the fierce frown that followed. "I'd say ye were teasing, but I know yer not."
"No," she told him. "See to it you fix that."
Her son's head bobbed with hearty agreement, doing much to squelch her ire. "Aye, Amad." Then coming to her side, Eikin ran a hand down her beard with affection. "How did ye do it?"
Tova bestowed a mysterious smile upon her son. Admit it was a chance discovery? Never. "We ladies have our ways."
OoOoOo
Pepper clamped her tongue between her teeth as she dug through the basket of scrap fabric and rags, searching for the right color to add to the rag-rug she was set upon creating. Nutmeg sat to her left, weaving reeds into baskets, and Clove was situated beyond her with a sewing project.
The brownies had gathered for the first time since Yew had departed, utilizing the same large, nondescript house they shared in an unpopulated part of Erebor for their laundry and bathing needs. In Pepper's opinion, this meeting was past due. Much had happened, and much needed to be done. She listened as both Clove and Nutmeg informed the others of their discoveries…and their fledgling plan.
Though Pepper listened to her sisters, a more immediate concern distracted her. Pepper's gaze returned time and again to the young brownie upon her right. At thirty-three, Hyssop was the equivalent of a sixteen-year-old in human years. The chestnut-haired brownie should be full of mischief and fun, but instead, Hyssop slumped with a weariness of spirit more fitting upon a crone. Her angular face was drawn and dark circles underscored each eye.
Pepper knew exactly who to blame. She only just prevented the lethal glare from beaming out at Cicely, Hyssop's mother and the brownies' eldest in Yew's absence. With Cicely constantly criticizing Hyssop's choice in host-family, the young brownie was not developing the place she needed. Pepper's lips thinned. Hyssop would Withdraw if something was not done soon. Pepper recognized the signs of a brownie on the verge.
Worry surged. She hoped Tova succeeded in speaking with Thorin. If he did not light the candle soon, assuming kingship over the brownies, they'd lose Hyssop. That fear prompted Pepper to reach over and claim one of Hyssop's hands, giving it a squeeze. She received a glimmer of a smile in return.
Perhaps Nutmeg's idea will safeguard our young one, too.
"I do not see how this will aid our hosts," Cicely said with a sniff, returning Pepper to the matter at hand. "Festivals? Holidays? What good is that against the ghostly Fiends?"
"I think the idea grand." The second-eldest, Angelica, ruffled her shoulder-length, auburn hair, her long face animated. Wearing colorful, patchwork skirts, dozens of bead bracelets, and wooden, hoop earrings, Angelica was hands-down the most flamboyant of them. "Joy and cheer to counter the dread those things generate." With a nudge, Angelica asked her young cousin, "What do you think, Comfrey?"
Comfrey paused over her washboard, a sudsy article of clothing dripping soap back into the tin wash pan. With her walnut hair contained in a tight braid over one shoulder, Comfrey, Pepper thought, was becoming as no-frills as the dwarves she'd selected to be her host-family – namely, the motley group of bachelors that preferred to dwell in the barracks instead of an individual home. "I like the idea." Her pointed chin lifted. "What did you intend, Nutmeg?"
Nutmeg leaned forward, her broken beauty somehow restored in her enthusiasm. "I want to celebrate the Shire holidays." Dark eyes dared them to argue. "Lethe, their midsummer festival, is not too far distant."
Pepper added another scrap of fabric to the braid she was working on, orange this time, twisting it into her strand before continuing on. "Get them interested in the Shire," Pepper said, lips curving upward. "Good idea."
Her sister dipped her head, the smallest smile flickering across her lips. "I thought if the dwarves had reason to be curious about the Shire…" she began.
Clove jumped in with a rush, "…they might see Bilbo in a new light and stop the muttering. Dwarves are stubborn, but that might just do the trick. Wonderful," she finished with a smile.
"I still fail to see what use celebrations will be," Cicely maintained.
Pepper's fingers tightened upon the braid in her hands. "Gamboling and high jinks are what kept many of us from giving in to hopelessness in Faerie," she attempted in a level voice. "The dwarves are already a boisterous people. We need only encourage that, teach them the tools that saved many of us."
"High jinks?" Cicely pressed one hand to her chest, but Pepper saw many of the others silently sniggering to themselves at remembered escapades.
What was Cicely's father, a stodgy gargoyle? Pepper shook her head. A proper brownie was always up for a lark. "Where do we start?" Pepper asked Nutmeg.
