Another request fill this time. Thetravelinglemon asked me to write the story about Jack being drunk on the streets of Dale several months ago and this is what came out.

Enjoy!

Chapter 7

Liquid Solution

Fortunately, no matter how much trouble you lot are capable of getting yourselves into from time to time, none of you have ever gotten yourself locked into a cell in Thranduil's dungeons – at least, not that I know of – and I am grateful for small mercies. But at least Jack has some prison experience – even if it is only for being a drunken lunatic on the streets of Dale – so you can relate to how humiliating it is to be dragged away and locked up. And we weren't even drunk.

The Journal, Chapter 47: First Kiss

Erebor, summer 2978 TA

Jack

Jack, son of Thorin, did not belong. It was something he had known for a few years now and he didn't find it any easier to deal with as he grew older. Born the son of a dwarf and a human woman, he was something that had never existed before. His parents had defied all traditions and conventions in order to marry and had that way ensured that a lot of people weren't happy with them. But his father only had to scowl – and a very frightening one it could be too – for people to shut their mouths and they usually ran out of insults once they engaged in a battle of words with his mother fairly quickly. Of course it made it easier on them because they were the King and Queen under the Mountain and they had reclaimed the whole kingdom from a dragon – their tale was already legendary, and they weren't even dead – which had given them some leeway to make an unconventional decision.

But Jack and his siblings had never slain a dragon or reclaimed a kingdom and they were oddities, things that didn't neatly fit in with the rest. Neither fully human nor fully dwarf, unique, as their mother used to say when he was still little and he had come to her crying when someone had called him an abomination. Back then he hadn't known what that word even meant, but he had judged by the facial expression and the tone of voice that it didn't mean something nice. His mother had all but exploded in anger and he was fairly certain that the offending dwarf had his ears blistered twice later; one time by his mother and another time by his father.

It didn't mean that aforementioned offending dwarf was necessarily wrong. He didn't even know what he was or to which race he belonged. Strangely enough his siblings never seemed to have a problem with it. Well, it was easy for Thoren, he imagined; his eldest brother was heir to the throne of Erebor, so he'd be a fool not to see himself as a dwarf. And he looked like one too. The only things he got from his mother were her red hair, including the curls, and his height. Well, he got that from her family, he imagined, since no one in Dale would think his mother tall. But Thoren stood a head taller than their parents. Still, he was a dwarf through and through.

Thráin simply didn't care. He looked like a copy of their father – before his hair went grey, Jack assumed – except for the grey eyes he got from amad. Having said that, Thráin didn't behave dwarflike, preferring a wandering existence over labouring underground. He was criticised for that when he was home, but Thráin clearly didn't mind; he laughed it away.

Duria too was a dwarf, no doubt about that. She looked like one, including the beard, and once their father finally accepted the fact that his daughter was in fact all grown up and old enough to know her own mind, she'd marry a dwarf. No doubt about where she belonged either.

Cathy was like Thráin a bit, he reflected; her mixed heritage never seemed to be an issue with her either. But then, Cathy was such a sweet girl, that no one seemed to be able to speak ill of her. And she had the advantage of being female and rather fragile. People automatically seemed to want to protect her. The ones that didn't usually took one single smile before they were swooning at her feet, which was entirely unfair in Jack's opinion.

But even among his siblings Jack was the odd one out. He was too tall. Dale was the place where he could go unnoticed if he so chose; he was the same height as most men there. His mother tended to say that he took after her brother, the one he was apparently named after, but whom he had never met. He'd asked about him once and she'd said she had lost him. Jack had not dared to ask more.

But whoever he was, he didn't like his uncle, because he took after him in looks, and according to his mother in temper as well, at least when he was younger. But it was his appearance that made him stand out. He had decided to grow a long beard and he would have to admit that the result looked very dwarvish, but it hadn't done the trick of blending in. A few years ago he had done everything he could think of to make him come across as dwarvish, until Flói had mockingly remarked that he was more dwarvish than the dwarves. His best friend only came to his chest these days, but he was one of the few who'd never made an issue of his mixed blood. Their mothers called them the long and the short, or the dynamic duo.

'You're brooding,' Flói commented.

They were taking a short break from the forging. It was in their blood with both of them and they were good at it. At first, Jack had only taken up the craft because it had been his father's for years, until he was otherwise preoccupied as King under the Mountain, but eventually Jack had started to enjoy it for himself. It was not the task itself that was bothering him, but rather one of his masters. Farin was a good master, and a good friend of his father's, who would not intentionally hurt Jack, but his casual and far too true remark about Jack being a bit too tall to work effectively at a certain anvil grated on his every nerve.

'What of it?' he demanded.

'It doesn't suit you.' Flói remained unflappable in the face of Jack's darkest moods and often he was grateful for that, but today he was not in the appreciating mood. 'Makes you look like your adad too much.'

