3 July TA 2942
Ríkin painted over the pink walls, stony-faced. It felt as if with each pass of the brush, a bit of his lassie was eradicated with it, a fact he'd both dreaded and counted upon. By Durin, my Pepper, why did you go? She'd painted their home the outlandish color, left him a wee mask of pink with feathers and lace – a joke, he'd been certain – and then…nothing. She was gone as suddenly as she'd appeared in his life, and he could not determine what had gone wrong.
He missed her. Missed the scent that followed her about, the treats she left for them, and the way she saw to their needs. But more than that, he missed the laughter that should have rung through the house and the fiery tussles they surely would have had.
The reminders had to go, for with each sighting, his loss pained him anew. He'd not be forgetting her. 'twas not a dwarf's way. But he could not bear to look upon the walls any longer.
Anger surged. 'twas always so. With each thought of her, first came the grief, then the fury.
Eikin picked up a paintbrush and joined him without word, his jaw set. His silent support could not ease Ríkin's pain, but it heartened him, aye it did. For his brothers would never turn from him. Adad was right, Ríkin concluded with bitterness. Never trust an outsider. How often had his sire warned them? Elves, men, it made no difference. Only dwarves knew the concept of honor.
Thekkin mumbled and retreated into his room instead of aiding them to return their home to its previous state. The door to his bedchamber shook with the force of his anger.
How could ye do this to us, lassie? That he was not the only dwarf mourning a brownie only made the matter worse. That the lot of them had defected without explanation or cause.
Aye, his sire had the right of it. Never trust an outsider.
OoOoOo
Fíli unbuckled his sword belt and set it upon his trunk. Sitting upon the foot of his bed, he tugged off boots, tired and irritated with life. He understood his uncle's reasoning, but since Thorin refused to share details with Kíli, Fíli found himself in the middle of the silent war between two mithril-headed family members, trying to keep the peace but tempted to tell each just where in Durin's name they could take their complaints.
Not Uncle's fault. Oh, his uncle had issued the decree causing many of the problems, true enough. Thorin simply couldn't see. He'd never needed jocularity and fun to see him through, though he did partake in merriment from time to time. Not nearly often enough. Nor did Thorin see that the worry plaguing his dwarves only aided the Nazgûl to dishearten their people. They missed their "Helpers" with their little acts of kindness. Fíli echoed that sentiment, for he missed the scent of clove that had lingered around the one who'd…
Mahal. He dashed the thought. Even should the brownie remain, he'd never know it. Thorin had forbidden the scents they used to announce themselves on top of everything else. His lips flattened sourly. Speak of Faerie and the Nazgûl to no one, Radagast had charged him. Fíli often wondered if Radagast had any inkling about the brownies who would turn the wizard's plans upside down. It seemed to him that wizardly foresight was less than perfect.
Snatching a leather-bound book Ori had located for him from the library, Fíli made his way to the bench situated before his fireplace and dropped down with a sigh. He stiffened instantly. Someone had seated herself here before him. Someone invisible who'd not vacated her seat fast enough.
Elation filled him. Don't leave, he willed. Mahal, had the brownie any idea what a relief it was to know for a fact they had not departed? To know they remained safe within Erebor? He'd had nightmares of them in the wilds, hunted and desperate.
He felt her attempt to tug the fabric of her skirts from beneath his leg, but Fíli pressed down all the harder, not about to let this opportunity pass. She could not extricate herself without betraying her presence, and that she was forbidden to do.
Was it his brownie? He dared to believe it was.
Flipping open the book, he scanned the contents until he found a subject that might interest his unwilling guest. Then turning to the proper page, Fíli began to read aloud. Time passed as the fire crackled within the hearth. The brownie stopped fighting, and Fíli swore he felt her shift closer.
Warmth. Companionship. Mahal, but the quiet time became infinitely precious to Fíli. Though he could not see the female beside him and had heard her voice but once, she drew him. Was it the gentleness of her remembered voice? Or an instinctive knowledge of kinship that defied explanation? He little cared, only relishing this time. It was his brownie, the lass who'd dared to place herself between Fíli and a Ringwraith to protect him. He was certain. And when she leaned into his side, relaxing against him, he could have crowed.
