A more superstitious person than I may have thought it a bad omen to wake up on one's own birthday feeling sick, but I was nearly glad for the excuse to keep to my chambers for the morning. I had hoped Méra would heed my wishes and not draw attention to the significance of the day, but I knew well her tenacity for creating excitement where none was warranted and so wished to avoid her, and any public spaces she might be occupying, just in case.
Just after noon, my door burst open with such gusto that it startled the wits out of me and made my already rolling stomach do an uncomfortable flip. Bofur swung inside, laden with a tray bursting with food, and a smile that never failed to tug on my heartstrings.
"What's this then? Not telling me about your birthday?" Bofur questioned as he moved to the table to unload. "And, what's more, hiding away, skipping breakfast, and I'd wager lunch too. 'Tis as if you're trying to avoid the big surprise party that's waiting."
My expression immediately fell and I made a mental note to give Méra a good thrashing when next I saw her. Bofur glanced at me and his smile turned into a grin.
"I'm just teasin' you, lass." he said, stepping towards me and taking my hand. "I was made well aware it wasn't your wishes to celebrate and the like. Still, you can't expect me to ignore it all together; least I can do is bring you a hot meal and lavish my attentions on you for the afternoon."
I smiled gratefully and squeezed his fingers, my panic instantly rolling away.
"We have another celebration to start planning anyway." I commented lightly as I took up a plate and began unwrapping some of the dishes on the tray.
"Aye, and actually I've just been to see Dain this morning." Bofur began, settling himself into a chair. "It took some convincing, but he's agreed to the date."
"Good." I nodded, knowing that if Dain hadn't been cooperative than I would have been hard pressed to not stir up trouble by giving him a piece of my mind.
Bofur let me eat without regaling me with too many specifics regarding the preparation required for our upcoming ceremony, and I found that I was hungrier than I thought. Besides a small, albeit persistent, headache, the food seemed to alleviate whatever had been ailing me upon waking. After lunch, though I was eager to start seriously discussing the wedding, Bofur instead ushered me into the bedroom where he did indeed 'lavish' his attentions on me for the goodly part of an hour.
I stretched and sighed with contentment as Bofur came to lie beside me. I peered at him, grinning slightly.
"Well, now I don't feel like doing anything, I could probably nap away the rest of the afternoon." I remarked, turning to rest on my side in order to face him.
"We'll stay in bed then." he replied. "We can do anything you please; it's your birthday after all."
"Hmm, yes." I frowned slightly. "No wonder I'm tired, I'm getting old - like you." I quipped, nudging him slightly. "When is your birthday anyhow?"
"T'was back in autumn." he shrugged.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked with a scowl. I ignored my own hypocrisy on the matter and allowed myself to feel somewhat annoyed that he had kept it a secret from me.
He chuckled slightly at my irked expression. "If I recall, we were in Laketown, and a dragon was breathing down our backs, quite literally... didn't seem to me like the right time to suddenly declare it was my birthday."
I smiled a little at his misfortune. "Well that seems a bit unlucky."
He grinned. "Ah, well there's always next year. Though, if I'm being honest, I wasn't sure if you'd want me mentioning my birthdays at all, not that I go out of my way to do anything special for them, besides maybe sharing a keg with some lads... but, ah, well my age did seem like a bit of an off-topic."
"Just one keg? Bofur, you and the lads seem to polish of a keg during dinner almost every night." I teased.
"Oh alright, maybe a few kegs then." He replied with a slightly chagrined expression.
I smiled at him and then bit my lip, trying to string together a series of words in my head that would come across as both sincere and eloquent.
"Bofur… the age difference between us did bother me… does bother me, but maybe not as much as you would think. Mostly now I worry that it will bother you - the fact that I will grow old so quickly. What will become of us when I am a grey, frail old woman and you are still.." I trailed off, trying to seek out the right adjectives.
"..so strong and handsome and virile?" Bofur offered, slapping a hand down on my hip and giving me a slight tug toward him.
