Eric Carmen - Hungry Eyes
Bill Medley - The Time of My Life
Wreckless Eric - Whole Wide World
Ed Sheeran - Shivers
Seal - Kiss From A Rose
Billy Idol - Dancing With Myself
OneRepublic - Counting Stars
Taylor Swift - Style
Panic! At The Disco - Death of a Bachelor
Ed Sheeran - Shape of You
Tegan and Sarah - Closer
Chapter 22
"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." - Dr. Seuss
Monday came.
Final-fucking-ly.
The snow turned to torrential rain Friday night and though, yes, it was amazing to not just see her mom but get answers from her mom about a few things, Erdene was happy Durin's Day was almost here.
Her mother saying: baby, I don't know and, baby, I never asked. Was so incredibly unhelpful.
The ghostly figure her mother cut looked exactly like her mother had when Erdene was much younger. Tall, blonde and statuesque. People used to assume Erdene was adopted. They looked nothing alike.
Her mother, never one to stay quiet, would reply with:
Hear that baby? I didn't spend six hours in labor, in traffic, during he storm of the goddam century. Wanna call officer Fred and tell him he didn't catch you when I pushed you out?
Then the (usually) appropriately cowed individuals would scurrying off. Sometimes her mother would actually call Officer Freddie Groves, the first person to ever hold Erdene, who helped her mother give birth on the side of the interstate just past Marietta. The older man would laugh at Evelyn's antics, tell her he'd manage to come by one of these days.
He never did. Though that never stopped him from sending Erdene a birthday and Christmas present every year until she was eighteen. She usually called him these days, just to check in on the holidays. Sooner or later he was going to realize she was missing.
Her mother sat behind her stroking her hair the ways she had when Erdene was a child. Your daddy used to call you bunnel, or bunnanun when I was pregnant with you. And sometimes he would call me zirizkhîê or khîê and yasthûna. I didn't ever ask what they meant. I thought they were terms of endearment in Greek. I'm sorry baby.
It was hard to be angry with her mother. It was. After two decades without her, Erdene took the frustration at her mother's lack of common sense in stride.
Love make you do dumb shit.
Who marries a man they barely know and doesn't ask questions? Besides the basic how old are you (her daddy was apparently twenty when he met Evelyn), where are you from (he was from Edessa in Greece but apparently his family was originally from Calama, that's why he volunteered for the dig in the first place), and are you married or seeing anyone (his answer to her mother had been a definite no).
He gave me this sad little frown and told me his height tended to make women avoid him. Her mother sighed, frowning as well. How is that handsome man you were making eyes at?
"Mama," Erdene chided her quietly, keeping her voice low so Warren wouldn't overhear her talking to herself. Grandmama and granddaddy heard her talking to some of the souls still living on the Augusta house grounds once and threatened to lock her up in psychiatric care if she didn't stop talking to herself.
Erdene had no interest in seeing the inside of a mad house in South Yard.
"His name is Thorin. You would know him as Thorin Oakenshield." Erdene told her mother and the pale, ghostly visage of her mother went almost solid for a moment.
Baby…are we in Middle Earth?
"We are, as far as I can tell. Feels real enough."
Well shit. It's because I was watching Fellowship of the Rings, wasn't it? That I ended up here? Her mother's spirit paced the length of Erdene's bedroom. I know I fell asleep because I was having this vivid dream of seeing your daddy. He was a little older and he had a little bit of a limp. He was working in this big old library with books floor to ceiling. Then this older man walked in and something blew me sideways and I have just been hanging around 'til you showed up.
Well that answered one question. Her mom had been watching one of the movies. And they only just bought that DVD a few days before her mom went catatonic. She remembered walking into Barnes & Noble with her mom after she got home from classes, her mom told her she got a larger than average tip while bartending and they were going to spend it on something fun.
Eventually the storm moved on and so did her mother.
Erdene hadn't seen Thorin at all with the rains flooding the streets - she actually watched a flash flood carry off a vendor's goods Saturday afternoon - so now that the rains were over and she could finally see the blue sky again, she was going to make the most of today and his company.
