1 December TA 2942
"I'm ugly!"
Ríkin's brow shot upwards at his lassie's wail. The wee female burst into tears and tried to fade from sight. That snapped him from disbelief.
Daft female. "Yer not ugly," he said, trying to collect her into his arms as he shot his dam a beseeching glance. Tova shook her head, one brow cocked. She'd tried to warn him, she had, but he'd not believed her.
Allowing Pepper a mirror when her skin was yet recovering from frostbite had not been the brightest of ideas. But how was he to know she'd react as she had? 'twas baffling. Her skin had been seared by the cold. Blisters had formed upon her cheeks, nose, and chin as well as hands and feet once she'd been warmed. 'twas to be expected, or so a healer from Dale had professed when consulted by Prince Kíli. Their brownies had bodies much like the men in that regard. What a dwarf could endure, the more fragile men – or brownies – could not.
'twas a lesson every dwarf in Erebor had taken to heart. If his lassie thought herself smothered by his family's care since she'd been allowed to return home, she had a thing coming when she was permitted out and about once more. Not a dwarf in Erebor wasn't determined to make certain their brownies were better cared for from here on out. The brownies had earned themselves a mountain-full of overprotective dwarves, they had.
"Yes, I am," she sobbed, hands hiding her face.
He tried another approach. "'tis not yer face that won me, my Pepper."
Based upon her gasp of indignation and his dam's swift kick to his ankle, his words were not welcome. "I can't believe you'd say that to me," his once-reasonable red-head cried before blubbering against his dam's bosom.
Ríkin tugged upon one braid in his beard, at a complete loss as to how to comfort his beloved.
Fingers moved. *Ye lack the sense of a auroch during mating season,* his so-helpful dam signed. *Fix this.*
Fix it? How?
Tova's blue eyes narrowed, and Ríkin felt his temper flare. Females. He gently reclaimed his lassie from his dam, carried her complaining all the while from the water closet, and retreated to his bedchamber, kicking the door shut behind him. Privacy was what was needed. Aye it was. Little did he need his dam's assessing eye upon all he said to his lassie.
Ríkin seated himself in the only chair in the room, reminded of the time not too distant when he'd destroyed the bed upon finding his brownie sleeping there. He held her close and set his chin upon the crown of her head, rubbing her back in circles. When her cries had dwindled to watery sniffles, he offered her a handkerchief, silently thanking his father for telling him the importance of such objects when Dalkin had learned his son had plaited the first two braids in Pepper's hair.
As his lassie dried her tears, he murmured, "I'm not a dwarf of fine words, my lassie." Her wordless grunt told him, nay, he was most assuredly not, and his ground his teeth, determined not to lose his temper. His lassie might be recovering, but she was still exhausted, and that, he knew, was only fueling her tears.
That must have been what loosened his tongue and prodded words he'd never thought to utter. "Yer beautiful to me," he said, capturing her gaze when her head popped up. His hand stroked down the twin braids behind her right ear, the courtship and betrothal braids. "'tis not only yer face, though I did see ye before the blisters, my Pepper, and ye are so very bonny." His finger traced down the smooth line of her small nose before tapping its end. "But there are many beautiful dwarrowmaids in this mountain." Another tap on the nose. "There is only one Pepper. One with such a kind heart and sweet way about her." A grin quirked his lips. "One who would dump honey upon my head or sneak a cake upon my pillow because she was jealous."
Her chin wobbled as her beautiful brown eyes stared up at him with hope.
"Yer so much more than beautiful, my lassie. Do ye not see? Yer my everything."
The tears that followed as she threw her arms around his neck…they were a good sign, right? Pepper drew back before covering his face with soft kisses. Aye, he decided. A good sign, indeed.
OoOoOo
Nyrar stood back and watched as his cousin carefully plaited the adoption braid in their Hyssop's chestnut hair just behind her left ear. Though their charge sat perfectly still, she vibrated an intensity with each loop Nyri added, her eyes bright.
The lass's dam yet lingered on, but the two dwarves had been told much about place, their lass, and brownies in general. Their wee Helper had lived with them for nearly a year now, serving them silently. 'twill be different now, Nyrar thought, warm contentment filling him, for from what the brownie, Angelica, had told them when they'd held vigil over Hyssop's sickbed, their lass loved them dearly.
'twas undeserved to Nyrar's mind, but he and his cousin had made a pact that day, they had, to make up for lost time. They'd decided to demonstrate in dwarf fashion that the lass had wormed her way into their hearts, too, and had determined to offer her an official place in their household whether her dam recovered or not.
Nyrar fingered the bead they'd selected to adorn her braid, throat tight. 'twas their dam's, a gift from her sire, a smooth bead of opal etched with glyphs spelling out one word: Cherished.
OoOoOo
31 December TA 2942
Thorin walked into the Hall of the Forefathers with smirking nephews to either side of him. Mahal. Guilt. He blamed the guilt he'd felt for how things had unfolded for agreeing to this ludicrous idea. He wore the most outlandish of outfits, a suit in Durin blue trimmed with silver – he'd balked at the first offering of red with white. The hat, he'd outright refused, but based upon his sister-sons' matching grins, it little mattered. Thorin looked ridiculous and knew it.
