Chapter 5

"Fate is a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like." - Lemony Snicket

When she walked in, the single candle kept in the window for her was low. It was later than she thought it had been. After placing her violin case on the table, Erdene went to the larder and found the jared boiled water she kept for herself. Her hands were already shaking. Carefully, or as carefully as she could with shock setting in, Erdene dumped a good two tablespoons of honey into the one of the jars and swirled it as close to the fire as she could stand her hand. Then she chugged it.

Fuck.

The nightmares tonight would be horrific.

But she was alive to have them.

Once the shaking had stopped, she dared to open the case of her violin. Thankfully it was fine,the jostling had caused it to go out of tune. A problem she could right in the morning. The case closed, Erdene took the scraps of her strap and decided to fix it in the morning as well.

There were a handful of things that needed to be tackled first.

She doused the candles, setting both locks on the front door and double checking all the latches on the windows before climbing the stairs. Warren's snoring came from his room while the girls who shared rooms slept with their doors closed. She slept in what used to be the guest room.

Ery pushed the door open, locking it behind her and checking the window that looked out into the city to make sure that was solidly locked too. She lit a candle, setting it on the small writing desk next to the mirror. She pulled open her collar finding bruise marks already taking up residence, bright red and angry. Would she have gotten away if Thorin hadn't come along?

Maybe. Maybe not.

A question that would never be answered. Thank god.

Thank Thorin Oakenshield.


The first dream feels so real Erdene almost questioned if it was.

She stood on a parapet, overlooking what appeared to be a carnival below of humans and dwarves and a handful of elves. The elves look so awkwardly out of place aside from Tauriel.

She spotted several cotton candy machines, the basic kind made from lacquer treated and sealed wood with pinholes driven into them and spun by a simple foot pedal. A variety of carnival games, two guessing booths one for pebbles and one for river shells, ring toss, dart throw, basket toss, a wheel of fortunes, milk jug bowling, and her newest invention, a dunk tank.

A Punch and Judy act with marionettes telling a variety of the short fairytales Erdene had written down from earth. Face painting. A petting zoo which Radagast seemed to take much joy out of running. Musicians. A lollipop vendor. Her favorite, mini-golf. A fire spinner. Gandalf with his fireworks.

Tonight, when the sun began to set, she'd show all of Erebor, Dale and the elves that did show up what electricity could do. The future they were going to build for Erebor, Dale and if Thranduil would pull his head out of his ass, Mirkwood. One day, all of Arda.

A large warm hand covered hers on the gray-green stone. Thorin, looking very much the king he was with crown and gold beads in his beard and hair, wearing the colors of his clan stood beside her.

He looked so happy. His people were happy. Their people were happy.

He always corrected her. You are my wife, he would say, they are our people.

One year in, the naysayers were slowly converting, but she still felt somewhat out of place in Erebor. None of them outright said anything to her face, but there were dam she knew would shove her off a cliff edge given the chance. Tonight, she hoped, with the electrical display and the announcement of the electrical independence of Erebor, she'd hopefully convert the rest.

Or most of the rest. Some wouldn't give up until she gave Thorin a son.

"Congratulations," she murmured in his ear as voices below rose with every new entertainment.

He caught her eye, a silent question on his face.

"You," she whispered, "will be remembered by every person here as the king who introduced them to their favorite treats. Thousands of core memories, all rooted to this moment. When their king celebrated their first Durins Day back in Erebor." She kissed his skin just below his left ear earning her a low growl from him. "Happy Durins Day husband."

"You planned this." Thorin replied, squeezing her hand.

"Of course I did." She whispered in return, "Our people needed a little joy. Entertainment and sugar, even if it's just for a day, brings joy. Joy is the mother of hope. Hope," she motioned to the hundreds below, moving from station to station. People clapped at the show. Children, both dwarf and human, squealed while playing carnival games and eating candy. "Hope is hard to kill."

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips. "Your intellect is both astounding and terrifying, wife."

She pressed against his side, grinning, "you knew about my big brain when you married me." He hummed, taking her hand and guiding her from the parapet. "Next year, once the electrical grid is up and running, I want to try to get a rollercoaster and a ferris wheel going."