Her plumping lip color, since it had yet to be used more than once, remained pristine in her bag until this morning. It was a vibrant red that would eventually stain her lips as she went about her day. Or at least that's what the stylist at Ulta said way back when. She felt the familiar tingle that every lip plumper had. Then she used the looking glass she bought to line her eyes with the dark blue DTLA no smudge liner from Colourpop. Mascara followed, simple black, waterproof from E.L.F. With fall, rain also came and her ancestors, every single one, would have her head if she didn't look the lady while trying to catch his eye.
Thorin was a guy. A dwarf guy, but a guy. He probably wouldn't realize she was wearing anything. He'd probably think she looked extra pretty today.
She arranged her hair carefully, pinning her curls on the right side with the hairpins Thorin gave her. Skin flushing Erdene met her own gaze in the mirror seeing that her eyes changed color yet again. They were as steel colored as the pins.
Breathe Ery. Breathe.
Friday morning, she had to remind herself not to bite her lip, Friday morning. The memory of the way Thorin looked at her Friday morning. The warmth in his sky blue eyes as his gaze strayed to her lips. He'd stood so close. She felt the warmth radiating off him like a furnace in the cold. He'd pulled her close, he'd touched her like she was his.
Christ almighty.
She could practically read the want on his face. Then it was gone behind whatever self-imposed self control he had. And he wished her a pleasant day after their date. His voice had taken a deeper register and god help her, his eyes were so beautifully dark in that moment. How close had he been to snapping and kissing her or more?
It was over an hour of tossing and turning around last night until she decided to do something about the frustration between her legs. Sliding two fingers into her wetness only brought up more questions which quickly formed ideas that sent heat spiraling through her core. He had big, broad hands, thick fingers, would one fill her? She had to turn her head into the pillow, to cover the sound of a barely satisfied sigh. She tried another finger, biting her lip hard when her clit throbbed in demand to be touched. Back arching slowly off the bed, the obscene wet noises muffled just barely by the blankets.
It felt so good to be full and yet so unsatisfying not to have him between her legs. He was broad chested, thick shoulders, hips, thighs, those deliciously strong forearms and biceps. And those blue, blue eyes. She bit her lip almost to drawing blood, eyes closed imagination going wild with the desire to have those thick fingers, two of them push into her slick heat and curl upward to her g-spot. The sound of that dark rumble in his voice as he told her how tight she was. How he was going to prepare her to take him.
His cock is probably just like him. Hot, thick, with straining veins, and it would stretch her like she's never had before. He would brace one arm next to them on the bed, the other on her hip as he pushed into- A strangled moan buried in her pillow left her throat as her orgasm stole the rest of her breath.
And, just like after nearly every orgasm, Erdene collapsed into a fit of happy, sated, giggles. She lay there, wet fingers resting on a bare thigh, satiated and still in need. A need that had her putting on makeup this morning. A need that made her wonder.
Except, when she arrived at her corner that morning, there was no Thorin. He wasn't working the forge. He wasn't hammering away at something white hot. A tiny spark of panic smacked her anxiety awake. Don't freak out. Don't. He could be in the back. He could be late.
He has never been late.
With no small amount of uncertainty, Erdene climbed atop her stage and began to play. To let the music distract her from counting the minutes. From looking over to the blacksmith's.
By lunch it was a mix of depression, anxiety, worry and uncertainty forming a tight knot in her stomach.
Where was he?
A horrific idea occurred to her.
Had someone told him about his father having been seen in Dunland? What was today? No. It's not even Yule yet. That is one of the few dates she was certain of. April was when Thorin and the Company went to Bilbo's simal. Which meant he met with Gandalf at least a month or so before that. Thorin wasn't the type to wait months to see if his father was in Dunland. No.
Stop that. He's not yours.
Yet.
She breathed out and set about eating her lunch, allowing herself to be a little annoyed. She took the time to look nice and today was the one day he wouldn't see it. She finished her food quickly.
Erdene played again. Florence and the Machine, Panic! At the Disco. Moana soundtrack, Encanto soundtrack.
The sun was setting, and with the cold, the plaza usually emptied after she finished playing her last song. She was coming to the end of Surface Pressure when a figure with both hands behind his back, dressed nicely in peacock blue velvet and black pants, his dark blue coat with gray, brown and white fur, stopped before her. He'd washed his hair and it fell freely at his back, black and silver and wavy.
