A/N: Hello everyone~! I just want to give you a heads up that I'll be taking a break from posting for few weeks. Like I said on the latest chapter of Nightmares, I've pretty much used up my buffers thanks to a bit of writer's block these past few months. I will come back and post as soon as I get around 3 chapters written out which, now that I'm getting to the juicy parts of both Nightmares and Azying, shouldn't take too long, as I've been wanting to write these scenes for quite a while. I might still post a chapter or two of Of Sparrow and Drystan, however, since those chapters are extremely short compared to my hobbit fic chapters.
Also, I want to give a thank you to everyone who's been commenting! I'm sorry I haven't been replying lately, but hasn't been letting me see the comments, let alone reply to them, for like, 5 days after they're written for some reason.
The next morning was, unsurprisingly, very quiet. After the dancing and drinking of the previous night, almost all the guests had decided to sleep in. Most of the staff did, too, it seemed.
Though it was usually around the time when Galiene and Gawen arrived, Baylee found herself still alone in the kitchen. To her great relief, she hadn't had a single nightmare the previous night, leaving her feeling awake and somewhat refreshed that morning—and a good thing, too, considering she had quite a bit of bread to make that morning.
'Once I get these loaves made, I'll need to take them into the laundry so they can cool off and get exposed to more air, making them stale,' she told herself. 'And tomorrow, Galiene will be filling them with stew…but the question is if she'll be making pork stew. I didn't see how much hog was leftover last night, but I don't think it would have been very much…'
"Lady Baylee?" She wasn't terribly surprised when, as she looked up, she found Rán standing in the doorway.
"Morning, Rán," she said with a small smile. "I'm surprised you're up. Everyone else seems t' be sleeping in this morning. The kettle's hot, by the way."
He nodded, stepping into the kitchen to get himself a mug and some tea. "I did not drink very much last night—unlike most of my companions." A small laugh left his mouth. "I am glad everyone was able to have a bit of fun…however, I did notice that you were not present for most of it." Glancing over his shoulder as he pulled down a mug, he wore a bit of concern on his face.
"Aye, I'm afraid I was rather tired yesterday thanks t' a combination of a poor night's sleep an' there being so many guests t' tend to." There was a small, apologetic smile on her lips as she worked some bread dough around on the floured countertop. "As such, I went t' bed fairly early. I did get t' be lulled t' sleep by the music, faint though it was."
"I had been wondering why you were calmer than normal yesterday. But, it would appear that the full night's sleep was worth it, given that you seem to have more energy today. Would you like some tea, by the way?"
"No, thank you; I already have some." She used the back of her wrist to brush a bit of hair from her forehead. "I do admit, I feel like I've a bunch more energy today than yesterday—so far, anyway. With all the bread I'm makin' this morning, all that energy might be gone by noon." She laughed, shaking her head as she added a bit more flour to the counter and onto the lump of dough.
Grabbing himself a tin of tea, Rán turned to watch her for a moment. "Why do you need to make so much?"
"Galiene will be makin' stew tomorrow an' she wants t' serve it in bread bowls." She let out another laugh. "At least I don't need t' make fruit bread for a bit—there's still plenty o' that left, though I'm sure it's not goin' to last much longer with Fili here."
"Would you like some help?" he offered. "I know I have only one good arm, but I can at least help with kneading."
She thought for a moment; her arms were starting to get tired, as this was the sixth batch of dough she had made that morning. "Aye, some help would be greatly appreciated," she replied.
"Let me finish preparing my tea and then I will wash my hands." He made quick work of adding the tealeaves to the strainer before returning the tin to the shelf. With mug in hand, he went over to the hearth to finish preparing his tea.
While he did that, Baylee dusted the counter with even more flour, ensuring that Rán's side would have enough to prevent sticking. Then, plucking up a nearby knife, she cut the wad of dough in half, trying to get the two halves as equal as possible. By the time Rán walked up beside her, she had the dough ready for him to knead.
