Chapter 3
"You don't drown by falling in the water; you drown by staying there." - Edwin Louis Cole
Erdene hadn't expected the conversation regarding pay to be so unpleasant with Warren. He'd huffed and he'd puffed, but she'd had bigger, meaner bullies in her life. Much bigger. Much meaner. All with sweet southern accents that cut like knives. She held her ground while he outlined how much it took to keep a house and an extra mouth.
She set her tallied invoice before him silently. The cost of everything she had made and he sold. Minus what her one fifth share would be per month. He owed her at least - according to her grasp on their money system - five gold, seventy silver and forty eight copper since the beginning spring when she arrived almost six months ago. It wasn't much for that many months of work, but it was something to start saving for herself.
Warren had gone red faced, angry, and threatened her. "I should have left you on the street, you ungrateful child." He adjusted his belt at that. "I still should."
"If you feel that's best." She told him plainly. With the skills she'd learned while staying with them, she could easily find a new position somewhere else in the city. Perhaps not the dwarven shops, as she lacked the skill they had.
His face had soured, "I will give you three gold."
She maintained a neutral facial expression. Bullies, though Warren had never been one before this moment, fed on your emotions to manipulate you. "five gold, seventy silver and forty eight copper."
"Three gold, fifty silver."
Was he trying to negotiate? "Five gold even."
"Four and seventy-five silver and that is as far as I go."
"And I get a day off every Sunday."
That made his pinched face slacken. "What for?"
"To rest." Erdene said simply.
Thus she found herself with a pocket of coins walking through the parts of the city she had yet to map in her head the following Sunday. The predominantly craftsman and dwarven parts of the city. Interesting. Warren and his daughters never entered these areas probably because their wares didn't hold up.
The dwarves also spoke a language to one another that she did not understand. Not surprising. If these were the dwarves of the blue mountains, Ered Luin, then these were the exiles of Erebor. Her mental map of the Hobbit snapped into place as she walked. Had they carved out this section of the city for themselves after the desolation and havoc Smaug visited upon their people? Were Fíli, Kíli, their mother Dís and their uncle Thorin somewhere amongst all these faces, or were they in the mountains themselves? Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Ori, Dori, Nori, Oin, Gloin…would she see any familiar faces walking these streets?
The female dwarves, dwarrow-dam, only appeared here in this part of the city. They looked so very much like their male counterparts, Ery did a double take upon first sight. The first (and only so far) dwarrow-dam (that's what her research from her last fanfiction said) had been behind the counter of a clothing shop, talking to another dwarf.
Carefully, Erdene, arranged her hair over her ears to hide that she was not a dwarf like most of them were. The beard, she could do nothing about. And forget braiding her curls. Braids ruined curly hair until its next wash.
She pulled open the door to the shop. The dwarrow-dam called out a greeting to her. Erdene bobbed her head in greeting, smiled as the male dwarf the dwarrow-dam had been speaking to left.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, "I'm not-"
"Ah," gorgeous acorn-colored eyes assessed her, "you're a half, yes?"
Probably best not to outright lie. "Or as close as I'll ever be."
The dwarrow-dam stroked her own beard, a deep burnt umber to compliment the olive undertones of her skin. Neat, tiny braids with olive green stones. "It's your skin, no beard 'll ever grow there."
At least until she hits menopause and her hormones get out of whack.
Erdene touched her own chin. Her ancestors would have her head if she grew a beard and didn't wax it, pluck it or have it lasered off immediately. No Thoroughfare woman would ever allow a man to see her with a millimeter of hair on her chin. Great aunt Alma, even at nearly eighty-four, would wax everything but her eyebrows until the day she died. Her reasoning was if she was to meet the right man, she'd marry again, but this time for money. Then she'd hoot like she told a hilarious joke.
"Probably best knowing my family."
The dwarrow-dam nodded at her. "What can I do for you lass? Can't imagine why you'd be in this part of the city."
Stepping back, Erdene motioned to her clothing. "I've been wearing other people's-"
"Ah, you need things in your size." The dwarrow-dam reached under her counter, bringing out a tape measure. "No harm, you're about as tall as the tallest of us. It'll all be custom, you understand, and it'll take time. It is my shop, I've no help, you see." She motioned to the looking glasses and the wooden pedestal. "I'll require a deposit and payment on delivery. Better quality cloth will cost more, you understand?"
The coin purse tucked inside the belt and pocket of her dress felt a little too light. "How much?"
Arms crossing before her, the dwarrow-dam walked around Ery once. "What do you need?"
"A heavier dress for cold weather, one set of leggings with a long tunic also for winter and at least two sets of small clothes?"
"One gold twenty today, unless you want them made in velvet, silk, chiffon or silver and gold embroidery." She motioned for Ery to climb up on the small stand. Lifting her much too long skirt, Erdene stepped up. The seamstress clucked her tongue. "You'll trip and fall if those aren't hemmed properly." Her eyes narrowed, "those shoes are much too big for you." She said something in what Erdene assumed was dwarvish. It sounded a lot like cursing. "I will give you the name of a cobbler. Tell them I sent you."