He had no right looking good enough to eat after showing up so late. Her makeup probably looked a mess now.
She finished the song, smiling briefly at the handful of people still withstanding the frosty weather to listen to her play. A short bow and they disbursed, hurrying home while she stepped down from her perch to put her fist on her hip, her bow tapping her as she did so.
"Master Oakenshield, it's a bit late in the day to say good morning."
He could almost taste the anger in her. "I've done something."
She snatched her violin case from its resting spot. "Something. Just like a guy, doesn't have a dang clue." She huffed, spinning on him and punched his right arm, which was unsurprisingly like punching a granite block. "I'm angry at you, you big dummy! You didn't show up all day and I wore make up for you and-" Don't pout, he doesn't deserve it. "You made me worry."
Worry. She worried about him. Mahal. "Did you hurt your hand?" He asked, watching her shake her wrist.
"You," she groused, flexing her wrist - of course he's built like a damn brick house - "have no right to be a wall of muscle, gorgeous as hell, with a voice made for sin and then make me worry about whether you are dead or alive."
He took her hand, wrist and arm in both of his, touching much too gently for her not to blush over. He pushed back the sleeve of her coat and the slate colored wool dress below, to see if she'd cracked or damaged herself. "Forgive me, Erdene," he said as his thumb ran gently over her smooth skin.
Fuck. His calloused hands rubbing over her sensitive skin. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of-
His gaze rose, pinning her with those blue eyes of his that melted every ounce of her anger. "I had something that needed to be completed." He searched her face, "I had no idea you would worry about my wellbeing."
He's so warm in the frigid cold she wanted to press against him and not let go. "Something more important than showing up at work?"
His smile. He looked so much younger when he smiled st her like that. He laughed, shaking his head. "I do not need to work. I choose to. If my people work for a living, should I not? I informed the blacksmith I would not require the position any longer last week."
Oh. But, "so…no more walks home?"
"After tonight." He murmured, running his warm thumb once more over her pulse.
The utter disappointment hollowed her out so quickly she felt like she felt like a deflated balloon. She tugged to pull her arm away.
He didn't release her, instead taking a step closer. "After Wednesday, I hope that I will be able to see you daily, Erdene."
Which sent her into a tailspin of confusion. An inelegant, "huh?" left her.
He lifted her wrist to his lips, while meeting her gaze, placed a long, lingering kiss on her pounding pulse. Christ. Almighty. His thumb swept over her palm before closing her fist and letting her go.
"What," she managed to get her misfiring brain to cooperate for a second, "what happens Wednesday?"
His smile and gaze softened. Thorin motioned to the way she normally walked home. "Walk with me?"
Still very confused, Erdene nodded. They walked silently most of the way before the olive tree branch, cold and dead in winter, was lifted like normal from her path.
"What happens Wednesday?" She asked again.
He said something in Khuzdûl before, "I will explain when we reach your home."
"Okay?" She said still very confused. What was so important about tomorrow? The walk back was almost silent, with her brain empty aside from:
He kissed my wrist!
His beard feels so soft.
Oh. My. God.
They were steps from the house when he took her elbow, stilling her walking.
"Mistress Thoroughfare," he said her name with that deeper tone of his. It made her shiver with want. He looked at her with blatant desire sending her heartbeat into a race. "Erdene," he said her name and holy fuck, she felt it everywhere.
"Yes," if he's going to do it, so are you. "Thorin?"
The way she says his name must have an effect on him too. His lips parted and his gaze dropped to her mouth for an instant before his eyes, those beautiful, intense, blue eyes, met her gaze again. "Might I call on you Wednesday morning? I've a question to ask."
A question. A question?
"Yes," she answered, sounding a lot more brave than she felt. What question? What kind of question? "I'll be ready just before the ninth bell?"
His head bobbed, "by the ninth bell." He breathed out, and, after a heartbeat of hesitation, his left hand rose to the curls hanging over her shoulder, taking one and winding it around two of his fingers, stroking his thumb over the strands. The way he smiled at her, "I have always wondered how they would feel."
He wondered how her curls would feel in his hands. Oh my god. Would he begrudge her touching one of his braids? Or his beard?