I almost laughed but held it back and nodded in response.
"Nah, by the time you're and old woman, I'll be an old dwarf." He assured more seriously, running his hand up my side. "We will have many good years before that time."
I smiled at his comforting words and reached up to twirl a strand of his hair about my fingers. "Maybe it would have been harder to accept had you been a very young dwarf when we met, with many human lifespans still ahead of you, and I would have known that most of them would be without me." I pondered this for a moment and then continued, reaching a conclusion I was happy with. "You know, the difference in years between us could be something to find joy in. Imagine, all the stories you can tell me, all the things you can teach me. You have so much you can share with me... and I am excited to spend my life with you."
I noticed Bofur's eyes soften and become almost glossy with emotion, I squirmed, slightly embarrassed by my blatant sentimentality. I decided to try and lighten the mood lest we both end up sobbing into our pillows.
"So, in your hundred and forty three years, I would find it hard to believe that you wouldn't have picked up any good techniques for massages." I smiled, arching an eyebrow at him before flopping onto my stomach. "I'm not used to this bed, and feel a bit sore all over. Can a lad help me out?"
Bofur gladly obliged, and as I suspected, I was not disappointed.
The next morning, I ventured to see Méra to ask her a few things about dwarven bridal traditions. But when she opened her door, she seemed about ready to hit me. Her father had apparently informed her of how soon the ceremony was to be. She proceeded to yell at me for a few solid minutes, asking me how I thought it possible for her to make me an appropriate dress in so short a time since she knew I was not capable of sewing my own (as was usually the duty of the bride). She didn't let me reply but instead yanked me inside, stripped me all but naked, confiscated the dress I had been given in Dale to use for measurements, threw me a old cloak, and before I knew it I was shoved back outside her quarters, the door slamming shut in my wake as she shouted that she was not to be disturbed.
While I was still reeling from my abrupt dismissal, I was in no fit state to brood on it for long. Given what gossip was spreading about my frequent, unsupervised visits with Bofur, I could not afford for my reputation to take a further nose-dive by being caught dressed like a randy harlot. I wrapped the cloak about me as best I could and rushed back to my rooms to don a new dress.
Properly clothed once more, I contemplated the task of finding a new source of information.
Méra was one of the few dwarves I felt comfortable asking about more delicate or embarrassing matters, and a dwarven wedding was as delicate as they came. True, I knew Bofur would coach me, but I also wanted to learn more about the idiosyncrasies of the dwarven ceremony, and what I could try to incorporate on my own. The truth was, I wanted to surprise Bofur in some way, but I knew that as a human it wouldn't be appropriate to fully emulate a dwarrowdam bride - some of their customs would be too sacred for the likes of me.
Human weddings, at least those of more common folk, tended to be simple affairs, and, to my memory, the traditions seemed to vary between regions. I tried to recall all of what my mother had said of her wedding. I knew with certainty that she and my father had participated in the handfasting ceremony that seemed typical of all Laketown weddings; I remember her showing me the length of cord that she had kept as a memento from the day, the knots still holding fast even though the hands had long since slipped free. It was not a complicated practice: at the beginning of the wedding a rope was loosely fastened about a wrist of the pair to be wed, and fastened using fishermans knots - simple, yet so strong that the rope would break before the knot ever came free. They then submerged their hands, and the rope, in a basin of lake water while the ceremony proceeded. At the end of the proceedings, the cord, now flush with water, would not let the wrists slip free until it had dried, and so the newlyweds would be forced to spend the evening bound together, exercising the patience and cooperation that would be essential for guaranteeing a long, happy marriage.
After mulling it over a few times, I decided I liked the idea of trying to include the handfasting. If it was permitted, I thought it would be a fitting addition as an acknowledgment to my own heritage. Plus, I was sure it would be fun to do with Bofur. I was still eager to surprise him with something purely dwarven, however, something he wouldn't quite be expecting, and for that I decided to seek out Balin.