"I'm Erdene Thoroughfare," Ery offered her name. "Most people here call me Ery."
"Valis, daughter of Valdis." The dwarrow-dam returned, "lass, what kind of name would Thoroughfare be?"
The one her ancestors picked after the war. Ery's answering smile was tight. She looked at her own face, spotting signs of different heritages, and said, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Growing up in the deep south, ghost stories, haunted places, ghosts themselves were common enough. Extra soldiers on the battlefield during the reenactments her grandfather took her to. A list of gravestones no one was brave enough to sit on let alone visit. Dozens of urban legends were part of every day life. Gothic seance parties Saturday night only for everyone present to be in church Sunday morning.
Even if she hadn't grown up where she did, Erdene wouldn't have missed the German ghost begging desperately for someone to speak to him. He was mostly wavering sunlight, using the energy of the people around him to manifest. Light brown hair curled at the sides, 18th century garb with cravat and knee breeches, stockings and raised heels on his embroidered shoes. He kept touching an old battered violin on display in a shop window. Desperately begging anyone to hear him. Understand him.
No one did. No one saw him.
Except her.
Which was odd considering she hadn't actively seen a spirit since she was eight.
The poor man probably fell through like she did. Except. The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, they were written in a later century. Which meant Arda and Middle Earth existed before Tolkien wrote down any ideas about this world entered his brilliant brain.
A shudder ran through her.
It begged the question how many other worlds were there that crossed with Earth? How many other people like her ended up stuck in another world? How many other worlds were there? Missing persons reports were an enormous statistic on earth. If even a quarter of those were like her, the numbers of people dropped into other worlds would be astronomical.
"Bitte," he called to a tall man who walked past without ever seeing the ghost. "Bitte," he cried at a woman walking with a toddler. The infant giggled at the ghost as they passed. It made the poor ghost wail like a damn banshee.
Which did, of course it did, stop a handful of people who looked around. Two of them pulled their collars up against the wind, others simply moved on. Oh for fucks sake.
Gathering her much too long skirt so she wouldn't trip and fall on it, Erdene dodged through the steady stream of people to stop in front of the shop. She put her hood up to partially cover her face, and whispered, "Sprechen Deutsche?"
His entire form solidified for half a heartbeat before he broke into rapid fire German at her. Old German. Very old, almost archaic German.
"Bitte," she said softly, "ich komme aus dem Jahr 2023. Dein Deutsche ist mir alt. Langsame, einfache wörter."
He cursed, "verdammt."
Well that word hadn't changed.
"Ja, sag mir, was du brauchst?"
In the simplest of terms he explained his instrument, the violin on display, was made for him by his lover. She was also from Earth, though French. They came through to Arda at the same time, though he thought her a man at the time. A performance where they had been rivals. In this new world they clung together and eventually fell in love. They were married, had children and they ran this shop together for nearly fifty years. He died in his sleep and his wife passed not long after. But his idiot great grandson had not cared for the heirloom and sold it a year ago for almost nothing along with the storefront. Now it sat inside the window of this shop baking in the sunlight and drying out the strings.
She fingered her light coin purse. "Ich weiɓ nicht, ob ich genug geld habe."
He waved at her, shaking his head and sighing, "Bitte, es ist alles was ich von ihr übrig habe." It was all he had left of his wife.
Her mama always did say she had a soft heart. Resigned, Erdene pushed open the door to the shop, the older gray-haired man behind the counter didn't smile at her, instead scowling as she came to stand before him.
They were just outside the dwarven district, and he didn't take kindly to dwarves in the first place. Dark eyes met his.
"Excuse me," Erdene added with a smile of white teeth, "how much is the violin?"
Had she been a little more familiar with the area she would have known this vendor was notoriously fickle. Penny pinching and judgemental. He looked right at her, silently.
"Bless your heart darlin'," her words held the razor thin edge of anger, "you must be hard of hearing. I said, how much for the violin?"
The man scowled at her, his face pinched and red. "I'm not hard of hearing you daft dwarf."
There was a harsh rattling of the store's front windows followed by an enraged wail.
Erdene winced as the ghost, named Villhelm, vented his anger and frustration. She turned her head to see the faintest of bright sparkles as the ghost dissolved with the loss of will and energy.
She'd done all that she could, but, this obnoxious man just rubbed her the wrong way. Erdene patted the wooden counter with a sickly sweet smile and said in her most genteel accent, "Your biscuits aren't quite done in the middle, are they darlin'? That's okay, I'm sure the good lord gave you a personality instead."
She turned on one heel, exiting the shop with a glower that made a woman coming in think twice about it.
The man, of course, having never heard something like that from anyone called toward his wife who was boxing new inventory in another room, "Oi, Frannie, what's it mean when your biscuits aren't done in the middle?"