His uncle would doubtless disapprove should Fíli ever mention this event to him, but Fíli knew he'd never speak a word of it, not even to Kíli. Should a wraith be about, there was nothing here to betray her presence. On one point alone did Fíli agree with his uncle: he would see the brownies hidden from them.
The brownie's head came to rest upon his upper arm. Fíli yearned to lean his head atop hers, but mindful of her safety, he cleared his throat and resumed reading.
He knew he'd read this way each night from now on in the hopes she'd join him.
OoOoOo
1 October TA 2942
Mayday came and went. Lethe. Lammas and Michaelmas.
With her sister brownies, Pepper had celebrated each, donning gay apparel, dancing and feasting. With every holiday, she hoped Thorin would change his mind, and she knew she was not the only one to prepare festive decorations for her host-family in case that happened. May baskets ended up cached away, unused. Garlands for Lethe, never seen. And the Lamb's Wool, a traditional Lammas spicy cider with bits of floating apple, never reached Ríkin, Thekkin, and Eikin. She'd imbibed of the cider with her fellows, feeding the ravens outside Erebor the requisite stale bread while the sun beamed down from above.
With determination, she'd enjoyed each, and Michaelmas after them with the traditional goose and candied ginger. As in Faerie, she grabbed hold of every cause for joy with both hands, but she wept to see the suffering Thorin's decree caused Ríkin, Kíli, and many others. Why could Thorin not explain? The king, she was coming to realize, had trust issues. He loudly proclaimed dwarves honorable and strong, but he never shared—
A thought stopped her. Could that be it? Could it be that Thorin believed he must carry the weight of the kingdom on his own shoulders? For even with his sister, Dís's, arrival, he vocalized none of the matters burdening him. It was not good to bear burdens like that, she thought. She wanted better for her king.
Pepper sighed. At least the first wave of arrivals from the Blue Mountains had injected some life into Erebor. Dís's arrival, especially, had heartened the people, for with Thorin not looking to marry anytime soon, his sister assumed a queen's duties. Pepper was not the only brownie to lament that they had three years to wait before they could meet the princess properly, for Dís had Kíli's zest for life, Fíli's warmth, and Thorin's nobility. Bombur's wife, Mib, had been in her entourage, as had Gloin's wife and his rambunctious son, Gimli. The joy these arrivals brought to the Company who'd played a major role in saving Pepper's people was gratifying.
Pepper sipped the mug of spiced mead she'd whipped up months before, her toes curling in pleasure. She'd been playing with a recipe she had from her mother, adding a pinch more of this and a bit less of that. The result suited her tastes perfectly, granting her a thrill of satisfaction. A fitting beverage, indeed, for the upcoming All Hallow's Eve celebration the brownies intended next. Perhaps Thorin would relent before this next holiday? A mischievous smile crossed her lips, for Angelica had tales from the humans of Earth Realm about their "Halloween". The brownies had considered combining the two. What fun it would be!
If Thorin relents. The morose thought deflated her excitement.
Pepper sipped her beverage. Her loneliness pressed in more intensely this night. She could not put her finger upon why, exactly. Nothing was truly wrong.
Oh, who was she kidding? She missed Ríkin. She accompanied him everywhere, but there was no interaction between them. He thought her gone, and daily her resentment at the pain this caused escalated. And her fear grew. What if his affections turned elsewhere before she was free to return to him? Her fingers tightened about her mug.
Tonight, he was outside of the mountain upon the king's business, an occurrence that was happening more and more frequently, as if her Ríkin wished to absent himself from his home as much as possible. And like each time before, Pepper was unable to resist the temptation. After gathering a blanket from the brothers' storage alcove, she ventured into his bedchamber, plunked her mug down upon the side table, and jumped onto the bed.
Pepper buried her head in his pillow and inhaled. Contentment melted her muscles. Truly, this was the only way she really slept well anymore – stolen snippets of time when she could commandeer his bedroom for herself. With a sigh, she relaxed, nodding off in minutes.
OoOoOo
Clove stole into the heir's room as she had every night since the first he'd read to her. Though she listed for herself daily all the reasons why she should cease these visits, her heart refused to heed wisdom. Night after night, she made her way into Fíli's room and seated herself on the bench. And night after night, he joined her.
She never spoke, and he never required it of her.