The only difficulty was that with everyone settling into their roles here in the mountain, Balin was becoming increasingly sought after as an advisor close to the king's ear. Rather than impose myself on him directly, I simply wrote a note requesting his company at his earliest convenience. I then made my way to his open sitting rooms - which were still frequently used as a common area for the company and also some of the more dignified dwarves that had taken up residence in nearby rooms, and slipped the parchment under the door leading to his private chambers. I also left a folded note on a silver tray in the main rooms labeled to Dori, granting him an open invitation to join me for tea.
By that afternoon, I was surprised not only to receive a young runner from Balin detailing a time the following morning to meet him, but also to be graced with the presence of Dori, who had taken it upon himself to bring the tea and all the fixings to my chambers.
He quickly got us both settled and comfortable like an efficient mother and, though I almost wanted to laugh, I forced myself to remember that I had seen him in battle, fighting with a strength and skill that few human men could match. What's more, he had volunteered to join the company of Thorin, a veritable suicide mission against a dragon! Needless to say, I found it easier to take him seriously after that, despite his slightly overwhelming nurturing tendencies.
"So, how can I be of service?" Dori asked after he finished steeping his leaves.
I hoped my request would come across as tactful rather than offensive. In truth, after Méra, he was the most effeminate dwarf I knew well enough to freely converse with. I had a feeling he would know more about weddings than many of the others, as detail-orientated as he was, and I hoped to pick his brain.
"Well," I began carefully, playing with a piece of tart crust that had fallen to my plate. "...Dori, I am to be married in less than two weeks now, yet I know nothing of Dwarven marriages."
He shot me a speculative gaze, but I seemed to guess his question before he asked it.
"I thought to turn to you for advice; I suspect you must know a lot about traditions... and also, Méra is busy with my dress." I added with a small smile.
Dori nodded his head sagely. "That's to be expected. A wedding dress is not something to take lightly." He took a sip of tea, and sat savoring it for a moment before continuing. "If it eases your mind, I can have a look in on her and offer my services. I've mended my fair share of clothes so mayhaps I can help, though you should make a point of helping her if you have time - tradition, you know." He set his cup down and folded his hands in his lap. "To the matter at hand, though. Bofur has given you his acquirement sum, I expect?"
I stared at him blankly.
"The official contract, a sum of money, gems, jewels… at one point even just coupling with each other would have been acceptable." He added the last bit with no small degree of condescension and sipped his tea.
To the credit of Bofur and I, apparently we had hid our somewhat frequent sexual encounters well enough that Dori had no prior inklings of it. Some small look on my face, however, must have betrayed my past carnal interactions, which caused the poor dwarf in front of me to choke on his drink. It took a good deal of spluttering, fussing, daubing and drying before Dori regained his composure, at which point he simply concluded "The acquirement sum has been paid then."
He then spent the better part of the afternoon walking me through an example of a marriage procedure from start to finish - only skimming over some details regarding their more private, spiritual rituals. Once finished, he allowed me time to ask questions, and when I was finished, he even went so far as to suggest that Bofur and I allow him to take on some of the details that were less important, but as such, were so often overlooked, to which I agreed wholeheartedly. From what he had told me, I gathered that dwarven weddings, even for common working dwarves, were usually such splendiferous affairs that setting a date months, or even years away was not uncommon, and while I knew ours would not be quite so grand, two weeks was a short amount of time even for a human wedding.
Nevertheless, though my head was still slightly buzzing, I felt much less anxious about things by the time Dori left as he had assured me that we'd get a 'right, proper' plan laid out for the quaint and respectable wedding I was hoping for. No, I wouldn't have time to handcraft bejeweled clasps to adorn my hair, nor would we be spending weeks making visits to each other's families, offering up specific gifts and dowries. What's more, I didn't even have to worry about memorizing the ancient matrimonial verses - they were in Khuzdul after all, and Dori assured me it would be very inappropriate to translate them to my fumbling language.