"Thorin," she whispered his name, eyes searching his face. His mask was cracked, he's showing wonder and hope. Hope. God, hope? For her? For them?
He didn't withdraw his hand at all, instead he was watching her.
Be brave. Erdene turned her head slightly, kissing his hand lightly before pressing her cheek against his palm. The soft sharp gasp he gave when her lips touched him. The way his gaze, intense as it was softened as she pressed her cheek against his warm hand.
The tension in his hand, in his frame, was telling. His gaze darkened, and his fingers dropped the curl to cup the back of her neck, threading his fingers through the soft curls at the base of her skull to gently move her head into a better angle. His other hand sought her waist, moving her with him until she was back to the wall behind her. Her hands clutching at his coat. Their lips a hair's breadth apart.
His thumb stroked over her pulse. "How you test my self control, Erdene Thoroughfare." He murmured in the space where their breath mingled.
His control! "How you make me want you Thorin Oakenshield." She whispered his name, her voice husky and needing.
Want. He groaned, pressing closer, her body yielding to his like she was meant to fit. Made to fit. Maker give him strength. He wanted her to feel his desire for her pressed into her belly. "I have never been so tempted as I am by you."
She whimpered, rubbing herself against his chest and his deliciously hardening cock, straining against her lower stomach."Thorin, kiss me. Please?"
With a groan and no small amount of effort he released her putting space between them, willing his arousal to go down. "Wednesday, by the ninth bell, please be ready, Erdene."
Her hands were braced against the wall, her tongue wetting her lips. "I'll be ready before the ninth bell. I promise." Her breathing remained rough. "Do you have any idea how wet I am right now?" She huffed.
His responding chuckle was dark and deep and spine tingling. "Have you any idea how badly I wish to throw out my traditions? You make me forget myself."
She pouted, and Mahal, that is where their daughters will get it.
The desire to bite her lower lip is maddening. If she does that while he is inside her - Maker help him, he might lose control.
Erdene pushed away from the wall. "I both love and hate your self control."
The way his eyes lit up when she said love.
She smoothed the front of her coat. "I will be ready by the ninth bell on Wednesday morning, Master Thorin Oakenshield."
He opened his mouth to wish her a good evening, at least once more. If she agreed to court, he would help her find a new residence, one within the dwarven district and his protections. Something close to his home until they could move the household back to Thorin's Hall.
Or, as Dís had asked again last evening, why wouldn't the lass live here? His sister had eyed him shrewdly and reminded him, if you think you two will be able to restrain yourselves from consummating, brother, I have to tell you it's not likely. Putting the divider of forcing her to live elsewhere will simply prolong the frustration of not having her where you need her when you want her. And you will want her at the most inconvenient times.
Of that he had no doubt. He wanted her now and he could do nothing about it. He wanted her Friday morning, damn the audience.
Erdene had other plans, taking one step toward him, leaning in and, with a desire roughened voice telling him, "now, my good sir, I need to go fuck myself while thinking about you between my thighs. Good night."
Upon hearing her confession, his throat and voice had equally taken their leave of him. She made it to the door, opened it and was about to close it when both decided to come back to working in time for the message from his mind to make it out of his mouth. "Erdene, use four fingers."
She paused, the blush immediately spreading, biting her lower lip. "Poor substitute for you, but I suppose it will do." Before she closed the door.
Mahal.
The idea of her on her back wet and craving him. Those wonderfully talented fingers of hers in her wetness rather than his. He almost turned back.
Damn tradition.
Damn the law.
It was a long, lonely, frustrating walk home. He took the time to go around, entering at the back of the small estate he, his sister, and her sons called home.
Dís was still awake when he returned, his sister must have been dozing while she sat by the fire trying in vain to knit. His sister despised knitting. The moment the door closed she shot out of the chair.
"Well?" She was holding a very small pair of pale green wool socks, mostly complete, in her lap.
He nodded at her hands. "What is-"
Dís waved him off, "hoping you have a barin sooner rather than later. What did she say?"
He is an older brother whose siblings both found and married their one before he found his. Thorin can't help letting his younger sister stew for a few moments as he removed his coat. Once it's settled on the hook by the door he turned to find his sister almost bouncing in anticipation. "You might write Frerin."