Long into the day, six of the seven brownies suggested and discarded ideas. With Lethe so far away, they quickly turned to old Earth holidays to fill the void. They could not wait for midsummer to implement their plans.
By mid-afternoon, smirking amongst themselves as they separated, they had nailed down their first project. All Fool's Day had never been more than that – one day of revelry – but the dwarves needn't know that. The brownies would stretch it into a weeks' long event complete with the requisite contests, treats, costumes and tomfoolery.
Pepper giggled as she made her way home. Her first prank had already formed in her mind. She was going to decorate her host-family's home in powdery pinks and ruffles. After all, she owed Ríkin for stealing away some of her hair without permission, didn't she?
OoOoOo
Tova frowned, folding her arms before her chest as she stared at Balin, the king's chief advisor. "It is important I speak with him."
Balin's brow creased with concern. "Thorin won't be back for days yet," he told her in a kindly enough way. Other counselors milled about, addressing concerns of other dwarves within the Throne Room, but Tova had marched straight to Balin, only to discover the king had departed from Erebor to meet with the Elvenking and Lord Bard in Dale about the continuing orc harassment all three were experiencing. "Can I be of assistance?" Balin asked.
Tova flicked her beard a couple times, setting the bells to chiming. Releasing her beard, she sighed, "No, it can wait. Please convey my request to our king, Balin."
The older dwarf smiled. "I'll be certain to do that."
Tova left the Throne Room. The news she carried was not urgent, she didn't think, and the king's orders expressly forbade discussing the Helpers. To Thorin alone would she address her concerns and convey her discoveries.
OoOoOo
After four days of preparations, the brownies put their plan into action. In the dead of night, they stole through Erebor as swiftly as they could, setting all into place.
It was time for the games to begin.
OoOoOo
Kíli halted in his tracks, the door to his chambers bumping him in the back as it closed. A bucket hung suspended over his brother's door directly across the hallway. Who would possibly…? He jumped to the side, narrowly missing the contents spilling down from a matching pail over his head.
Then he chortled. What he'd expected to be a cold dousing of water proved instead to be a pillow's worth of feathers. And – he squatted to retrieve the only non-feather item from the mess – a bit of vibrantly-colored cloth with shiny beads, eye holes, and ribbons on either side. A mask?
His nose detected a whiff of cloves and a woodsy-green scent. Clove and the Helper he'd dubbed Pine. Though Pine didn't truly describe the fragrance, he was at a loss to find a better label.
Kíli chuckled to himself. The fear haunting his home had worried him for days, but it loosened its tight hold upon him as he considered the possibilities. Perhaps the Helpers were on to something. Kíli twirled the mask between his hands, eyeing Fíli's door. Impish delight filling him. Perhaps he should do some helping of his own.
"The trick to a good jest," he murmured, suspecting they'd hear, "is to take a chance." His lips curled in a lopsided grin as he pocketed his mask, hurriedly cleaned all evidence of his bucket and feathers from the hallway, and rushed on silent feet down the hall in search of some…additions to add to Fíli's bucket.
OoOoOo
Fíli's breath froze in his lungs as ice-cold – was this milk? – poured down upon him the instant he stepped outside his door. Adding insult to injury, it was followed a second later by a slew of feathers.
Familiar laughter erupted from down the hall.
"Kíli." The chase was on.
OoOoOo
Tíra squealed with glee as flower petals showered her the instant she stepped out of the home she shared with her parents. Her sire, however, was not as thrilled. Turning at his grumpy harrumph, she found her adad batting petals from his hair, a sour expression upon his face.
Tíra's mother took one look at her mate and broke into peals of laughter, one hand jingling the bells in her beard. "I knew you had a softer side, my lover, but I'd advise you to avoid walking into your own trap if you dislike wearing flowers," Tova said, and Tíra giggled behind one hand as her father bristled.
"I had naught to do with it," he protested, slapping away the last few splotches of yellow and white in his hair.
"Aye, sadly, I am aware of that," Tova said, batting falsely mournful eyes.
"Sadly?" Dalkin halted, bushy brows lowered as he stared at Tíra's dam.
Tíra bent down and came back up with three other items that had been in the basket above their door. Masks?