On the topic of singing, though..." Dori added just as he was about to leave, though seemed to second guess himself and hesitated.
"Am I expected to sing?" I blurted out in horror, placing a hand hastily on the door before he could slip away.
"What?" he exclaimed, shook up at my outburst. "Oh, no, no of course not."
My relief at not being expected to make more of a spectacle of myself overshadowed the small part of me that was offended at his quick response - while I hadn't made a point of singing around the dwarves, it wasn't like he could suspect my voice was all that bad, could he?
"It's just that..." he went on, rambling again and oblivious to my inner turmoil, "...well, there is a song to be sung." He paused for a moment. "But it's typically by a member of the bride's family, so I would understand if you didn't...but you see I was thinking that since you don't...ah...have...well, um..."
"Dori." I broke in, already having guessed what he was getting to. "If it is tradition, then I would be honoured to have you sing."
He breathed a sigh of relief at my reassurance.
"Thank you." I added, and then with that he bowed politely and excused himself.
A song to be sung by a family member - Is that what I had here, amongst these dwarves under the mountain?
Yes, I guess I had.
Despite all the time I had spent with Dori, I still sought out Balin to discuss one extra detail regarding my upcoming marriage. I had hoped to try to learn something in Khuzdul, some small secret phrase I might be able to whisper to Bofur - something significant, but yet not sacred, that I could surprise him with.
Balin studied me over steepled fingers after I had fumbled my way through such a request at our meeting the next morning.
"This is no small thing you ask." he confessed soberly, leaning back in his seat but keeping his expression so neutral that I suspected he must practice it in a mirror. "To give away such secrets lightly would go against everything we dwarves have believed since the early days. Our language is fiercely private, as you well know. To even speak it in the presence of an outsider…"
"But Balin," I interjected, with a small whine to my voice for good measure, "many dwarves speak freely in your tongue around me, in fact during our travels I heard several company members shouting curses in Khuzdul to the elves...and what about Dain hollering war cries at the top of his lungs? Even the orcs heard that." The more I thought about it, the less it seemed they followed their rules. I pleaded my case further. "No one would have to hear except Bofur, and it doesn't have to be anything of true meaning…"
Balin, who had been glowering perturbedly from under his brow since I cut him off, sighed and then seemed to relent somewhat. "My dear, in dwarves' matters of love, nothing is without true meaning… but you are not wrong. Though in law we must keep our words secret, many are guilty of bending these rules." He straightened up and gestured to emphasize his next point. "It is one thing for you or your kin to overhear a phrase on the battlefield. In your case, a very special case, it is even seen by most as acceptable for you to hear it in more civil conversation, and even if you were to mimic what you heard it would be seen as rude, but no more than meaningless babble."
"But…"
He held up his hands defensively to stop me from speaking out of turn this time, and then continued once I closed my mouth.
"It is another matter entirely for a dwarf to willingly teach our language and its meaning, its true meaning, to an outsider." He stated with an air of finality.
I slumped down somewhat and nodded once in dejected understanding. I didn't want to push my objectives further and risk coming across as insulting. I knew full well that marrying Bofur would be taken at face value; I would become Bofur's wife, but nothing more, nothing else would change - I would not suddenly be viewed as an honourary dwarf and granted access to all their secret lore the minute we completed our nuptials.
I thanked Balin for his time, trying to keep the disappointment from lacing my voice with bitterness. As I made my way towards the door, the old dwarf murmured something, almost as if to himself but still loud enough for me to hear.
I turned back to look at him. "What?"
Balin repeated himself, more slowly this time, but kept his eyes cast downward to his desk. He was speaking Khuzdul, sheepishly albeit - which did the language no credit. I stared openly, not quite understanding.
"If... there were a phrase, one that you might… overhear…" he looked up at me pointedly from under his eyebrows and a ghost of a reluctant smile tugged at one corner of his lip, "... that is one that would be appropriate."
I left his office half an hour later, after 'overhearing' the phrase a great deal more.