Clove assumed her seat, fidgeting with her skirts. Place sang its sweet song from all around, for she'd tended his room frequently before Thorin's decree and had not stopped even after. She took all care to never disturb anything in a noticeable way, but she refused to leave Fíli untended. He was Erebor's crown prince, and beyond that, a noble and generous dwarf. His generosity to his brother, uncle, and friends gave heart to all.
The smile that danced upon Fíli's lips as he closed the bedroom door put butterflies into her belly. As was his well-established habit, he collected a worn, leather-bound book, seated himself, and flipped open the tome. She edged closer until their bodies touched from shoulder to hip.
This night, Fíli read to her of Durin's Bane and the loss of the dwarf kingdom of Khazad-dum. Clove heard not a word, immersed in his husky, masculine voice, the way the firelight played upon his golden hair, and the wonderful heat of his body beside her.
OoOoOo
Angelica smirked to herself as Ríkin returned much earlier than Angelica had told Pepper to expect. She was not exactly breaking the king's ordinance. She merely…prodded things in a direction he wouldn't quite approve of.
He'll thank me one day. Thorin loved his people. Eventually, she was certain he'd see reason, though the dwarf had proved more stubborn than she'd given him credit for. She'd known Cyclopes quicker on the uptake, and that was saying something.
Folding her arms, she listened as within the house, Ríkin's heavy footsteps headed to his room. Pepper, she knew, would be asleep in his bed as was her habit anytime the opportunity arose. The younger brownie had not once been able to resist.
Mission accomplished. The dwarves of Erebor would discover their Helpers remained, and not one person had directly violated the king's decrees. Angelica buffed her nails. With a swish of her skirts, she returned to her own host-family. Húni, Sigga, and their not-quite-adult son, Hori, might not be suffering so much as Pepper's dwarf, but she stayed close to them as much as possible.
OoOoOo
Ríkin paused in the doorway. Now, he'd not been in the best frame of mind in a good while, and that he readily admitted. But mood aside, he'd not taken leave of his senses, and he knew he had not left a mug upon the table beside his bed. Nor, he thought with a growl, had he left the linens upon the bed wrinkled. His lassie would not have tolerated it, and despite himself, he'd become as fastidious as she. 'twas a fact he could not help, infuriating as it was.
A soft, sleepy sound accompanied movement. The wrinkles upon the bed shifted. His eyes flared, knowledge setting in. Shock gave way to a fearsome anger. By Durin. She'd had him worried sick. Aye, she had! And now, she had the gall to sneak in whilst he was away? Jaw tight, Ríkin prowled towards the bed and silently lifted the mug. A sniff, a swirl of the cup, and a smug sense of vindication claimed him.
She had this coming, she did.
OoOoOo
Pepper woke sputtering to a face-full of mead, heart thumping as she tried to figure out what was happening. Before her brain made sense of her surroundings, the mattress tilted. She flopped head over heels with a squeak, bouncing down the mattress to land upon her hind end on the floor with legs splayed. "Oof."
"Ye've some explaining to do, lassie."
The hard voice deterred her not one bit. Months of close proximity with no ability to reach out spurred her into mindless action. Pepper fairly flew over the upended mattress, throwing herself into his arms. Her lips claimed his, pouring into the embrace all her loneliness, all her regret, desperate fear, and love.
At first, the lips beneath hers turned hard and unmoving, and Pepper's heart crumbled. But then iron arms clamped around her, and the kiss deepened as Ríkin returned it with interest, alleviating her fears. His heart had not turned cold towards her, despite their foolish king and her idiotic determination to follow him. Pepper pulled back, hands bracketing Ríkin's beloved face, and urged his forehead to hers, copying a gesture she knew fraught with meaning to the dwarves.
Then she burst into messy tears.
OoOoOo
Ríkin's heart pounded in his chest as his brownie sobbed into his neck. His arms ran down Pepper's back before locking about her once more. His temper cooled in a hurry. Her tears were not the response of a lassie uncaring of their separation. Upon realizing she was present, he'd girded himself for a fight – aye, and he fiercely desired one after the grief he'd endured – but perhaps she was not the one he needed to be fighting.
A suspicion reared its ugly head. The Terrors haunted Erebor. That he knew full well. They'd not departed. Could the Terrors have done something to the dwarves' brownies? The growl that poured from his throat would have sent his warriors running for cover. His Pepper hugged him tighter. That spoke of trust.