'Good,' Jack growled. Maybe that would stop the gossipers from gossiping for a while. Because there was not much of his father in him, or Cathy for that matter, and his amad was not a dwarf, the people had started whispering that maybe Thorin was not his father at all, that rather than that he was the result of an affair his mother had with one of the men of Dale. After all, it was widely known that her race was not as loyal as their own. The King under the Mountain had royally lost his temper when he heard the rumour and no one had mentioned it since in his hearing, but it didn't stop people from thinking what they liked and saying it when they didn't think anyone close to the family could hear it.

Flói nudged him and passed him the waterskin. 'Nah, you don't mean that.' He was quiet for a while. 'We should go for an ale after work.' Flói was by no means a simple soul, but he was of the opinion that ale solved most of the problems on and under the earth. He'd give the orcs ale as a means of dealing with them, if given half a chance, Jack would wager. He himself would rather use the ale to feed them drunk and then bash their skulls in for good measure, to make sure they'd never bother him again.

'It won't change a thing,' Jack pointed out.

'Of course it won't. Some folk will always have something to complain.' Flói, who had never been on the receiving end of the kind of complaints Jack had to endure, could be a lot too easy about this. 'It might do miracles for your mood, though. It looks like a good day to get drunk.'

'You always think it's a good night to get drunk,' Jack retorted.

'Aye, but it almost never works, does it?' That was the truth; Flói had a remarkable resilience to the workings of ale, mead and wine. The only occasion when Jack had seen his friend well and truly drunk was when he got a flask of elvish wine at King Thranduil's last visit ten months ago. Flói had been singing non-stop until he had gotten into a fight with someone who didn't appreciate his vocal qualities and had ended up with a black eye, a number of bruises and a split lip.

'And the consequences are disastrous when it does work,' Jack reminded him. 'And I don't feel like standing out.' And with his height he would. Last thing he wanted was to attract more attention; he'd had enough of that already.

His best friend was wholly unconcerned. 'We can always go to Dale. Pubs and ale there as well, if I recall correctly.'

Jack wondered why he was even still protesting when it was blatantly obvious that this was an argument Flói was determined to win. 'Then you will stand out.'

The dwarf shrugged. 'I don't mind. Makes for a nice change, don't you think? 'Sides, there're enough dwarves having shops and houses there. Might not attract much attention at all.'

'Those are man-sized pubs,' Jack couldn't help but point out. 'You wouldn't be able to reach the bar.'

'That's what I'm bringing you for.'

The youngest prince of Durin's line stared down at his friend. 'You're not going to let this one go until I've confirmed I'll go with you, are you?'

'Well, I've considered drinking alone, but where's the fun in that, eh?' A grin broke through when he realised he was actually winning the argument.

Jack only realised that it was indeed so when he saw that tell-tale smile, triumphant in the extreme. And maybe it was a good idea to be away from the Mountain for a little while, with all its judgemental minds. Admittedly, it wasn't all that bad, not anymore. People had gotten used to him by now, but it were mostly the nobles who were troubling him. Most of them had been holed up in the Iron Hills while the rest of the people of Erebor had been in exile and neither of his parents actually liked them. Most normal people, who had known his father all their lives and had followed him in exile, had little problems with his unconventional marriage and the resulting offspring.

But Jack had heard too many scathing remarks to be able to bear as much as one more. Even Farin's comment, that had been completely devoid of any ill intent, had made him grit his teeth in anger. Dale sounded like a better idea by the minute. And ale would help him unwind. Tight as a bowstring, his mother tended to say when he was in a mood like this, and mood blacker than the deepest dungeon. Right now he had reached the point where he was growing tired of his own dark thoughts. Ale sounded like a remarkably good idea right about now.

'I suppose you'll need someone to hand you your drinks,' he said, trying to make it sound as unenthusiastic as he possibly could.

Flói knew him better than that; the grin widened. 'I knew you'd see sense in the end.'

'I'm relieved to hear it,' a voice behind them said. 'And there's a mighty lot of sense in going back to work. I've got some swords that need finishing by the end of the day and you're not going anywhere until you've done them.' Farin was an impressive dwarf. He was not tall, rather small actually, but he was broad-shouldered and very strong; people avoided getting caught up in a fight with him for a very good reason. Right now there was soot on his face and the sweat had drenched his face and braids. He clearly had not been taking a break from work like his apprentices had done.

Jack got to his feet and dragged Flói up with him. 'Right away,' he replied.

Farin patted his hand, the closest thing he could reach, paternally. 'You're doing good work, lad. Your father will be proud.'

Jack forced his face into a smile. 'Thank you.'

He meant to get straight back to work, but Farin held him back for a while longer, even as he beckoned Flói to get a move on. 'No offence meant, lad. You know that?'