He pulled her in against his chest, looking into her eyes with no small amount of lust. "We have a little time before sunset."

Erdene bit her lower lip, "You're insatiable."

He laughed, kissing her soundly, drawing her away from the festival, "you knew what I was when you married me."

Now. Tell him now. She pulled back on his hand, grinning at the quick glance of confusion he gave her. "Hope you're ready for the next few months. Aside from the mood swings, I hear pregnant women crave sex constantly."

Thorin's mouth opened, closed as he swallowed. He drew her against his chest, kissing her as if he could climb inside her and make them one.


The alarm clock on her phone woke her from under her pillow. After two seconds of trying to find her phone under her pillow, she hit snooze for five more minutes. Thoroughly confused, Erdene stared at the ceiling of her room for the full five minutes. What the hell was that?

No. Like. Really. What the hell was that?

She sat up in bed, incredibly confused. They'd obviously been in Erebor. But married to Thorin? Even if she was interested, which she wasn't (yes he was handsome and polite and built like a brick house, but he was a dwarf and dwarves were a secretive race who didn't tolerate outsiders. Okay, maybe she would say yes if he up and asked her on a date. She was only human.), and he probably definitely wasn't, as a king he absolutely wouldn't be allowed to marry some common human women. Survival of the darrow and all that, right?

For the same reason she didn't see darrow/human relationships around South Yard.

Her phone began a slightly louder buzz - ding to tell her to get up.

Just…just forget about it Ery. It's just a dream.

After changing and going down stairs to break her fast, Erdene explained roughly what happened to her the night before when everyone was up that morning. All four girls demanded she speak to the city guard.

Warren was the only one to ask, "how did you get away?"

"A good samaritan." She croaked before sipping the chamomile tea with too much lemon and honey.

The way his face twisted, for an instant. Warren's face showed doubt, anger and resignation. "No more playing for the public. It's too dangerous for a girl like you."

She caught Alisabeth's wide eyes and her glance at her twin sister. The way they exchanged silent words.

"I was going to take today off, Warren." She sighed, it hurt despite the soothing liquids. "I am going back to my corner tomorrow come hell or high water." Because if she didn't the fear would creep in and uncertainty would sneak in behind it and her backbone, the one she grew out of necessity as a young girl in her grandparent's home would weaken significantly.

A weak spine snaps with the right pressure. Or the wrong.

Warren's brow drew down, "you are not-"

Erdene drained her cup and slapped it down on the table. "Warren, I appreciate that you care enough to worry." Though she read no worry on his face. "But I am used to making my own money my own way and I will not be told by anyone what to do."

His gaze and face hardened, "you have no father, no husband to help you. Someone has to act on your behalf!."

"I don't need a husband or father to help me. All the coins in my pocket, I earned those. My mother raised me all on her own. I'm not property, I'm a woman who is just trying to get by."

The way he stared at her. As if she were someone or something he'd never seen before. Well, she supposed, pouring another cup of tea, he probably never has met a feminist before.

The girl was waiting for him when he arrived the day after next. The morning was crisp, warning of autumn. Here in these mountains he'd grown accustomed to the difference in the change of weather, but it never failed to surprise him when a cold day came early. Thorin paused while walking, seeing her waiting leaning her back against the archway of the blacksmith's shop, hands behind her back, eyes on the sky.

This was the earliest he'd ever seen her arrive in her spot since taking it. He honestly hadn't expected to ever see her again. Not after being attacked as she had been.

He'd caught the end of the fight, her punching scratching, clawing the minstrel's face and eyes. The girl hit like she was used to it, braced her body for a struggle and fought. Her roll to her knees, a move someone who was used to fighting knew by muscle memory alone.

She must have caught his movement from the corner of her eye because her head turned, and a smile he had no right to enjoy, lit up her (bare) face. Today she wore a high collar pale fern green dress that again, dragged on the ground. The same ill fitting shoes. It made him question how small her feet were. She was small, perhaps he had an inch on her in height, and while buxom (a fact he had appreciated as he watched her move occasionally the day before - after all she had appreciated him, had she not?), her hands and thereby feet were not those of a dam. He wondered again if perhaps she was only a quarter darrow.

The girl bounded up to him, holding out a small folded piece of parchment sealed with what looked like the imprint of a cat's paw?