Ríkin buried his head in her curls, savoring the feel of her back where she belonged. She was safe. 'twas the most important part. But he wanted answers. And by Durin, he'd be getting them, too.
Grunting, he used one arm to keep her in his grasp – he'd not be loosening his hold anytime soon, not after the endless, worrisome months he'd just lived – and left the room in search of the infernal candle his dam had insisted was so all-fired important to brownies.
Thekkin emerged from his room, jaw gaping and relief lighting his bearded mug to see Ríkin hefting about their invisible brownie. His brother rubbed one paw down his face as he sagged against the wall behind him. "Valar preserve us," he muttered. Then switching to iglishmêk, Thekkin said, *At last. Has she told you what caused her to leave?*
Rikin shook his head shortly, lips brushing across the lassie's hairline. He had his suspicions, but no answers. What else besides the Terrors could have caused her to leave? Or, and this disturbed him more, had she left in truth? That he'd found his brownie curled up in his bed on one of the rare nights he'd had duties elsewhere reeked to his mind of foreknowledge. And, he noticed belatedly, that cinnamon scent was missing. That spoke of hiding, it did. His temper once more rumbled to life, and his hold on the brownie tightened.
*Ye shouldn't go scaring the lass,* Thekkin dared reprove, correctly reading Ríkin's climbing anger by the hardening of his jaw. *We only just got her back.*
Ríkin scowled, not bothering to dignify that nonsense with an answer. He snatched up a candlestick, a plate, and a bit of bread, balancing all in his right hand. Returning to his room, he prodded the door shut with a hip and deposited the accoutrements onto the table. Plate, food, and candle. 'twas all he should need, or so his dam had ascertained. He sat upon the sole chair in the room, legs outstretched, and rubbed the lassie's back, mind churning.
His lassie had not departed of her own volition, that was clear to him, and his jaw clenched to think an unknown person dared take her from him. As her tears wound down, Ríkin reached over and lit the candle.
OoOoOo
Her dwarf's chest rumbled as the candle sat there, flickering, yet she made no move to make herself visible. Or speak. The tension thickened and thickened, and Pepper could think of only one way to convey all she felt without breaking Thorin's trust. She could not speak, but she'd been carrying a gift for her dwarf for over three months now. Pepper was not positive how it would be received – from her observation, it was the male who typically bestowed such a gift – but she'd felt compelled to complete it, arguing in her own mind that she needn't actually give it to him. She could compose it and keep it close for comfort.
"Why will ye not speak?" Ríkin burst as she debated within herself. His hand burrowed in her hair. "Do ye not think yer silence is worse than knowing the truth, my Pepper? Do ye have any idea the pain ye caused us? Thekkin has torn his beard to shreds with his worry, and Eikin is little better. Our amad walks about as if 'tis her fault and..."
Pepper placed her gift in his palm and curled his fingers around it. The barrage of angry words ended. Claiming his other hand, she lifted the fingers to her face, allowing him to feel the tears streaming down her cheek. It was the only apology she could give.
OoOoOo
Ríkin's thumb wiped across his lassie's cheek. She'd not left willingly, and, it seemed, she felt forced to remain silent. How could he get to the bottom of this if she'd not speak? Forcing his temper under control, he turned his attention to the object she'd pressed into his opposite hand. His eyes flared.
'twas a lad's place to create a bracelet when approaching a lassie, one made only by his own hands. Ríkin had been of a mind to create one just before his lassie had vanished on him. The bracelet symbolized the intent to pursue courtship between dwarf and maid, and when the lad presented it, by donning it the lassie expressed interest…and exclusivity. No maid wearing such a thing could be honorably approached by another, not until she removed it of her own accord.
His lassie had made him a bracelet. By Durin, my lassie. With fingers acting as guides, his lips claimed hers in a kiss slow to end, the fingers of his free hand tangling in her curls. Then he held her tight as his eye roved over the piece. Made of her own hair, it was, the pale, fiery strands braided into a tight weave that formed the cord. And upon the cord, beads. Whilst the shapes of the beads were none too intricate, the simple designs were clean and easily identified. He fingered the wee wooden cakes, honey pots, halberds, and candles with a swelling of emotion that near brought tears to his eyes.