He nodded. Aye, he knew. That was part of why he was so angry with himself for being mad at Farin, because he had not meant any harm at all. He was mostly angry with himself and with his parents too. Couldn't they have thought about the consequences of throwing convention to the wind before they married and had children? Had they given as much as a thought to what life would be like for their offspring? Sometimes he rather doubted it. Even then, why did he have to be this ridiculously tall? If only he could be of a height with Thráin or Thoren his life would be that much easier, and not just because he required man-sized tools to work with.

'Nothing wrong with being who you are,' the smith told him. 'I'm sure it has its advantages in the relations with Dale. They will take you seriously, lad. Remember that.' He gave another pat on Jack's hand. 'And you're handy for reaching the shelves I can't reach, that's for sure.'

Jack appreciated that he was making an effort, but Farin was really only making it worse. All he wanted was to fit in, to not be different and he certainly was in no mood to see the advantages of being more man than dwarf. Ale sounded like such a good idea right now.

The rest of the afternoon he hammered away at the anvil as if the world would end if he didn't finish his work in time. The physical labour at least drove all other thoughts out of his mind for a little while and that was a very welcome change. And it was a good thing also that at this rate the work got done a lot quicker than it would have been done otherwise, and when he washed his hands and face, he felt a sense of pride at having done a good day's work.

'You were working as if there was an orc with a whip behind you,' Flói said. He was untying a mannish ponytail he had made to keep his hair out of his work; a lesson both of them had learned the hard way when they had burned their beards in the forge's fire. The smell of burnt hair had been up in his nostrils for at least a month after. 'Still got your dander up about being a mite bit taller than the rest of us?'

'You would have your dander up too if you had to be reminded of it every single day,' Jack muttered darkly. 'I wish the Maker had shown some sort of sense when he decided to make me.'

Flói shrugged, taking his coat from the chair he'd casually draped it over in the morning. 'Maybe he has. The way I see it, you've got two makers, what with your mother being a child of Ilúvatar. Maybe he thought there were enough taking after Mahal's fashion and wanted you different. Who's Mahal to argue with Ilúvatar then, eh?' He slapped Jack's back. 'Let's head off to the pub then, shall we?'

It was a point of view Jack had not thought about yet, and it struck him as odd, even as he at the same time saw the logic of it. It didn't mean this solved all his problems. He sometimes wondered if they could ever be solved or that he was doomed to spend the rest of his days – and Maker only knew how long or short he would live with that mixed blood of his – listening to other people complaining that his parents should never have married.

'Ale sounds like a very good plan,' he agreed.

Flói smiled. 'I knew you'd come round in the end.' They took off, using a variety of short-cuts they had memorised in the days they were playing pranks on everyone and more often than not in need of a quick escape route, because neither of them fancied to be acquainted with any of the guards or the wrath of the King under the Mountain. Jack's father was a just king and he was unlikely to appreciate his son causing diplomatic scandal, as Jack knew only too well.

The days were long and the sun was still shining when they left through the main gate. Jack smiled; he loved the sun. These days he tried to spend as much time underground as he could in order not to seem as even stranger than he was already regarded, but he could not disregard his human blood entirely.

'Lovely weather,' Flói commented. He was a dwarf through and through, but Jack had dragged him outside so often that he had come to like the outside as well. 'Too warm for this coat, though.'

'Very undwarvish of you,' Jack commented.

'My ma says you're a bit obsessed with being dwarvish,' Flói said. 'You know what, I think she's right. Anyway, your adad used to wander for years, didn't he? It's rather become a dwarvish thing to do, I'd say.'

He supposed so, but that was not what most of the critics said. 'I suppose you can blame my parents for that as well,' he said sourly. The only luck he had was that he was not actually the heir to the throne. Looking as he did, he would never be accepted. Thoren may be tall, but he wasn't too tall and he looked enough like their father to get away with it. Jack had no such advantage.

'You don't mean that,' Flói said. 'You don't really blame your parents for marrying, do you? Mind you, I would have to make do without a best friend. Not sure I could have managed.'

'So what if I am?' he questioned. 'Blaming them, I mean.' It may not be fair of him, but was it fair of them to do as they pleased without stopping to think about the consequences?

'You're behaving like a child now,' his friend informed him. 'The way I see it, your parents are terribly fond of you and your siblings. I heard a story once that your adad beat someone unconscious for insulting your brothers, before you were born.'

'They should have thought about that before, don't you think?' Jack muttered. Part of him knew full well that Flói was right, that he was behaving like a child and that his parents really cared about them all. He knew this with his head, but it was hard to feel it sometimes when it essentially was their marriage that had subjected him to being talked to and about.

'I wasn't done yet,' Flói said easily. 'I think your parents first and foremost love each other. My father remembers the fuss there was when it all happened and he says it wasn't pretty. They're living for each other, not just with each other, or they wouldn't have bothered with all of the difficulties.'