"Do you know what sort of stew Lady Galiene will be making to go into these?" he questioned. Pressing his uninjured hand into the flour, he began to work the dough.
"I don't, I'm afraid. It all depends on how much o' the hog she's got leftover from last night." She stole a look up at him; due to his injury, he hadn't been able to shave all week. As such, the lower half of his face was now covered by a thick, auburn beard. Though he still looked handsome, she thought he looked better without the beard. "Did you enjoy the meal last night, by the way?"
He nodded, a grin coming to his lips. "I very much did! I must say, that was one of the best meals I have had in my life—I have never tasted pork that was so perfectly seasoned and juicy." Even though he was using only one hand, he was making quick work of kneading the dough. "And the strawberry-rhubarb crisp was utterly delicious. When Lady Adela wakes up, I will have to give her my compliments."
Baylee quietly laughed, her brow rising. "Aye, it's a bit fortuitous that she works for us now—it's generally agreed upon that she's the best dessert-maker in the city. Even the simplest o' desserts turn out downright amazing when she makes them."
"I can certainly see why. While the desserts prior to her arrival were delicious, they have only become even more so of late." He got a bit more flour on his hand before returning it to the dough.
"Her brother, Ned, is just as good with desserts as she is, but he's best known for his pies. He lives down in Laketown an' has himself a bakery called the Pie Hole. It's one o' the most profitable businesses down there."
"Are the pies he makes hand pies or the sort made in bakeware?"
"Both. He also makes savory pies an' meat pies, but his best sellers are his fruit pies." She poked her dough and watched as the divot left by her finger remained unmoving. Knowing this meant the bread wasn't properly kneaded yet, she went back to pushing and turning it.
"It sounds like a bakery I will have to visit should I ever get the chance to go to the city." He glanced over at her in time to see her blow a stray lock of hair from her face. Though he was tempted to reach over and move it for her, he managed to resist the urge, keeping his good hand busy with the dough.
She nodded in agreement. "It really is. If ever you do get the chance t' go there, you have t' be sure t' also try what he calls the handheld-potpie, though. It's just what it sounds like—a potpie, but handheld. The chicken ones are my favorite, but it's a bit hard for me t' finish a whole one on my own."
His head tilted; hand pies were normally a bit on the smaller side. "How big are they?"
She held her hands up, forming somewhat of a circle with her fingers. "About like this," she said, the shape the size of a small dinner plate. "The crust is more like a mix between a trencher an' a pie crust, so it's hearty enough t' hold the filling, but light enough that it doesn't take up all the room in your stomach."
"A trencher?" he repeated, his brow rising. "What is that?"
"Hm?" She looked up at him. "You don't have trenchers in Dorwinion?"
"We have trenchers, but they are the people who dig trenches. Not something you eat, unless you happen to be an orc," he said with a chuckle.
Baylee stuck her tongue out at the thought. "Well, here, trenchers are flat, semi-hard pieces o' bread that are used like plates. We don't use them much here at the inn, since I already have so many other types o' bread to make, but a lot of people use them as their dishes."
"I would imagine that they are quite delicious once they had soaked up all the juices from whatever meal they held." He poked his dough and saw that it sprung back when he pulled his hand away.
"They can be, aye. Most folk, though, simply toss them away! They feed them t' their dogs or their chickens or pigs." She shook her head. "All that flavor, wasted."
His brow rose as he looked down at her. "You…are joking, right? Who would toss away perfectly edible food like that? Also, my dough is ready for rising."
She nodded in understanding and gave her own dough another poke test. Seeing that it passed, she stood on her tip toes and, leaning forward, used a spoon to scoop some butter from the crock. "I wish I was joking," she told him, "but I'm not, sadly. A lot o' people just toss them out without a care."
"I can understand tossing the parts that had not collected any juices from the meal, but even the parts that did?" He shook his head. "That is wasting good food." Leaning against the counter, he watched her while she spread the butter around the inside of a large, wooden bowl. "But, then again, I was also once a baker. The thought of someone tossing out bread is one that infuriates me a bit, especially given how tedious it is to make bread."