Her mouth dropped open. "Brother!" His sister shouted. "Did she agree to meet you or not!"
His face broke into a grin. "Erdene agreed to meet with me Wednesday morning."
Dís jumped on him, hugging him with a hard squeeze. "I cannot wait to meet her." She pulled back, "Fíli and Kíli will not be enough, Balin, if he arrives, may witness but we will need other witnesses."
"Valis, they are friends."
His sister's mouth opened, "a daughter of men is friends with a dam?"
"Aye, two, Zarin daughter of Zedan is a friend as well."
The smile Dís wore. "Your one is friends with the two most headstrong, obstinate dam I have ever met. You," she poked her brother's chest, "are in for a wild courtship."
He knew.
He was looking forward to it.
This dream is decidedly different from the others. He strokes a comb through a young female dwarf's head of black hair. She sits before a vanity, her blue eyes gaze back at him in the mirror. He is braiding her hair gently.
He knows her eyes. They're the same as the child who stamped her foot because he did not pick her up immediately. Mahal. How she has grown. She is an equal mix of him and Erdene. Freckles, pale as they are on her sun warmed skin, dusted everywhere. Blue eyes, nearly black hair, waves amongst curls.
"Adad," she speaks to him in Khuzdûl, her voice soft, curious with the barest of accents, "did you know immediately when you met amad?"
He places both hands on her shoulders. "Are you worried you will not know, Amalthea?"
She bites her lower lip much like her mother does and nods the barest of nods at him.
"No. I did not know. I knew your mother was attractive for a dam without an ounce of scruff on her face. I knew she had talent with music. I knew she was forthright and stubborn. I knew she was mine when I dreamed of her. When I could not rip my eyes from her willingly." He tied off the elaborate crown braid with a tie and a clip, hiding the end amongst the other looping braids that fell down her back. "Your mother was a flame and I was a moth."
His daughter grinned at him in the mirror, "You're more poetic than amad, adad, but she said much the same."
He smiles back. His beard has grown longer and there are gold and silver clasps in his braids. "Am I? What does your mother say?"
She giggles, covering her smile with the back of one hand. "You know amad, she said you were the sun and she was a cat just basking in your glow."
A cat.
He laughs. One of his wife's many cats is currently sunning itself on the bed. Another is curled atop a bookcase, and yet another (the orange tabby that prefers his lap typically) is sleeping in his daughter's lap. "Of course your mother put it that way."
The bedroom door opens and he knows this room now. This is the queen's quarters, his mother's rooms, in Erebor. A male dwarrow, younger, much younger, perhaps twenty at most was grinning at him. The boy is nearly an exact copy of Erdene right down to the mole next to his mouth, with Thorin's coloring. "Adad! Haren and Mistress Zarin and Master Harjl are here. They wait in amad's parlor. Amad said, 'get a move on.'"
His children. They don't have his wife's accent, but they have her speech patterns. "Mahal's breath, Thrain. When will you learn to knock?"
He feels Amalthea's hand cover his on her right shoulder. She looks up at him as he looks down at her.
"What if I am mistaken?" She whispers to him, to her brother. "What if…" She bites her lower lip again, fearfully looking between him and her brother. "What if he doesn't dream about me the way I dream about him?"
The boy groans impatiently, rolling his eyes and exits with a theatrical, "ugh, Molly."
Thorin squeezes her hand gently and helps her rise. The cat huffs indignantly and saunters across the room to a patch of sunlight on the floor and stretches out once more.
His child wears a pale lilac dress, gauzy and light, with flowing sheer sleeves and a full skirt. She smooths her fingers over the fabric, frowning at him, "do I look pretty?"
He is her father. She is always beautiful to him. He tells her so.
Tears spring to her eyes as she throws her arms around him. She kisses his right cheek and says, "I love you, adad."
He kisses her cheek in return. "Come, or your mother will come looking for us both."
It is not a long walk to the queen's parlor from the queen's quarters.
Haren, the son of Harjl and Zarin, stands pensively pacing between his parents. "What if she doesn't dream about me like-" His voice falters as do his feet - a feat for a dwarf as being surefooted is an inherent trait - when Amalthea appears in the doorway.