He hesitated to take it, "are you well this morning?"

She sighed audibly, the croak of her voice no better, and shook her head while moving the edges of the high collar. Dark mottled red and purple beneath. He should have asked Dís for a salve.

Dís would ask what it was for.

Whom it was for.

Dís would ask why he cared enough to give a bare faced child of men a salve for her throat. Why he saved her life? Why indeed, he had asked himself yesterday several times. Why had he wondered at all if she was ever coming back.

Perhaps he was pleased he needn't listen to the droning of the minstrel any further. Mahal knew he stuffed wax dipped cotton in his ears more than once to kill the whine of the man.

When the girl played, he found himself listening. He found himself enjoying the music. He found he hummed along to the songs she played frequently. He found he had a favorite, though he would not tell her that.

The girl pushed the envelope into his hand, and for the second time, her fingers, cool as they were, were not unpleasant against his skin. She smiled brightly at him in the early morning sun, and Thorin realized her eyes were not in fact gray or topaz. Today they were almost as blue as his. He knew a dwarf a hundred years ago with eyes that changed color with their emotion or their setting. He forgot the color they were supposed to be called.

She curtsied, something only the other darrow did in front of him and took up her spot on the box, setting her violin under her chin and began to play something soft, sweetly mournful while stamping her foot in what could have been the sound of a heartbeat. It didn't suit the smile she'd given him not a moment ago.

Thorin entered the shop, setting his pack down where it always went and deftly opened the letter.

Dear friend,

First, thank you again for saving my life. From the very bottom of my heart I mean it sincerely. Without you, I would not be playing again this morning. Today I dedicate every song to you. Please let me know if you like them.

My name is Erdene (Er-den-ee). I think I may have an inkling of what your name is, as the blacksmith has called it more than once, but, if you would be so kind, could you please introduce yourself to me some time today? Or tomorrow if you are busy. Or not, it is your choice.

Thank you again.

Erdene Thoroughfare

P.S. I may not be able to speak for a few more days. I'll understand if you wait to introduce yourself until I can introduce myself properly.

P.P.S You did save my life, so I hope I can call you friend?

This morning, because the other night she could have died, Ery played Cue the Strings, by Low. It had the soft mournful sound she felt that evening. Next, for the dwarves he led across the face of Arda, she played Kate Bush's Running Up That Hill. Following that, Daugtry's Heavy is the Crown for Thorin himself. By the time the sun was at its pinnacle, she had run through nearly the entire set of Bond's Born album, and a good deal of E.S. Posthmus' first album, save Pompeii.

Erdene sat on legs tired of standing, and withdrew her oat bar, blueberry biscuit and two boiled eggs. Her stomach started gurgling in a demand for food no less than thirty minutes ago and she staved it off to wait until the shadows disappeared. This is the same time she ate every day, but her body had been up earlier than it ever was thus, hungry earlier she supposed.

Through lunch, as she peeled her eggs much more slowly than she needed to, glancing occasionally at Thorin as he worked, she hoped he might come over and speak to her. He did not. She caught him glancing at her occasionally once she'd finish a song. Oh no. Had her letter annoyed him? She knew his personality leaned toward gruff, maybe even grumpy, but last night he'd been nice.

She sent a sidelong glance at him, finding him facing her way again. Richard Armitage, Thorin's actor, was always attractive, had been since she watched the very cheese-tastic Robinhood on the BBC, and the movie for the Vicar of Dibley, and North & South. But she hadn't been attracted to him, the actor so much as she liked the characters he played. He, as a person, was just pretty.

Thorin, though. The beard and the warrior braids (at least that's what all the fanfiction called them) and all of that enviously long black hair. He carried himself like he knew he was stronger than every other person around him. Probably because he was. Weren't dwarves supposed to be stronger than elves, or as strong as elves?

Goddamn. Those arms and focus and the look of concentration on his face. A woman could die happy under him. She turned her attention away just a breath before blue eyes looked up.

A shadow crossed her vision.

Gwendolyn stood before her, hands clasped, "Ery."

"Hmm?" She didn't stand, instead continuing to peel her egg.

"Father asked for you to come back for the rest of the day." Her voice trembled when she said father and come back.