He really wasn't in the mood for any of this wisdom, even if it was true, which Jack strongly suspected was indeed the case. 'It's a very good night to get drunk,' he therefore said. There was truth in that too.

Thorin

Thorin, son of Thráin, King under the Mountain, was thoroughly fed up with all the paperwork he had to concern himself with. Most of it was a waste of time and effort, but there were trade talks coming up with the elves and he could not afford to be ill-prepared. Thranduil would be as difficult as he could possibly be, that was for sure. And it was important that Thoren did well in the talks. He was all grown up now and everything Thorin could have wished for in an heir. At the same time he hated the need for Thoren to be so responsible and solemn a lot of the time. But it was his duty, as it was Thorin's to make sure that he was ready when the day came he would take the throne.

Kate had gone to bed, he found when he entered their chambers. The fire was still smouldering, but the living room was dark otherwise. It wasn't surprising; it was close to midnight already and she would have done some tiring duties of her own. He stroked his beard, grown out since the Mountain had been reclaimed, in thought. She was in charge of the practical preparations, and she insisted on doing them herself, even if it was only too clear that she was not as young as she once had been.

He tried to ignore the familiar stab of fear when he thought about that. When he had married Kate Andrews, she had been young and full of energy. But she had aged, and faster than he himself had done. It was altogether frightening to see. Kate had whacked him over the head when she had heard him expressing that fear and had told him that she still had a few useable years left, thank you very much. Besides, she was not the one who was entirely grey. She, so unlike him, still had a few strands of hair that were as red as they had ever been, even if the rest of her unruly curls had faded to silver.

Still, the fear was real and ever more present, although he took care to contain it when in company. He had a lingering suspicion that Kate knew all the same.

She was asleep when he opened the door to their bedroom, curled up on his side of the bed. Kate had been a restless sleeper when they had gone on the quest and time had not changed that. And that reassured him somewhat, that even though everything else changed, some things always stayed the same.

He undressed and slid in under the covers, gently pushing his wife back to her own side of the bed. In the past he had done so successfully without waking her, but today she stirred. 'What time is it?' she asked, voice slurring with sleep. 'And what in heaven's name are you doing?' She blinked and worked herself into a sitting position.

'You were on my side of the bed,' he replied.

'You should have warned me,' Kate muttered. 'I had no idea a dwarf's possessiveness extended to his side of the bed.'

The disgruntled words triggered countless memories of months spent on the road and completely inappropriate banter. She was more responsible now, but every now and then that young woman would resurface.

'Are you laughing at me, Thorin Oakenshield?' she inquired sharply.

He tried to force his face back in a neutral expression. 'What of it?' he asked. 'I need something to laugh at after reading Thranduil's demands.'

'Hmpf,' Kate said, lying down again. Thorin followed her example. 'I am wondering how long it will take for him to demand every firstborn child and half of our wealth in exchange for the "privilege" of doing business with him. He's growing more arrogant with every passing year, I swear. I dread to think what he will be like in a thousand years.'

'Maker have mercy on me,' Thorin groaned in his pillow. 'Don't give him ideas.'

Now it was her turn to laugh. 'I wasn't planning on it. And speaking of firstborns, how's ours doing?'

'Just short of pulling out his own beard out hair by hair in despair.' Thorin turned on his back, pulled her back against him – 'Am I going to lie on your side or my side of the bed tonight? Make up your mind.' – and wrapped his arms around her. 'But he will do well in the talks. He's got a brain about him and a keen mind for politics.'

'Hasn't inherited that from either of us,' Kate observed. 'I mean, we can do it if we put our minds to it, but Thoren's a natural.' There was no denying that.

'Where are the others?' he asked. Apart from Thoren, his offspring had been remarkably absent today. Inevitable now that they were all growing up, but not pleasant. In his head they were still little and it sometimes was difficult to comprehend that was no longer true.

'Thráin's locked himself in the library, poring over old maps. He says he's planning a trip to the Shire, but I sincerely hope he'll put it off until after the talks.' Kate ticked off her fingers. 'Duria has gone to bed, so has Cathy and I have no idea where Jack is. He was supposed to spend the day with Flói at the forge, so who knows what mischief they have gotten themselves into.'

She had hardly finished that sentence when there was a frantic pounding on the door. 'Thorin, my lady, I think you'll need to come immediately.' Thorin immediately recognised the voice as belonging to Lufur, the guard that was on duty tonight. Kate had made a strong case for abolishing the whole bodyguard business when they married – 'I'm a grown woman, for heaven's sake, not a child who needs round the clock supervision!' – but Thorin had put his foot down and in the end Kate had given up the fight.

'Bloody hell. It's after midnight,' Kate complained. 'Can't folks keep their complaints to regular hours, please.' She got out of bed anyway and Thorin followed her example. Kate took a cloak from a chair; with what little light there was she didn't see it was his and so he made do without one.