Shyly his daughter fidgets and Haren's mind seems to have fled in favor of staring at her open mouth in shock, and awe. Possibly both.
"Amalthea," Erdene motions for their daughter to enter the parlor, "you remember Haren from when you were small, don't you?"
"You're taller." Amalthea says shyly, biting her lower lip. She looks so much like her mother when she does that.
Haren blinks at her, wide eyed and stutters out, "s-so are you."
Thorin removes himself to stand with his wife. Erdene leans into his left side, Thorin wraps an arm around her shoulders.
"She's too young to be married," he tells his wife even as his daughter and the young dwarrow twine fingers and stare at each other with awe and hope and the first buds of love.
Her head touches his shoulder. "I know…they're only thirty-eight." She takes his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. "I was thirty when I met you." He loops his fingers of his free hand through her curls. Her curls which lose more of their brown-red every day to silver. His wife. Part dwarrow, part man. She is aging slower than a true child of man, and yet much faster than any dwarrow, half or not.
He strokes her cheek, "aye, you were." And his daughter is both man and dwarrow. She may be more of one than the other. Their daughter may not have two hundred years to make decisions for her life. "A three year courtship, do you think?"
Erdene nods at him, "three years. We'll be grandparents by the time they're forty-five."
A grandfather. He never thought to see that day.
Durin's Day brought bright sunshine through her window. Despite Erdene's resolve to attempt to sleep in just a bit - the clamor of young female voices throughout the house was enough to wake the dead. She lay there glaring at the ceiling with its roughly textured brick, wondering which god she pissed off in her last life to earn this kind of wakeup call.
The things I would give for a latte and my noise canceling headphones.
Then a hushed, but not that quiet, "do you think she's awake?" Right outside her door.
With a tired grunt, Erdene sat up and called out, "never become burglars, any of you. You'd wake the dead."
It was Alisa followed by Catherine, Alysa and Gwen who all pushed into her room, all in a state of excitement.
"Valis said she sent your dress home with you." Alysa gushed upon entry while Gwen darted toward the brown wrapped package still sitting on the rocking chair.
"Oh Ery, please open it." Gwen grabbed it and brought it over the few feet between the bed and the chair. "I saw it the other day while she was working on it and I can't stand the wait anymore." She held it out to Erdene who was still sitting up amongst the quilt and covers. "Please, Ery?"
Oh no. Valis didn't. Did she? It was just supposed to be a nice dress. Erdene pulled the knotted string apart quickly, untying and tugging the string free, then flipped the package over to unfold the paper edges. Oh.
She pushed the sides of the paper out so she could lift the bodice. The blue-green brocade cloth with the black silk now embroidered with silver and black eyelets through the bodice and the sleeves.
Oh. Valis did.
"It's beautiful," Cathrine breathed, leaning over to take in the detailing. "Her stitching is perfect. I wish I was that good."
"Ery, you're going to wear it aren't you? When you see him today?" Alysa asked.
Him. She meant Thorin. That pang of jealousy reminded her, no, she would not see him today. He would have nearly thirty plus dam vying for his time and attention all day.
"You've already been to see Valis this morning?" Erdene ignored their shared glances while shifting herself out of bed and shuffling across to her armoire with the dress. Best hang it up since it spent all that time folded up. She should have hung it up when she got it but then this would be real.
Today. Thorin entertaining so many dam in his home. Every single one of them was as pretty as those she'd helped Valis measure two weeks ago. Damn it.
Were they prettier than her, to him? She didn't have a beard, but both Valis and Zarin had lovely beards. Erdene touched her right cheek absently. He didn't seem to mind last night, or Friday or Wednesday.
Or at all.
He called her his gem.
He called her his one. His one.
She hung the dress and closed the armoire door.
"Yes," Gwen was the one to speak first. "She paid us, thanked us for the hard work and asked that we remind you that you're welcome to come to the," her brow furrowed as she thought, "New year celebration? Today is, um," she looked to her sisters for help.
"Durin's Day." Alisa nodded with a wide grin. "She was surprised we knew what that was. She gave us some paper lanterns to light once the sun goes down."