'twas full of meaning betwixt them, and Pepper was bold to declare herself so. He'd be remembering to tell their bairns of this one day. For there would be bairns. Of that he was suddenly, utterly committed. She was not escaping him again.
Affixing the bracelet to his wrist with pride, his lips twitched to imagine his brothers' reactions. He was in for a long stretch of teasing, aye, he was. Truth be told, he looked forward to it. 'twas not every dwarf whose lassie fought so for his favor. Nuzzling her curls, he said, "I need to hear it, lassie. Ye must tell me where you've been all this while, and why ye hide."
Silence. Ríkin held his temper. Something constrained her, and he'd not lambaste her, not when he had no inkling what it might be. At last, she reached a decision. Her fingers twined with his. Then with a tug, she urged him to his feet.
OoOoOo
His Pepper led him away from the populated sections of Erebor, deeper and deeper into the mountain. 'twas clear to him her feet knew this path well, for though she stumbled over rubble, thereby proving she could not see in the pitch black passages, she knew when to turn and where stairs would be. To spare her after the second trip of her feet, they developed a system of sorts. His lassie kept her hand upon his and indicated the direction he should guide them by the brush of a finger across the top of his hand.
She was taking care not to betray her presence, solidifying in his mind that her disappearance was in some way linked to the Terrors. Had one managed to attack her? Ríkin bit back another growl as they made their way across a narrow bridge. By now, they were nearing the Old Keep, and he wondered if that might be her destination when she veered off at the end of the bridge to a path leading – or so the runes upon the marker said – to Zamdul-khar, one of Erebor's empty villages. 'twas a fact, none of the dwarves dwelled so deep in the mountain, preferring to remain close to the rest of their people.
'twas here she led him, and in this village she reached her destination. She prodded him to open the door leading into one of the town's largest houses.
Curious, he did as she indicated. Dim light spilled from inside the instant the door opened. Ríkin's eyes widened to see three dark-haired, long-eared females he was certain were of her people. All three looked to be in the midst of some project with fabric in one hand and needle with thread in the other. Young, all of them, and one not yet having reached maturity, he was sure. Another had a face fair covered in a patchwork of scars, a sight that chilled him in the brief glimpse he had of it. Then in unison, the wide-eyed brownies vanished.
The wee lassie's scars haunted him for one long moment. Well did he remember his Pepper's words about asking Thorin about Faerie, their homeland. Had something done the same to his brownie? Mahal. What kind of monsters would prey on such a people as these? His anger flared along with a healthy dose of worry.
He had to clap eyes on his Pepper, and soon at that. He had to see what damage had been done to her, too.
OoOoOo
Pepper longed to hide as her sister's face darkened.
"What are you doing?" Nutmeg mouthed, incredulous and angry as she rose to her feet, one hand white about the blanket she'd been embroidering for weeks as a gift for Bilbo.
Pepper urged Ríkin through the room, tossing a guilty look at her sister. Nutmeg hated to be seen by any but their own people. If Pepper had suspected her sister would be here, she'd never have brought Ríkin without warning. "Sorry," she mouthed back, wincing as Nutmeg's lips flattened. To Comfrey and Hyssop, Pepper mouthed, "He found me."
"How?" Comfrey said silently, brows rising as she, too, claimed her feet. The younger brownie fell in beside Pepper as Pepper led Ríkin to the storage room in the rear of the two-storied house.
A sheepish look at her friend, and Pepper pantomimed falling asleep. Comfrey snorted, an impish grin upon her face. Pointing one finger at Pepper, the brownie shook her head with a silent laugh.
Pepper shrugged in return. What could she say? Comfrey was right. It would be Pepper to slip up in such a way.
OoOoOo
Wash bins. Simple spindles and looms. Small dresses hung out to dry. Realization set in as his brownie led him through the main room. This house was the brownies' refuge, it was. Where they did all the work of caring for the dwarves and where they took care of their personal needs.
Ríkin rubbed his nose. Truth be told, 'twas a relief. He'd not considered it before, but he didn't much care for the thought of his Pepper sneaking about to bathe, always at risk of discovery. But this hiding? 'twas no way to live. He wanted better for her.
She paused to light a lantern hanging upon a peg at the back of the room before leading him down a hallway. Apparently, she felt it safe to reveal herself that much, for she carried the lantern herself. A quick check, and Ríkin grunted, lips twisting sourly. 'twas beyond the pale, it was. What had Eru been thinking, making the lassies so invisible they cast no shadow?