He opened the door. 'Lufur,' he acknowledged, only then realising there was something with him. 'Flói?' Because of his surprise it came out as a question.

'Flói?' Kate echoed. 'What are you doing here at this time of night? Is Jack with you?'

The young dwarf looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. 'I'm afraid there's a problem, my lady.'

Thorin did not like the sound of that at all. Jack had been a handful since he learned how to walk and talk, but mostly his best friend was in trouble with him. That he was not so now, somehow made him anticipate all kinds of horror. 'What kind of problem?' he demanded in a harsh tone of voice that had the dwarf in front of him cringe; he was clearly anticipating all kinds of trouble to come his way.

'What happened?' Kate asked, no less urgent, but perhaps a bit more gentle. That was a trait that had come with age, and decidedly not something she had when they first met. 'Is he injured?'

'Not exactly, my lady.' Flói was staring at the point of his boots. 'But he's drunk.'

Thorin groaned. He supposed that there had to be a day when that had to be added to the list, but preferably not yet. 'Where is he?' he demanded. Flói's breath smelled of ale and mead too, but he clearly could deal with the effects better than Thorin's youngest son.

'Well, that's the problem,' the young dwarf replied. 'He's in the dungeons, in Dale.'

Thorin groaned again.

Flói

This was certainly not one of his better ideas, Flói reflected as he tried to coax his friend out of the pub in which they had ended up. Jack was not someone who drank a lot, because he said he liked to be in control of his own mind, and not let the ale do the thinking for him. Flói didn't think he'd ever seen Jack consume more than two ales in the span of one evening.

His idea of getting drunk together had been more of a joke really, to get Jack out of that mood that darkened his eyes and had his lips just a small line of disapproval and hurt. Flói's own light-heartedness was not out of ignorance, but rather a way to balance Jack's darker moods. He was no fool; he had eyes and ears and everything. It was obvious that Jack was searching for his own place in a world that didn't have places for people like him. And it was eating away at him, more so with every passing year. The more he understood of the world and the way it worked, the bitterer he became. And there was something distinctly unnerving about the way he could glare at the world.

Flói was older than his closest friend by about a decade, but he was a dwarf and had aged slower, although their mothers always agreed they were of the same mental age. As a consequence, he had known the youngest prince all his life. When they were younger, they had played pranks together, and when they grew older, they took up the same craft. Flói was content that way. He loved his work and he loved to spend time with friends afterwards.

But what was enough for him was not enough for Jack. Whereas Flói was happy, Jack was sliding ever closer towards depression. He was certain the queen knew it, even though he wasn't certain about the king. But then, the king was always difficult to read. 'Look out for him if you can,' Queen Kate – as only people close to the family were allowed to call her – had once told him. 'He needs his friends. Mahal knows he needs them.' She had smiled ruefully. 'And there's only so much I can do.'

Flói liked the King and Queen under the Mountain; his association with their youngest son meant that he had spent a lot of time with them over the years. Nevertheless, he was still very aware that their marriage was an unconventional one and to a certain extent he even agreed with Jack; he doubted they had ever spent much thought on what life would be like for their children, especially for Jack, who was the odd one out, so visibly different from Durin's Folk.

And it had been plaguing Jack's mind, he knew. All day he had been working as if there was someone with a red-hot poke behind him to beat him with if he didn't work hard enough – a tell-tale sign that he was troubled – and with a scowl on his face that told Flói that something was very wrong. It was anger at the world that rejected him and he was powerless to do anything about it. And that was something that troubled Flói, hence the drinking proposal.

Dale was not his place of choice – everything was far too big for him – but it was good to be away from Erebor for a time and see Jack blending in with the crowds that populated the pub. It was noisy and there was a smell that Flói could not quite define, but it was distinctly unpleasant. But at least everyone was minding their own business and no one as much as looked at them twice.

He should have realised something was wrong when Jack started on his third mead of the evening. As far as he was aware, Jack had never even drunk more than half a tankard of the stuff and it was a lot stronger than ale. Most dwarves had no problems with strong drinks, but the prince was of mixed blood and his mother wasn't known to take well to it. But he was too relaxed and relieved to notice that anything was amiss until Jack started talking.

Until then, they had been drinking in companionable silence, exchanging a few jokes every now and then and commenting on the people in the overcrowded establishment, but nothing substantial. He had deemed it better that way, to stay away from all the tricky topics for a night, because that was what clearly what was needed here. It now turned out that Jack was not of the same mind.

'It's not fair,' he announced a bit too loudly. There was a slur in his voice that did the job of alarming Flói, whereas the third mead had failed to do that.

He did a quick count in his head and came to the conclusion that this must be either the fourth or the fifth tankard Jack had drained. 'How many have you had to drink?' he asked warily.