"And Valis said to write our wishes for the new year on the outside of the lantern so the gods can see it and aid us in making it real." Catherine plopped herself on the edge of the bed. "I wrote mine already. I don't want to get married until I meet the right person. If that takes me until I'm old and gray, well then, it will take me until I'm old and gray!"
Which sent her sisters tittering and teasing.
It made Erdene smile.
"Okay, okay, you four, why aren't you working down stairs for your father, anyway?"
They glanced at each other before Alisa said, "Father's gone out. He said he would return by tomorrow morning. He probably went to see our grandparents, they live in North Yard, it's a quarter day walk there and the same back."
Huh.
"When are you going to see Thorin again?" Alisa asked, also taking a seat on the bed.
"You four are much too invested in how much time I spend with Thorin." Erdene leveled a look at them all. None of them bothered to even look chagrined.
Cathay actually bounced in her spot on the bed. "Valis indicated he was as important to you as you are to him."
Christ. Almighty. Valis. "And how exactly would she know that?"
All four of them, in unison, gave her the most unsettlingly knowing grins.
"Uh huh. I reckon ya'll are fixin' to tell me somethin' and I'm not sure I want to know what that is." Thorin needed to ask his question himself, not have Valis tell her via four busy body girls. "I'm gonna change the subject seein' as your father is out and won't be back for day or so. Let's have a spa day."
The cat with the cream grins slowly faded into confusion.
Alysa was the only one brave enough. "What is a spa day?"
Thorin woke the morning of Durin's Day thinking on the names of his children. Amalthea. Thrain. Erdene must have picked the names of their twin girls. Ariadne and Amalthea. He sat up in bed, wondering at why his one would choose those names. They were not dwarrow names to be sure.
Perhaps family names?
Thrain, however, the lad certainly seemed as if he could live up to the expectations of the name. Thorin's father had a terrible habit of walking into rooms without so much as a knock on the door. Thorin and his siblings had lived through several mortifying moments as children when their father ignored a closed bedroom door.
The seventh bell rang in the distance. And he remained in bed for a moment. It felt odd not to rise and work as he had for many months.
Footsteps carried past his bedroom door a handful of times before Thorin did rise and exchange his night clothes for day attire. He would be changing again before noon and the arrival of their guests.
His guests.
Maker be good. Today may be a trial in keeping his temper in check, avoiding grasping hands and a test of his patience. He had the promise of tomorrow morning to keep his sanity in check.
The bead was complete, the comb which took him all day Sunday and yesterday, was also finished. He carved it with the branches of juniper that grew outside his homeland. One day they would see Erebor together.
That day gave him hope.
Thorin felt the difference in the energy of the household once he opened his bedroom door. The housemaids were making up one of the spare rooms down the hall from him. Bags were being brought in by one of the temporary staff his sister had hired for the days festivities.
Mahal, had one of the visiting dam had the audacity to demand a room for the evening?
Surely not.
He descended the stairs, keeping a wary gaze for an unknown face.
What he found was a familiar face, though a bit harried and tired from traveling.
Balin had received the letter Thorin sent him and all but rushed out of Thorin's Hall toward South Yard on horse back a day and a half ago. He managed to laugh when he saw Thorin, looking much happier (and though he would never say it aloud, carefree and younger) than Balin could remember his cousin looking in quite some time, came down the stairs.
"There are no laws prohibiting such a union," Balin told him once more as the elderly dwarrow went about unpacking on Thorin's desk in Thorin's private study. "There are, however, several requirements and regulations regarding placing an outsider on the throne. Ah, I just have to find," his hands strayed from the wrapped tome he was handling to another already removed from its protective bindings, then another not yet uncovered stacked upon two others. Balin's brow furrowed and for a moment he worried he left the most important book behind in the archives.
Or worse, at the risk of the Har family's wrath, lost it on the road from Thorin's Hall to South Yard. Durin preserve him, if the Har patriarch discovered the loss of a book nearly two ages old-
Balin, while searching, leaned forward only to realize his inner breast pocket (where he tended to keep more precious things like books that have survived through dragons, orcs and worse) felt heavy. He blamed his forgetting on old age later. Glasses desperately wiped and placed on his nose, he held up the leather bound book for Thorin to see.