"Aye, I agree. I can understand a few bites or some crust, but the entire thing?" She shook her head again, picking up the two dough balls and plopping them into the bowl. Pushing them around and turning them over, she made sure their surfaces were covered by butter before she put a kitchen towel over the top of the bowl. Lifting it up, she carried it to the back counter, where she had four other large bowls sitting, each with a towel atop it. The rightmost bowl, though, she lifted the towel on and peeked under it. 'Hm. Another half hour or so,' she told herself.
"Was that the last of the bread you will be making, my lady? Or will there be more?" Rán questioned, watching as she checked the other bowls.
"Aye—at least, o' this kind of bread. I'll be making some quick bread later, but that takes next t' no kneading." She grabbed the second bowl in the lineup and brought it over to the counter. "But now it's time t' form the loaves." Removing the towel from the top of the bowl, she tipped it over onto the counter.
Rán's eyes widened; though he knew he should have expected to see just how much the bread had risen, he was still shocked to see that it was more than double in size—or, rather, it was double the size of dough he and Baylee had just worked on.
"Could you punch the air out o' this and divide it into eight pieces for me, please?" she asked him. "I need t' pull the last batch out o' the oven."
"Of course," he replied. While Baylee went over to the stove, he started to press down on the mass of dough.
Using the peel to open the oven door while she stood off to the side, Baylee smiled when she saw six, perfectly golden-brown loaves of bread inside. She scooped them out two at a time, letting them slide off the wood and onto the counter. Then, using the handle of the peel, she closed the oven up again.
"You use that just as well as a warrior uses a weapon," Rán joked, his brow raised. He was in the middle of dividing the dough up into eighths just as she had asked. "Perhaps you should use that instead of a spear?"
She snorted at the idea. "Except it would be far too unwieldy, don't you think? Given how there's this big, flat paddle end."
"It would be good for deflecting blows and stopping arrows, you must admit." Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, he glanced towards the doorway only to find that Bofur had just reached the bottom of the stairs and was making his way towards the kitchen. He pretended to not notice, instead turning his head towards Baylee when she returned to stand beside the counter. She had brought with her a deep pan, its bottom and sides already coated in butter.
Setting it down between them, she chuckled. "As true as that is, I don't think I'd want t' use it on the battle—" Her eyes shot open and her cheeks grew hot as, when she turned to look at Rán, he took her by surprise and silenced her with a kiss.
After a few seconds, he pulled back, a small, somewhat apologetic smile on his lips. "I apologize for interrupting you," he murmured, "but I just could not resist." Before standing upright, he stole a second kiss from her, making her cheeks grow even redder. His smile turned less apologetic as he admired her flustered expression. It was endearing to him how she always got so bashful whenever he kissed her.
Baylee fumbled to find any words to say; the kiss came so suddenly, her mind had come to a complete halt and she had forgotten what she had been talking about just a few seconds ago. Before she could remember their conversation topic, however, she looked past Rán only to feel her stomach lurch and begin filling with guilt.
Just feet from the kitchen was Bofur, his eyes wide and his feet rooted to the spot.
Seeing that she was looking beyond him, Rán turned his head. He was just barely able to hold back the victorious grin he wanted to wear and instead offered Bofur a relatively friendly smile. "Good morning, Master Bofur," he said, his tone the usual polite-but-cool one he used whenever speaking with his rival.
Regaining his composure, Bofur continued on his way into the kitchen. "Rán," he said with a stiff nod of acknowledgement and a bit of a cold voice. His tone and posture softened when he looked at Baylee, however. "Mornin', Baylee. What're you making this morning?"
Though the guilt still filled her stomach, she felt a bit of relief when she realized that Bofur wasn't upset with her. "Bread bowls for the stew Galiene will be makin' tomorrow."
"Ooh, stew served in bread bowls is my favorite," he said with a broad grin. "Do you know what sort o' stew it's going t' be or…?"