It was testimony to just how drunk Jack was that he didn't answer the question. Instead he went on as if Flói had not spoken at all. 'It's not, is it?' he asked, even though his friend had no idea what he was referring to. 'First there's Thoren, named after my father. Then there's Thráin, named after my grandfather. Then we have Duria, the treasured and rule-abiding Duria, because she's born on Durin's Day.'

He downed another gulp of mead, just as Flói had decided it would be much better to remove it from his reach. It was clear that he'd had far too much already and his parents wouldn't thank him for bringing their son back in such a state. And if he passed out, Flói didn't think he was tall enough to carry his much larger friend all the way back to the Mountain. He really, really should have thought of this a bit sooner.

Jack hadn't noticed. 'Even Cathy with her strange name, got named after my mother. But who do I get named after? Just some unknown uncle with a ridiculous name!' The tankard landed on the table with so much force that the contents sloshed over.

Flói was torn between feeling the first hints of panic at the situation he was in and feeling pity for his friend. He really stood out in every respect. No doubt his parents had meant no ill when they named him for the queen's elusive brother, but it was just one more thing to add to the burdens their son was already carrying around, simply because he was existing. As the venomous Lady Nai had once remarked within their earshot – as she had clearly been planning on doing – the king's children were something that had never been meant in the original plan of the world. As harsh and hurting as her words were, Flói could not deny the truth in them. He however didn't come to the conclusion she did: that just because they had never been intended, they were wrong. Flói could not believe that for even a second.

'I think you've had more than enough,' he said decisively. 'And it's getting late. There's not a holiday tomorrow and Farin will want us in the forge bright and early.' Farin was a good master, patient and indulgent at times, but he didn't suffer fools and drunkards lightly. He stood up and grabbed his friend's arm to get him to move too.

'Why'd he want that, eh?' Jack didn't protest the treatment, but he was not exactly cooperating either. 'I'm too big for it, he says. You heard him, didn't you?' The slur was that more obvious now, definitely not a good sign.

'In truth, I heard no such thing,' he said, gently trying to steer his friend in the direction of the door. The people they passed gave them a wide berth, with good reason; Jack was swaying on his feet. Mahal give that he won't vomit over one of them. 'The anvil's too small for you, is all. We'll find a solution.'

'I'm too big for everything!' Jack declared to the world at large. Flói agreed with him that he at least was too tall for him to easily help him out of here. If they had been the same height, he could have wrapped an arm around shoulders or waist to stabilise him. Right now, for the first time in his life, he felt too small. Normally it didn't bother him and really, he had Jack for when he needed a couple of feet extra, but the prince was not much of a help now.

The people in the pub paid them no heed, only stepping aside to let them pass, and in the general noisiness Jack's drunken comment went all but unnoticed. Flói was glad of it. He was even gladder still when they left the establishment behind and were back on the street in the fresh air. It was well after dark, but the heat had not subsided much. But still, the air here was clean and didn't smell of things he didn't want to know about. And maybe it would clear Jack's head as well.

But that hope proved to be in vain when Jack started to sing – if such a word could indeed be used for the sounds he was making – the ballad of Beren and Lúthien. If he had not suspected already that Jack had consumed more mead than was good for him, then he would have done then. Their school masters had insisted that they knew some of the elven history and language and the tale of Beren and Lúthien was the ideal way to combine both those things. Neither child had displayed much interest in either and Flói had been of the opinion that if he couldn't escape elvish history, he'd rather hear about the Nirnaeth Arnoediad or the Sack of Doriath, something that had a bit of action in it and not just some soppy love story he didn't care to hear about. Jack had not even tried to come up with an alternative; he had just hated the song. And there was no reason whatsoever why he should be singing it at the top of his lungs on the streets of a very quiet Dale.

'Hush!' he said, hoping to silence him before some of the city guards came looking what the caterwauling was all about. In the nightly silence Jack's wailing was all the more audible and he was definitely not drunk enough to appreciate this kind of behaviour, not drunk enough by half.

His attempts were not sufficient. They had not even made it three streets before a couple of guards showed their faces. Four of them, all of them tall, taller than Jack, he'd wager, and Flói had no weapons on him. Those four had. There was trouble afoot, he knew it.

'Keep it down, will you?' one of them called, directing the order at Flói rather than Jack; clearly he had recognised which of the two was the most sober.

The young dwarf produced an apologetic smile. 'I'm trying.' He was certainly doing just that, albeit without much success this far. 'He's drunk a few too many, I'm afraid. I'm just trying to get him home before he passes out.' There was friendship between Dale and Erebor, so he wouldn't need to be afraid to be judged on which race he belonged to. He might however be judged on his skills of keeping his friend quiet.

'Then do so quietly,' the guard snapped. He had come closer in order not to have to resort to shouting himself.

Jack had been seemingly unaware of the presence of others, but now he laid eyes on the guard. 'Not much of a beard, don't you think?' he commented. For a moment he sounded almost sober, with the noticeable exception that he would never have addressed an authority figure in this manner if he had been in his right mind. 'Then, it takes a dwarf to really grow a good beard.'