Thorin did not see her again for another two weeks. He knew the count between the days by the work he completed. The blacksmith had gone, leaving him to close up. He caught the sight of an old, worn dark blue cloak, nearly midnight in color with the growing darkness. Hood up, she walked past the poorly warbling minstrel.
The minstrel took a step down, as he sometimes did, to mix with the few bodies walking quickly through the small plaza. The man took steps toward her moving form. And then the minstrel had loosed a hard, shocked screech of pain.
Her hood was back now as the man grabbed his hand, two of his fingers twisted at an unnatural angle. He hissed the word, "whore," viciously at her.
Thorin straightened, he was taking a step to intercede when:
Her laugh in response was not expected. She paused, her hands on her hips, hood falling back a bit, glaring at the minstrel from a few feet away in the low torchlight. "Darlin," in an accent Thorin still could not quite place, "even if I was a lady of the evening, I have too much self respect to ever touch you. Maybe that might teach you to keep them to your damn self." Her gaze strayed around the plaza, and, for the very first time Thorin got a good look at her.
Dark curls framing a round face, and dark eyes, skin a warm shade, small and buxom. Half dwarrow? Quarter? She resembled someone with dwarrow ancestry though he could not recall ever hearing of such a union.
Her eyes widened when they fell on him. Her lips parting as if to say something. For the space of a heartbeat their gazes met. Instead she said nothing, pressing her lips together and turning about going in the direction she had been heading.
Odd.
The moment Ery went around a corner, she flattened herself against a wall. Oh my god. That was Thorin. That was Thorin, son of Thrain. Thorin Oakenshield. Her heartbeat pounded out a samba in her chest. Ery closed both eyes for a moment, reminding herself that this was in fact a different world. One she knew a lot about. And she would no doubt at least once or twice run into a character or two.
Knowing she was in the Blue Mountains, of course it would have been Thorin or Fíli or Kíli. Possibly Balin, Ori, Dori or someone else. They were all Blue mountain dwarves.
But her first was the one she had (privately) entertained an attraction to his powerful arms and shoulders, ending up being Thorin flipping Oakenshield. Of all the gin joints in all the world - she just had to walk into his.
What was he, a future king, doing working in the shop of a human blacksmith? Wasn't he supposed to be rich? Maybe not? After being forced out of Erebor no, she supposed not. Maybe this was side money? Or…this is none of her damn business.
Shaking her head she finished her evening walk, mentally adjusting the map of the city in her head, and went back to Warren's. She walked in while Catherine was sniffling, red eyed at the table while Alisa hugged her.
"What's happened?" Erdene asked immediately, closing the door behind her.
Catherine's tears doubled, blotchy face and blew her nose in a handkerchief.
"Father received an offer for Cat's hand."
Fifteen year old Catherine. "Your father declined, didn't he?" Every single girl wouldn't meet her gaze. "You cannot be serious. She's a child."
"The wedding has been put off until she comes of age," Alysa told her, rising from a chair. "Come, sit, have a drink with us."
Ery waved her off. "How much?"
Gwen's head canted to the side, "what?"
"How much did your father sell her for?"
The girls looked at one another. Only Alysa was brave enough, "one hundred seventy five gold and a contractual agreement between the craftsman, and our father's shop until either her husband or herself dies."
A hundred and seventy five gold. Fuck that was a lot of money. If she only earned about four gold every six months it would be near impossible to save that much before Cat's hand was forced.
The next morning Ery rose from her borrowed bed with a determination she hadn't felt in quite a long time. She went about dressing in her borrowed clothes. She slid on her borrowed shoes, too big for her feet, stuffed with cloth at the front to make them sit properly. Then she went deep into the town, just outside the streets where the dwarven craftsmen sold their wares.
To the shop with the man who wouldn't sell her a violin the first time she asked. To a ghost who lit up like a flashlight the second he saw her.
The human man running the store stood, hands on hips, glaring at her. "I'll not be sellin-"
She slapped one gold coin before him on the counter. "Yes you will."
Scowling, one gold was much more than the eighty silver he had been asking, "have a case, twenty-." He pulled a wooden box his wife had been using to store their granddaughter's baby things before the girl took them for her own child and moved south.
She slid twenty silver to him without a word.
"Needs tuning. Your lad knows how to do that?"
"I know how to do that." She snatched it from his hand and the case. "It's been a pleasure." She saluted him with a mocking flourish.
The second she stepped out the door once more, Villhelm bowed to her, both hands over his heart before disappearing. Probably forever. Hopefully in his next life his wife was going to be there to welcome him home.
Erdene set off back to the house.
The violin did need to be tuned, badly. Gut core. Of course. It wasn't like anyone but the dwarves would have the material to make metal core strings. She'd have to practice a few days to get the sound right. To get used to this violin. It wasn't hers yet, but she'd make it hers. Lower lip pinched between her teeth, Ery set to work.
Someone finally told me I was spelling dwarrow wrong so I went back and fixed it. If someone had told me earlier, I could have fixed it earlier. Oh well.