"No idea. It might be pork stew, but it all depends on how much o' the hog is left."
He nodded in understanding before hopping up onto the counter to grab himself a mug for his tea. "Well, whatever sort o' stew it is, I'm sure it'll be delicious—doubly so if it's served in one o' your bread bowls."
She chuckled, beginning to roll one of the eighths of dough into a ball on the table; she held it loosely, letting her fingers and palm act as more of a cage while rolling the dough around. "How did you enjoy last night, by the way? Was it nice, gettin' t' catch up with Fili?"
"Aye, it was! Seems the lad's been fairly busy with preparing for this visit an' the one down t' Laketown, so it was nice he got t' relax a wee bit. It actually surprises me that he's takin' it so seriously." He slipped off the counter only to climb back up when he went to pick out a tea.
"He is a crown prince. He should be taking affairs such as these seriously," Rán commented, ignoring the small glare Bofur threw his way. Having finished rolling one of the balls of dough, he moved to place it on the pre-buttered pan only to stop halfway. "Would you like these rolls touching or would you prefer to have space between them?"
"A bit o' space between them, please."
He placed the dough about an inch and a half away from the other doughball before moving to form another one. Glancing over at Bofur, he saw the dwarf was off the counter once more and filling his tea strainer.
"Anyway, aye, it was nice. I'm actually a bit surprised that he's not awake yet—Fili's always been an early riser."
Baylee quietly laughed. "It doesn't surprise me that he's sleepin' in. Last night was a busy night for him—an' it doesn't help that he had a belly full o' fruit bread. Somethin' tells me the combination wore him out more than he let on."
"You're more than likely right about that," Bofur grinned. "If you party hard, you've got t' sleep even harder," he added jokingly. Taking his mug over to the stove, he poured some hot water into it. "Is there anything I can do t' help you, lass? Maybe get some breakfast goin'?"
"That would be lovely, actually," she smiled. "It's goin' to be porridge this morning—with your choice o' sides, o' course."
Rán turned his head slightly to look at her. "Porridge is a good choice after a night like last night," he commented. "It should be easy on the stomachs of those who are hungover."
She nodded in agreement. "That's exactly why we picked porridge for this morning," she said with a small chuckle. "We use that big copper pot, by the way," she told Bofur, pointing at a large pot sitting on the counter against the wall. "I'm afraid you might need a stool t' reach into it, though."
"No problem with that, lass. Just tell me where t' find the oats an' the milk."
"The oats are in the pantry, in that big, wooden box right up against the wall. For a full batch o' porridge, we use about ten cups o' oats; the measuring cup's already in there."
"Ten cups. Got it." Grabbing a wooden spoon, he hooked it through the handle of the pot and dragged it towards him. When it was close enough, he put the spoon back before picking up the pot and heading into the pantry.
Baylee glanced over at Rán, checking to see how well his dough balls were coming along only to find that he was already on his last one. She, on the other hand, was only on her third.
"Would you like me to grab the next batch of dough?" he offered, quickly rolling the dough around on the counter. "Or will this be it for a while?"
"Aye, please grab another bowl," she answered. "As well as another tray—I should have one already prepared on the other end o' the counter." She leaned forward, setting the dough onto the tray before grabbing the next wad for rolling.
He nodded and, after setting his own ball onto the pan, turned to fetch the next bowl. "I must admit, I am surprised to see that you have so much dough already rising," he told her. "I know it is your job to make the breads for the inn, but this seems to be a bit much, even for you, my lady."
She dismissively waved her hand. "It's nothin', really. Since I've had the kitchen all t' myself most o' the morning, I could get things done at my pace."
"Which seems to be the pace of a racing rabbit," he gently teased. Flipping the bowl over, he heard the gentle 'plumf' sound of the dough hitting the counter. Setting the bowl aside, he punched down the dough and kneaded it a few times.
"I'm not that fast," she snorted. "I just woke up early while everyone else slept in is all." She glanced over her shoulder when Bofur came out of the pantry.