Unfair, he labeled grumpily.
At the end of the hallway, his lassie opened a wooden door. Then stepping inside, she lifted the lantern, giving him a good eyeful of the room beyond. And what he saw perplexed him.
Garlands. Baskets. Feathers and flowers. Casks – mayhap of the honey mead matting her hair? He scratched his head, darting a look in her direction. He'd asked what she'd been doing all this while and why she'd vanished. At the array of goods around him, he suspected he had part of an answer. But what did this have to do with her vanishing on him? Annoyance flared. This explained nothing.
But then tiny feet came atop his boots, and his lassie's back pressed to his chest. Her arms drew his left about her middle, and he felt the giggles jiggling her belly. By Durin, he'd not let her vanish on him again. His nose lowered into her curls, and Pepper patted his left arm before she coaxed his right arm into the air, using his own finger to point him in one direction.
Holding her in place with his left hand and smirking as she clutched at his biceps to stabilize her perch, he walked where she'd indicated, his feet bearing hers. What he saw there sobered him in a hurry. Sketches, there were. Dozens of them, all showing ghastly creatures resembling men. Dead men, he corrected himself. In the sketches, dwarves cowered before the creatures as the creatures looked on with malice. The dark, roiling eyes unnerved him, for the artist had captured such malevolence, such evil, as he'd never seen.
"By Durin, my Pepper. Is this what I believe it is?" he asked in a low voice.
He felt her head nod against his chest.
Terrors. So. Their enemy had a face. One the brownies saw. "Do ye know what they are about?"
A nod, then a shake of the head. "Maybe?" he probed, the junior captain displacing the lover. He kept his voice calm, but inside, calm was the last label he'd give himself. Flipping through the pictures, he noted patterns.
His lassie shook her head, no.
"Ye know some of what they are about," he concluded and felt her instant nod. His right index finger plunked down upon one picture in particular. "They watch our king."
Nod.
"Does Thorin know of this?"
Nod.
Aulë's lifted hammer. He took a deep breath. "He knows what they are."
Nod.
"He knows why they are here?"
Nod.
A chill climbed up his spine. "He keeps silent to protect us," he concluded.
Nod.
A sudden leap of intuition, a knot of anger forming in his belly. The ban on speaking of their brownies aloud suddenly made sense. He protects them, Ríkin realized. "Thorin ordered ye to disappear," he accused. "Because of these." His finger plunked down upon one of the Terrors depicted before him.
Nod.
Mahal. He hugged his lassie tight, eye locked upon the image of the Terror atop the pile. "Do the Terrors know about your people?"
His knees fair wobbled with relief at her quick shake of the head. Thank Aulë and all the Valar. The king's early intervention had headed that off. "Who have the Terrors attacked, my Pepper?"
Her fingers rifled through a second stack of pages, emerging with pictures of individual dwarves. Thorin. Fíli. Ríkin. Balin. Dwalin. Our leadership, he noted, not surprised in the least. Any who would organize the dwarves' defenses. His lassie nudged him before putting down more pictures. Áki, Litin, and five others he did not recognize. She plunked a picture of Órvar atop of these others and placed them to the side forming two separate piles.
"Órvar?" he demanded.
Nod.
By Durin. He'd thought the dwarf dead of a heart ailment. Why attack the sculptor? Why any in the second pile? Mind working, he asked, "Ye separated these others for a reason, aye?"
Nod.
None of the second group were in positions of authority. Litin was a simple miner, a cheerful sort but not too bright. Áki was their brewmaster. While the loss of his ales and ciders would be lamented by many a dwarf, his death could not be counted as tragic as losing Dwalin or Fíli. "Ye think these were random attacks."
An emphatic nod answered him.
Mahal, but 'twas slow going. "Can ye not write this out for me?" he snapped, worry turning his voice sharp.
Her wee hand stroked his left, then lifted to caress the scarred side of his face. She slowly shook her head.
"Ye cannot write."
Nod.
Ah, lassie. "We'll be fixing that once this mess is righted," he said roughly, tugging upon a lock of her hair. Returning to the first pile, he asked, "Prince Kíli?"
She shook her head.
"Princess Dís?"
Another shake. No.