The King Under the Mountain adjusted his grip upon the heavy sack of toys Bofur and Bifur had presented to him on his way to the hall, and heat stole into his cheeks as he headed towards the Yule tree dominating the room. Dwarves filled the hall, roaring their approval as he claimed a seat upon the golden "throne" some unknown soul had deposited beside the tree the night before.
Dís joined him, his beautiful sister dressed in matching colors, albeit her clothes were stylish and becoming. As opposed to laughable. As he set the sack down before him, bearded faces wreathed with big smiles stared back at him from every direction. Bofur, the silly red hat again atop his head. Bombur with his wife, Mib, snuggled up to his side. Despite himself, Thorin's lips curled at the sight of such merriment.
The brownies had been right. Kíli had been right.
Mahal, had any king ever been so blessed? So honored? Dwarves looked to him, aye, but also a hobbit and seven valiant brownies. His gaze flicked towards the entryway and found the candle there unlit, a sign every dwarf in Erebor now knew for what it was. Thank the Valar, the Nine had made themselves scarce since the attack. Though none believed the enemy was done with them, Erebor had earned a respite.
Returning to the hundreds of dwarves clustered before him, he sought and found proof of the brownies' presence. Ríkin stood with arms enfolded before him – his Pepper invisible but evident in his grasp. Fíli smiled down towards his shoulder, his nephew's expression plain indication his Clove was there.
That was a development Thorin had been slow to accept. It heralded trouble, despite the dwarves' acceptance of their Helpers. What would the reception be of a half-dwarf heir? There was no budging Fíli, and Thorin little cared to try. During the talks he'd had with each brownie, he'd come to appreciate Clove's sensible ways and kind heart.
Seeking further, Thorin located the Ri brothers beside Bilbo. Was Nutmeg with her new, larger family? Shyness springing from her scars kept her hidden from most of his dwarves, but upon ordering her to choose more hosts, it had come to light how much she doted upon Dori. Nori was another matter, but with the thief's half-jesting proclamation that he'd win a brownie for himself in mind, Thorin suspected the coming months would prove eventful in that household.
His eyes next found Nyri and Nyrar. The way the cousins stood left no doubt in his mind that Hyssop stood between them. Beyond the trio, Dwalin stood, likely with Cicely by his side. That the brownie had emerged from her comatose state had relieved them all, but oddly enough, it had been Dwalin who had done the most to bring her back. That she'd not cared for Dwalin at all prior to her collapse – a fact he'd learned from Angelica and intended never to reveal – made her recovery all the more amazing. What had transpired between the two, Thorin didn't know and determined to leave alone. Dwalin's business, and so it would remain.
"Ready, then?" Bofur asked as he came closer, a gamine grin upon his face.
"You enjoy this too much, my friend," Thorin murmured, eyes drifting to the veritable hill of presents he would be distributing to his people once the sack of toys was presented to their dwarflings.
A wicked thread of humor lit the toymaker's eyes. "Your grandfather was known for his gold sickness," Bofur said. Before Thorin could do more than frown darkly at the comment, Bofur continued, his grin growing. "I'm thinking you will be known for your jolly ways and festivities."
Kíli burst into raucous laughter while Thorin groaned aloud into one hand. Mahal. Bofur had the right of it. The other dwarf kingdoms would not discover their brownies, not until the Dark Lord was vanquished. From outside the mountain, Thorin's actions would appear more that a bit…peculiar.
Leveling a look Kíli's way did nothing to dim Kíli's laughter. Nor did glaring at Bofur. Beyond his control, Thorin felt his lips curving. Mahal. The absurdity of it all grew and grew. A laugh burst from him. And another. In no time at all, he was leaning upon his garish throne, roaring with laughter.
OoOoOo
Two and a half years later…
Thorin leaned an elbow upon the arm of his chair, chin resting upon his hand as he watched Aleks – now calling himself Hereward of Rohan – reacquainting himself with the Company. A lad no more, their Aleks, for his shoulders had broadened, his face had become leaner, and his carriage was one of confidence. Rohan was good for him. Though short for one purporting to be of the race of men, Aleks' guise would hold. Thorin was certain of it.
The King Under the Mountain rejoiced as many worries were lifted from him this day. Aleks had word from Radagast the Brown that the Nazgûl had at last left Erebor, and the Company's dearly missed twins were returned to them safely. Bofur must be overjoyed. He smirked, knowing how the reunion occurring elsewhere in the mountain must be playing out. Bofur had waited long for it.
As soon as word spread that the Nine had departed for good, there would be a rash of weddings. Ríkin and Pepper. Fíli and Clove. Bofur and Daphne. Each couple had waited with impatience for this moment.
All of a sudden, conversation halted. Aleks developed the most peculiar expression on his face. Then leaning forward in his chair, his voice tentative, Aleks said, "Dude. When did you get brownies, Thorin?"
The Company exploded in laughter.