"What next, lass?" the dwarf asked. While he knew how to make porridge, he also knew there were many different recipes out there for the simple meal. And, as it turns out, the Tankard's recipe was one of those different recipes.
"Half a scoop o' sugar," she instructed, "an' then two tablespoons o' salt."
He nodded, moving across the kitchen to the bag of sugar. "Will I be usin' milk or water in this?"
"Both."
"Both?" the two males questioned.
"I have only ever heard of using one or the other in porridge," Rán said, his brow rising. "Why both?" With the air punched out of the dough, he went to retrieve the second buttered pan.
She used the back of her wrist to push some hair from her face. "To save on milk," she answered. "It can be a wee bit hard t' come by at times, given that it's got t' come all the way from across town an' from the southern parts o' the Lonely Mountain." Glancing over at Bofur, she caught him stealing a look at her while he measured out the half-scoop of sugar. A tender smile came to her lips and she watched his cheek turn the slightest bit pink.
"Where do you keep the milk stored, lass?" he then asked. "Down in the cellar?"
"Aye. I'll show you where in just a tick; the icebox is a wee bit tricky t' open."
He nodded in understanding, sprinkling the sugar atop the oats. Then, replacing the scoop in the bag, he went to add salt to the pot.
While he did that, Baylee plucked up the tray already filled with dough balls and set it on the back counter. She carefully covered it with the dishtowel that had been covering the bowl it came from before pushing it towards the wall. With those now proofing, she turned back around to find Rán already dividing the dough into eighths.
"I'll be right back," she told him, wiping her floury hands on her apron. "Shouldn't take us too long t' get the milk."
Rán nodded, giving her a warm smile. When she turned her back to him and headed for the pantry, he shot Bofur a warning glare.
Bofur narrowed his eyes in return, but said nothing as he walked past him. They both knew better than to start anything in the kitchen, let alone around Baylee. Doing his best to ignore the half-dwarf, Bofur followed Baylee into the pantry only to see her already disappearing down the steep steps.
"It always surprises me how much cooler it is down here," he chuckled when he reached the bottom of the steps. "The kitchen's so warm; comin' down here is like switching over from summer to winter."
She laughed, her brow rising as she plucked up the lantern. It was already lit, telling Bofur she had been down here at least once already. "It's nice though, especially after makin' so much bread. An' I'm not even done—I still have t' bake most o' it!" Waiting for him to catch up, she started to lead him through the cellar.
"I can't imagine how hot that kitchen's goin' t' be come summer," he said with a small frown. "Especially with only the kitchen door t' let in any airflow." He followed after her, glancing around at the various shelves filled with jars of preserved foods, crocks of butter, and other foods that needed to keep cool.
"It makes us really wish we had more windows in there," she laughed. "Instead of taking our breaks outside, we come down here—it gets even cooler once summer comes because papa orders extra ice from the mountain."
"Makes sense. Don't want it t' warm up too much down here, after all." He watched her set the lantern down atop a long, metal box that stood as tall as his waist, about seven feet long, and about four feet wide. The lid, he noticed, was separated into three different sections, making him wonder if it had dividers on the inside. "That's one o' the biggest ice boxes I've ever seen." He set the cooking pot down on the floor.
"Isn't it?" she chuckled. "While it holds a lot o' stuff, sometimes it feels like it doesn't hold enough." Turning towards him, she suddenly leaned over and pressed her lips against his.
His eyes widened in surprise, but he happily kissed her in return and his eyes drifted shut. When he felt her hand come to rest against his cheek, his lips curled into a smile while his arms slipped around her waist. He brought himself closer to her, a sense of calm washing over him.
The kiss ended after a moment and Baylee pressed her forehead against his. "I'm sorry you had t' see Rán kiss me earlier," she mumbled, her tone one of guilt. The feeling of safety and love washed over her as Bofur held her and she found herself wanting nothing more than to stay there in his arms forever.