The guard narrowed his eyes. 'Are you insulting me?' It was clear that he had no idea to whom he was talking. Neither, it seemed, had Jack.

'He's clever, isn't he?' the prince commented to Flói. 'He knows I'm insulting him!'

This was shaping up to a disaster of legendary proportions. And he wanted no such thing to happen. 'We need to get you home, eh?' he said in his most soothing tone of voice. 'No more mead for you, I think.' No more mead, ale or wine ever, if he had anything to say about the matter. Clearly it hadn't helped him with relaxing and the consequences were definitely not worth the trouble.

'You shall watch your tongue or I'll have you spend a night in the dungeon to sober up,' the guard growled, who clearly didn't think any of this funny either.

It happened too fast for Flói to stop it. Jack grinned at the guard like a lunatic, about to make another scathing remark, but he never got round to it. Instead he did something much worse. Before either the city guard or Flói knew what happened, Jack had vomited all over the man.

Thorin

Thorin didn't speak as he ordered to have ponies saddled to take both him and Flói to Dale. He could see that the young dwarf felt guilty about the whole thing, especially since it was his idea to take Jack out for the evening. He'd never thought very highly of Flói's intelligence, given the many pranks Jack and he used to play when they were little. This however was taking things way too far. He was ten years older than Jack – give or take two years, Thorin wasn't entirely certain – and by all rights should have been more responsible. Maker have mercy on him, they were hardly more than kids. How had it come to this?

He knew, though. Jack had always been the biggest troublemaker. There was something about him that reminded Thorin of himself. He himself had trouble with being content with what he had. Deep down there was always a longing for more. It was having been denied that, his kingdom, for so long that had made him slide dangerously close towards depression at times. Because he had wanted more and had been unable to get it. The longing for more, for better, had festered within him. It was a part of that which had made his grandfather and father slide into madness. It ran in his family.

Most of his children had been unaffected by it. Thoren and Thráin got frustrated sometimes with how things were done, whereas Duria just took it in her stride and went on with her life. Cathy, his little girl, although not so little anymore these days, had a wonderful gift for contentment. It was a rare thing and he found he envied her for it.

No, of all his children it was Jack who took most after him. He may have almost none of Thorin's looks, but he had almost all of his character, except that it was mixed up with a recklessness that Thorin himself had never known. Jack harboured an anger the likes of which were all too familiar to his father, and he had a lot to be angry about. Jack had always been the odd one out, the one who looked different, who wasn't accepted as easily as his siblings, and Thorin remembered how hard that had been already.

It didn't make his life easier and it certainly did not make his son's easier, but for all that it was worth, he loved him like he loved Jack's siblings. No, that was not entirely true. He'd always had a soft spot for the twins and not just because twins were so very rare among his people. After Duria he'd thought that there wouldn't be any more children, especially not since Kate miscarried three years later. That was a time he tried not to think about too much; it still hurt too badly. But it had made the surprise and joy all the greater when Kate told him that she was with child again, almost nine years after Duria had been born and when neither of them had really been expecting it anymore. To find out that there were two babies instead of one had been a blessing from the Maker.

He'd never said this to Jack. Time hadn't changed his inability to talk easily about feelings and he now felt that he had been remiss in his duty towards his own son, resulting in the latest disaster. As much as he blamed Flói for being young and foolish, he blamed himself even more.

The lad was remarkably quiet. Thorin didn't really fault him for running back to Erebor; it was either that or getting locked up with Jack and that wouldn't be any good to anyone, but part of him blamed Flói for leaving his son under such circumstances. Friends didn't abandon each other. It was one of the rules he lived by.

The young dwarf seemed to have read his thoughts. 'I didn't mean to leave him on his own.' They were close to Dale now and this was the first time he had spoken since they had set out. He clearly felt more at ease with Kate, but Thorin had persuaded her to stay behind while he dealt with the mess that he felt was entirely too much of his own making.

'I know you didn't,' he replied curtly, fully aware that if he meant to put the lad at ease, he would not succeed, not like this. 'You did as best you could. The fault lies not with you.' Not in its entirety, at least.

Dale was quiet at this time of night, the way Thorin liked it best. He didn't like to come here during the day. Even though there was friendship between the people of Dale and Erebor, Thorin found it hard to forget how he had been looked down on by people of the race of Men during his exile. And it was too noisy for him. Now, the town was almost peaceful, although he made himself no illusions; in a few hours it would be as noisy as it had ever been.

He knew the route to the city's dungeons very well. It was hardly the first time he had reason to be there, although he had never needed to venture near them because of his own son. That was a novelty, but, as Kate would wryly remark, there was a first for everything. Having said that, he had hoped he would never have needed to do this.