Ery stopped peeling her egg. Her throat hurt just saying it. "No thank you."

The girl's eyes widened with the beginnings of panic. "Ery!"

Placing the egg shells in the small bag she carried for lunch, Erdene cleared her throat, which unbeknownst to her did make Thorin look up once more. "I said no thank you."

"But Ery if you don't come," A rise of panic hit Gwendolyn's chest. Her father, most of the time, was a good man. Usually even tempered when it came to everyone. It was only in matters of money that her father did things. Mean things. Her voice lowered, "he will come fetch you himself."

Erdene leveled the girl a dark look. "He can try."

Tears watered in Gwen's eyes. "Ery, please."

Having no more to say, her food finished, Erdene shook her head, stepped back up, put her violin back under her chin and got back to playing. Eventually Gwen left. Some time later, Warren himself did come walking down into the plaza while Erdene was in the middle of a complicated section of Pompeii. A small crowd, no more than five people, had formed to watch her string work.

Warren at least had the decency to wait until she was finished before grabbing her arm and yanking her off the box she performed on. "When I send-"

Erdene twisted her arm toward his thumb and jerked hard. It hurt her wrist, there would be a bruise later, but his grip broke.

He stared down at his hand. How had that happened? He recovered, straightening and trying a new approach that worked with his girls."You received a request for your hand." Warren told her with an almost fatherly tone.

A dark laugh left her mouth. "My answer would be no."

"It's a good match for you Erdene. He's a fine man."

She shot back roughly, "Who I wouldn't know from Adam. No."

He tried once more. Who is Adam? "It would be a comfortable-"

If she had something to throw. "I said no. You can tell him or I can tell him. I don't want to be comfortable like a prize possession sittin' pretty for everyone to gawk at. He wants my time, he can come talk to me. My answer is no." She gathered her skirt again, stepped back into her spot and set the violin under her chin.

She began to play.

Exasperated, bewildered and no small amount annoyed, Warren left.

Just as he had this morning, Thorin found her waiting for him with a small sad smile. His eyebrows rose as she handed him a scrap of paper.

Would you please walk me home?

Would he? In the dark, with only torch lights to see by, her pleading eyes were hematite. He handed her back the paper. "Your father-"

She sliced a finger across her neck, shaking her head.

Brow furrowed, "husband?" It pained him to say it though he did not fathom why. She was lovely to look at (even without a beard), by all means, she should be married.

A smile, a brilliant smile of white teeth and mirth cross her face, lighting up her eyes with humor. Again she shook her head.

"Brother."

Once again she shook her head. She took out a writing instrument, one he did not recognize, writing quickly on the back of the previous note and handing back to him:

He is my landlord. He thinks I'm his ward when I am only his tennant.

There is no reason he should have felt relief.

His common sense told him to say no, assure her that he was certain the former minstrel would not be lying in wait for her. She would be safe walking home. The small part of him that had looked upon her today, yesterday, and perhaps several other times over the last month, opened his mouth and allowed him to say, "if you wish it."

Her smile returned, dimples on both sides. Bright eyes shining at him in the growing dark. Thorin found himself liking it far more than he rightfully should have.

They were silent as they walked, he found it companionable though over much too soon. The other night had been slower by at least half due, he thought, to her pain and shock. Tonight she walked quickly, almost matching him step for step.

When they came to the same spot he left her the night before, Thorin nodded at her, "good evening."

She held up her hands, pointing at herself, then at him, her head tipping to the side as if she asked a question.

His name. She asked him to introduce himself after thanking him more than once in her letter. The letter he kept inside the pocket of his shirt folded over lest Dís or his sister's sons see it when he returned home. He would be late returning tonight, he needed not fuel the fires of curiosity with a scrap of paper from a grateful girl.

He put one hand over his chest, nodding his head at her, "Thorin," he did not give his father's name, rather his name of honor, "Oakenshield." Even that he questioned whether he should have said anything. Would she know him?

That brilliant smile again, lighting up those eyes of hers with mirth. She bowed the smallest bit, inclining her head then straightened. Thank you, Thorin, her lips formed the words silently. Topaz eyes looking back at him.

He inclined his head as well. "Good night, Misstress Thoroughfare."