"Why're you sorry, lass?" he murmured. Reaching up with his free hand, he brushed some hair from her face and behind her ear. "Aye, I wasn't very happy t' see it, but it wasn't like you initiated it or anythin'."
"I know, but…I still feel bad, knowin' that Rán most likely did it because he saw you comin'." Her fingers brushed some wisps of hair up and out of his face for him.
He gave her an understanding smile, enjoying the feel of her fingers against his skin. "Lass, it's one o' the hazards o' having a romantic rival." His voice was teasing, but gentle. "Like I said, I wasn't very happy t' see it, but it wasn't your fault. Anyway, he's probably up there seethin', thinkin' I'm stealing kisses from you while we're down here."
She quietly giggled, "When, in fact, it's me who's stealin' the kisses." To emphasize her words, she kissed him a second time. This one lasted quite a bit longer than the first, with her slipping her arms around his neck.
There was a bit of a dazed look on his face when the kiss finally ended and he let out a dreamy chuckle. "Careful, lass—kiss me like that again an' I might start thinkin' you've made your decision," he jokingly warned. As he looked up at her, he admired how the flickering lantern light looked in the green of her eyes; it made it almost seem like flecks of gold were hidden among emeralds.
Baylee kissed him for the third time. "I have made my decision," she unconsciously whispered against his lips. Upon realizing what she had said, she swallowed a bit hard and leaned back slightly; she felt a bit panicked, but upon seeing his wide-eyed expression, she couldn't help but chuckle and ease up.
"Y-You…you have?" he murmured. She nodded and he swallowed hard. "Wh-who is it, then?"
She blinked, staring at him incredulously for a few seconds before bursting into a fit of giggles. The giggles quickly turned into full-out laughter, which only managed to confuse the poor dwarf.
"Wh-why're you laughin', lass?" he asked, finding himself quite glad that his arms were still around her. She was laughing so hard, he was afraid she was going to topple over. "What's so funny?"
After a few moments, Baylee was able to compose herself enough to speak. "B-Bofur…you just asked who I picked."
"Aye, I did," he replied, still confused. "But you still haven't said who you picked."
It took a great deal of willpower for her to not crack up all over again. "Think about it a wee bit, Bofur," she told him, her hand rising up. She brushed her fingers against his cheek. "Who just said 'kiss me like that again an' I'll think you've made your decision'?"
She watched as his brows furrowed slightly…Only for them to raise up as his eyes widened in realization. He stared up at her in shock, color coming to his cheeks and turning them beet red. "…I…am a bloody great idiot," he mumbled. "Y-you've…you've really picked me, lass?"
Giggling again, she nodded. "Aye, it's you," she told him, moving his hat so she could press a kiss against his forehead. "An' you're not an idiot—you're still just wakin' up." She felt him bring her a bit closer to him.
He continued to stare at her for a moment long before shaking his head slightly. "Why me, though?" he asked. "I'm not…I'm not young or handsome or charmin' like Rán up there…"
"First o' all, don't you dare say you're not handsome again because that's an outright lie," she told him, a small pout on her lips. "Second o' all: the rest o' that stuff doesn't matter t' me. Bein' around you makes me feel safe an' happy an'…well, loved." She then let out a small sigh. "The only thing is…Before I realized that my heart had already chosen you, I promised Rán that he could steal me away for a day, since you got t' keep me in Erebor overnight."
"An' you want him t' think that you made your mind up after spendin' the day with him in order t' be as fair as possible?"
She nodded. "Aye. So…I have t' ask that you keep this between us for a little while. I know it's goin' t' be hard, especially given that Rán's still goin' t' be trying to kiss me an'—" She was silenced as Bofur kissed her.
"I've waited a few months. I can wait a lil' while longer, especially since you're a lass o' your word," he murmured reassuringly. He stole one final kiss from her before reluctantly leaning back. "An' I really hate t' say it, but we should probably get the milk for this porridge an' head back upstairs."