The Terrors, he decided, had underestimated Dís if they discounted her. Their mistake. Still, that they threatened the king and his heir infuriated him. Ríkin vowed he would do all in his power to prevent the Terrors from harming either. The question was how.
Pepper returned an image back to the forefront, one of a dwarf cowering before a Terror. Then claiming his right hand, she again caused him to point all around the room.
"By Durin," he swore softly. "That's what this is about? The decorations? To counter what the Terrors have done?"
Nod.
His frame tensed, and his Pepper twisted in his arms to hug him tight. He rubbed her back. 'twas a simple solution, and a good one. Eyes narrowed in thought, he considered the matter. When he'd been assaulted, 'twas warmth and good that brought him through. As distracted as he'd been these last months by his lassie's disappearance, he'd not failed to note the weariness of spirit stealing over his kindred.
Weakening us. Ríkin's hands twitched, hungry to feel his halberd. Like as not, the weapon would be useless against such a foe, but he knew, looking at the dark eyes in the Terrors' images, he'd not leave home without it again. The dirk he carried no longer felt sufficient when off-duty. Not with them roaming about.
"Why have ye not used the decorations, my lassie?"
Thorin's picture returned to the top of the pile. Trying to protect them, Ríkin thought again. Mahal. He rubbed his jaw with one hand. He could not go to Thorin if the king had ordered their brownies into deep hiding. And truth be told, as much as he wanted his Pepper beside him, he'd rather her safe above all else.
The parchment pages shuffled again and a new picture came to the top. "Prince Kíli?"
Nod.
"What of him?"
She pointed his finger at the decorations once more.
He rolled his hale eye, exasperated. "Ye've been ordered into hiding. I cannot tell him his uncle…" She shook her head. His finger was jabbed at Kíli's picture over and over until he rescued it with a scowl. "Stubborn," he muttered.
A finger poked into his chest.
He grinned. "My spicy lassie."
Fingers drummed upon his shoulder.
"'tis true," he told her with growing amusement. "Ye have a temper."
One foot came down upon his boot. He supposed it was intended to be a stomp, but if her hopping about was any indication, her foot had come out the loser. Snorting, he drew her close. "Aye, a temper."
Her shake of the head said she did not agree.
"The cake we wore says otherwise," he murmured. His thumb tapped her nose. "And I seem to recall a vat of honey ye misplaced upon my head, too."
Her sigh, followed by her arms returning about his waist, told him he'd won that round. Aye. Spicy.
His gaze returned to the depiction of Prince Kíli. The two had butt heads on more than one occasion, and that was Durin's truth. His own fault, Ríkin freely admitted now. He'd labeled the prince foolish and naïve for his support of the "Helpers." Aye, and I'll be eating crow for it, too.
"All right," he told his lassie. "I'll see Prince Kíli."
She jumped up and down in his grasp before throwing her arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his cheek.
Mahal. Gruffly, he added, "'twill take more than two dwarves to decorate Erebor."
She bounced from his grasp. Then a finger poked his chest once more, then drew his hand to her. Back to him. Then to her.
"Aye, lassie, ye have my heart, too," he said roughly, touched by her gesture.
A pause. Her hand patted his cheek as she lifted his palm so that he could feel her smile. She kissed his palm before turning and selecting more pictures from another pile. These, she paged through, pausing to give him a good look at each. With his arm snaked around her waist, he watched closely. Bilbo, he recognized straight away. Grómi as well for the dwarf had charge of the barracks. Húni. Nyri and Nyrar. Steinur and Stígur.
His lassie again drew his hand between them. Host-families, he realized. Many dwarves had been aided by their "Helpers", aye, but those who had housed them would know their lack. If he told those families that decorating the halls was for their brownies, he suspected not one would hesitate. Like as not, many not belonging to the brownies will wish to help, too.
Thorin had forbidden the brownies to act in their defense. But there was naught prohibiting the dwarves from doing so on their own. The brownies had supplied the tools. Eyeing the room, it seemed a shame that all would remain hidden away. Especially, he thought as his gaze crossed the casks, the mead.
His brownie snuggled up to his side. Aye, she was a smart lassie as well as a spicy one. Mine. The bracelet he wore confirmed that, and he'd have one on her wrist as soon as he could manage it.
In the meantime, 'twas time to seek Kíli. They had some Halls to deck.