Before she could mention it, Tova linked her arm through her daughter's and led them away. Over her shoulder, Tova said, "Aye. Some outsider must shower your mate with flowers," Tova said, clucking her tongue. Out of her sire's sight, Tíra's mother winked to her daughter. "He must have realized the females in our household were sadly lacking in appreciation."
Tíra's eyes flared with laughter, but her adad huffed in ire as he hurried to catch up with them.
"I'll not have some stranger bestowing gifts upon my wife, Tova," he grumbled, insult hardening his frame. "Who is it?" he continued, plainly to himself. "Who would dare?"
Tova smirked at her daughter, and Tíra smirked right back.
OoOoOo
Thekkin froze upon the threshold, Eikin bumping into his back.
"Thekkin," Eikin grumbled.
Thekkin paid him no mind. Instead, he retreated a few steps. Aye, this was his home, right enough. So why, he wanted to ask, was it pink?
Meanwhile, Eikin froze in the doorway. His brother craned about at the waist. "Thekkin…"
Thekkin's lips began to curl upwards. A laugh rumbled up from his chest. "I believe, Eikin, we shall see more fireworks when our brother returns." He chortled louder. "Aye, this will be more entertaining than the cake," he said, rubbing hands together.
Eikin's brows rose. He changed to iglishmêk. *Ye believe her behind it?*
*Ye doubt it?* Thekkin rolled his eyes. *Of course our Pepper is behind it.* And 'twas reassuring to see, he added to himself, for the lass had not been around much since her talk with Tova, and that had worried him. If the lassie turned an ankle and needed assistance, how would the brothers ever locate her?
The pink of their home proved Pepper had not left, nor was she injured in some fashion. That alone allowed him to find humor in discovering the interior of their house – all but his and Eikin's bedchambers, he determined upon checking – painted pink as a rhodonite crystal. The fur pillows upon the furniture had been covered – he begged Mahal to not let them have been dyed – a shade lighter than the walls. Every lantern in the house now wore a pink-feathered shade, and rose petals in vases sat upon mantel, table, and hearth.
"What do you suppose this is about?" Eikin asked, lifting the ruby red mask he'd found upon his pillow.
Thekkin's own blue mask was cradled in one hand. He laughed all the harder, picturing their brother's face when Ríkin clapped eyes upon their home…and the pink and lace mask in his room. "Eikin, my lad, I'm not sure. But I'm thinking we should remain near home to see the sparks when Ríkin returns."
Eikin's grin was slow but fierce. "Aye. Aye, I like that idea."
OoOoOo
Thorin returned, tired but content with the results of his meeting with Thranduil and Bard, only to be barraged with words of events that had transpired in his absence. He listened with growing incredulity about how every dwarf in Erebor had been showered with feathers and flowers, and each dwarf had in his possession a fabric mask. What, he growled to himself, were the Helpers thinking? To risk discovery? Over such foolishness? His temper climbed higher and higher.
Despite that, his mind did not fail to catalogue the new spark in many an eye. The muted silences that had begun to dominate were gone, replaced by curiosity and excitement. Dwarves debated in Khuzdul the meaning of the masks and their purpose.
What was the meaning? And why, when he returned to his bedchamber, were there two hats upon his bed that looked like caricatures of crowns, one dark as night with cotton touching its rim like spider's webbing, the other a jester's delight in a patchwork of brilliant fabrics trimmed with bells and gemstones.
Mahal. Given the boost to morale, Thorin wished he could be thankful, but he was too consumed with worry. So much could go wrong with one slip on the Helpers' part. He had to find a way to make them speak. Enough was enough.
OoOoOo
Pepper yawned as she trudged after one of the Fiends (or so the brownies had taken to calling them). She hadn't slept for two days, but she consoled herself that she'd return to the home she shared with her dwarves as soon as she determined the Fiend's destination. It had occurred to her when speaking in private to Cicely that though bringing celebrations to the dwarves was useful, the brownies must know who the Fiends were specifically targeting and take steps to guard them if at all possible.
Thus far, the Fiends had shown an interest in less than two hands of the dwarves. Thorin and his heirs, they had known to expect, but Dwalin and Balin were also threatened. What had surprised them most, however, was that the Fiends watched Bofur closer than all the rest. It baffled them. What was it they searched for? And while the other dwarves were attacked with terror and hopelessness, Bofur the creatures never made a move to harm. Instead, it seemed they took pains not to alert him to their presence.
They want him alive. That, she and Cicely had agreed upon conferring once more. The question was, why? And what should they do about it?