He dismounted and left the pony for Flói to tie up, while he himself made a march for the entrance. No matter what he had done, Jack was his son and he would not leave him here, in a dungeon in Dale. He had made a mistake, indeed, but this was not the way.

There were two guards in front of the door. They recognised him. 'My lord,' they muttered. 'What brings you to this place at this hour?'

'Word has reached me that you arrested my son earlier this evening,' Thorin told them. Being angry at himself would not do him any good and neither would it get Jack to freedom any sooner, but nothing was stopping him from taking his fury out on the men who'd had the guts to lock up the youngest prince of the ruling line of Durin as if he were a common criminal.

The guards looked confused. Even though there was friendship between their peoples, they were not intimately acquainted and Jack looked so little like his father that it was unlikely they would recognise him on sight. In truth, Jack looked more like of one them than like one of Durin's Folk. If they had known his character however, they might not have thought such a thing.

'There has been no dwarf arrested tonight, my lord,' the boldest informed Thorin.

His friend caught sight of Flói, who had now completed the task Thorin had set him and joined him. 'Hang on for a minute,' he muttered, forgetting for just a moment in whose presence he was. 'You don't mean the drunken fellow he,' a jerk of the head in Flói's direction, 'was with, do you? Now that you mention it, he was going on about dwarvish beards.' He shrugged. 'But then, he was also wailing the ballad of Beren and Lúthien.' It was only when he found himself confronted with Thorin's most angry scowl that he realised exactly to whom he was talking.

'That is my son,' Thorin confirmed with an iciness that by all rights should have frozen the area immediately. 'And I would have him released immediately, before I feel it necessary to take the matter to your king.'

That elicited a positive eagerness to help. 'Of course, my lord,' the first guard said. He seemed to be both older and wiser than his companion with the big mouth.

'Very well,' he said. 'Flói, stay here.' This was something he needed to do on his own and he was not very eager that many people saw Jack in such a state. There would be gossip enough when this inevitably came out.

The guard didn't feel the need to fill the air with words as he showed Thorin to where Jack had been locked up. The prison at least was cool, which was more than could be said for the outside – Thorin's tunic clung to his skin in a way that felt most unpleasant – but it was nothing like the halls of Erebor either. Clearly this was not a building that his people had helped to build.

'Here we are,' the guard announced. He took out a key and unlocked the door, letting Thorin enter first.

The sight that met his eyes very nearly broke his heart. Jack had curled himself up in the far corner of the wall. When he heard the sounds, he turned around. His eyes were red and unfocused. 'Adad.' At least he had enough sense left to recognise him. It was a small mercy only, but better than nothing.

'Come son, time to go home.' Thorin talked to him the way he had done when Jack had been a little lad afraid of thunderstorms. Mahal help him, Jack was all but a child still. He certainly looked it the way he sat there.

Jack didn't move. ''S not so bad here,' he slurred. 'It's good for dwarves, underground. I'm a dwarf, you know. Don't look it, though.' He looked in what appeared to be disgust at his long legs.

It was like having a dagger stabbed into his heart. This was not the life he'd wanted for his little boy, even if Jack had long since outgrown him. A dwarf in a man's body he was and he was paying the price for that every single day. And Thorin had never meant for it to be like that. Maybe he had been a fool for thinking he could get away with marrying Kate and having children with her after all that he had done for his people. And they had gotten away with it. It were their children who were paying the price for the decisions they had made, and Jack most of all.

'You belong in Erebor, Jack,' he told his son, knowing it wasn't the truth. Jack wanted to belong in Erebor, but that didn't mean he did.

And even in his befuddled state, Jack remembered that, which told the King under the Mountain all he needed to know about how deep-rooted this matter truly was. 'I don't, do I?' he questioned. 'Not really a dwarf, not really a man. Don't know what I am.'

Thorin swallowed and forced himself not to think of the guard's presence as he spoke his next words. 'You are my son,' he said. That at least was the truth. 'And you are very dear to me. Isn't that enough to be getting on with?' It wasn't a real answer, because there were none. East solutions didn't exist, not for him and not for Jack. Neither of them could change the views the world entertained about what should and shouldn't be.

The fight had gone out of Jack and all that remained now was a slumped form with a dirty beard, a child in an adult's body, someone who was completely and utterly lost in a world that didn't seem to want him. He'd have given Erebor itself if that meant Jack would be able to find a place of his own, but it was not within his power. It fuelled his own anger.

The lad was too old and too tall really to be carried like a baby, but that was what Thorin did all the same. It might look laughable – even though the guards had the good sense not to comment – but to Thorin it felt like a tragedy. No, there weren't any easy answers. He could only send up a prayer to Mahal that things might be better in future. It was all he could do.

This was supposed to be both short and funny. I'm afraid it turned out to be neither, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

Please let me know what you think. It means a lot to hear from you and if you've got requests, just ask away.