Dark brown leather with gold printed runes. Ancient dwarves began it in the time of the first dwarrow. The pages had been added to year after year, painstakingly rebound when new pages were added. It smelled of the archives, preservation treatment oils and the vellum the archivists used instead of paper.
"Now then," Balin, for the entire three day trip from Thorin's Hall, had been preparing for this moment. Now that Thorin stood before him, Balin looked at his friend and king over the rim of his glasses. He held the book out for Thorin to take. "These are the records of all unions between a dwarf and a child of man since our records began."
It wasn't a large book. Thin, as long as Thorin's hand. "If she has dwarrow blood?" Erdene all but told him she was dreaming. He had hope.
Ah, that would be, one of Balin's hands snatched up another book, less ancient looking. He flipped to a flagged page. "The proper courtship regulations are to be observed. There are further articles, but you may take the first steps. If she is not dwarrow, her lineage will need to be mapped once courtship begins. At least three generations if not more."
They would have spoken more on it if Dís had not all but thrown open the door, one of the harried, newly hired servants tying up her corset at the back. "You," she pointed at her brother, "get dressed. Balin, good to see you. Get dressed in whatever is best that you've brought."
Balin faltered, glancing at Thorin once before, "ah, lassie, I might not-"
"Oh no. If my brother was fool enough to invite all of these dam here, then you, as his oldest friend and advisor, will be standing right next to him." She shot them both a pointed look, turned on her heel and left the room with the servant calling a desperate 'my lady!' behind her.
Balin waited for a breath before he sighed, setting another book down. "Suppose I should get dressed then."
Thorin shared the sentiment. The ninth bell was ringing when he came down the stairs and stilled at the sight before him.
The dress his sister wore. Mahal's breath.
She grinned at his expression, turning in place and swishing her skirts. "Do you like it? Valis has a whole new collection."
Durin's blue, stitched with the Durin crest in gold thread on the bodice. The skirt shimmered with what looked like-
"Gold flakes sewn in! Can you imagine?" She twirled the other way. If Théli lived to see her like this, Thorin had no doubt there might be another prince under this roof in sixteen months. She looked both happy and beautiful.
He took her hand, kissing her cheek. "You look beautiful sister."
She smoothed his formal shirt with one hand. "You look handsome as well. Valis has outdone herself. Honestly. You should see my sons. The cuts of these new designs are gorgeous. I may request another two dresses." She smoothed her fingers over the front of her skirt. "Are you certain your one will not be here?" Dís asked quietly as the servants began to bring food into the formal sitting room.
He shook his head, replying in an equally low tone, "I will see her tomorrow morning"
His sister nodded once, squeezed his arm, and walked toward the formal sitting room.
That day, Thorin was polite. Charmingly so. The three dwarrow-dam he had never occasion to meet prior to now were starry-eyed and flirtatious. And, as expected, he felt not a thing for any of them. His sister's sons made the rounds as they were expected to do. Dís handled the whole affair with grace. Balin managed to blush no less than four times.
It was well after the fifth evening bell when everyone vacated the estate. Mahal. His head hurt and he needed a drink. How had these dam become more aggressive these past fifty years? His bottom was pinched at least seven times and half a dozen of them had attempted to sit in his lap. His flesh stung along with the pride he had to swallow for today.
Dís pulled the top on a bottle of IronOak Blood Whiskey, pouring him and herself two fingers worth. "Well that's over forever, thank the maker." She swallowed hers in two gulps.
"Aye," he muttered, swallowing his as well. This day would have been better if he had invited Erdene. At least he would have been able to dismiss every one but her earlier.
He took another finger of whiskey while Dís spoke to the five hired servants for the day about payment for the day wages. When she turned back to him, he was leaning against the hearth where he would ask Erdene to court with him tomorrow morning. Her hands on her hips as she looked at him, "None of them looked too happy knowing your one had been found."
Thorin had noticed. Perhaps that is what fueled their aggression.
No, I am not translating that Khuzdûl. Thorin will translate for her later. Feel free to look them up though. Thank you to Islenthatur on wordpress for having translations. Thank you to the Dwarrow Scholar for putting things up so that I can attempt translations on my own.
You just read fourteen pages. How do you feel about that?