"Aye, we probably should," she agreed. Kissing the end of his nose, she moved over to the left half of the icebox. "This is the one where we keep the milk, cream, softer cheeses, an' sometimes we even keep butter in here if we know we're goin' t' need t' make a pastry crust." Contrary to what she had said upstairs, the latch for the icebox wasn't tricky at all and she was able to lift the lid with ease.
"You keep cheeses in your icebox?"
"Aye, but just the softer ones, since we tend t' bake those." She leaned over, grabbing a large, ceramic pitcher. "Chilling them helps make it easier t' cut them in half when we go t' stuff them with dried fruits or bits o' candied bacon. Can you hold the lantern over the pot, please?"
Grabbing the lantern, Bofur did as asked, holding it in such a way that as much light as possible shone down inside of it. "That makes sense—wait, did you just say candied bacon?"
"Mhm." She carefully started pouring the milk into the pot. "You sprinkle brown sugar over bacon strips an' bake it in the oven instead o' frying in a pan."
"…I have never heard o' such a thing. It sounds delicious, though!"
"It is good," she grinned. "We don't use it much—mostly in the autumn months, when we're makin' a lot o' stuff with sweet potatoes." When the milk reached a line that had been etched inside the pot, she stopped pouring.
A playful pout came to his lips. "You mean I have t' wait four or five more months t' try the candied bacon?" He held the lantern up higher so she could see into the icebox.
"Mmm…I might be able t' convince Galiene t' make some candied bacon one day soon." Replacing the milk, she closed the lid of the box; she hopped, putting her weight on the lid to make sure it was securely closed. "Or maybe even Adela, considerin' that some o' her desserts have savory components to them." She went to go pick up the cooking pot, but Bofur stopped her, handing her the lantern while he grabbed the pot instead.
"Bacon in dessert? That's also something I've not heard of." He followed along behind her as she made her way through the cellar and back towards the stairs. "I can understand puttin' it in the baked cheeses, but desserts…?" He shook his head.
"When you finally get t' taste it, you'll understand," she chuckled. "It can go with anything."
"This is looking nice! And you say it's not even done?"
"Aye. Ori still needs t' paint the main room an' Will's workin' on the shelves. But it shouldn't be too much longer until we're done."
Fili nodded in understanding as he looked around the room before making his way back towards the kitchen. "Are you having Will all of the furniture made or will you be commissioning some other woodworkers, too?"
"We've already commissioned other woodworkers for the personal items like our beds an' bedside tables." Bifur followed after him, his thumbs hooked through his beltloops. "We don't want t' overwhelm the poor lad."
"Especially since he's buildin' all the furniture by his lonesome," Bofur added with a nod. Fili and Bifur couldn't help but notice that he seemed to have an extra spring in his step that day. "But he's a fast worker. He made us some cabinet doors a few weeks ago an' he did it in just a few hours."
Fili's brow rose and he chuckled. "Just cabinet doors? I can't see why those would take very long."
When they walked into the kitchen, Bifur pointed at the doors of the lower cabinets. They were obviously the new ones, being much richer in color than the others. Like the others, they had designs of ivy along the edges, with some of the leaves going entirely through the wood. "You were sayin', lad?"
Leaning over, the prince ran his hand along one of the doors while both his brows rose in surprise. "Huh. This is good craftsmanship," he murmured. "And you said he was able to get this done in a few hours?"
"Mhm. Like I said, he's a fast worker," Bofur chuckled. "Haven't seen him at a lathe yet, though, so I'm wonderin' if it might slow him down."
"Why would it slow him down?" Fili asked. "Is the waterflow too slow for it or something?"
Bifur lightly shook his head, smiling in amusement. "It's not like the lathes we have in the mountain, where water makes it spin. It's set up so the worker has t' keep steppin' on a pedal in order t' make the thing spin."
His brows furrowed. "And they're carving at the same time?" The pair nodded. "I would imagine that makes it quite difficult to concentrate, then, considering you have to keep pumping your foot while handling your chisel…"
"Not too hard after the first five minutes or so." The dwarves looked up as Will came in from the backyard, some wood shavings in his hair. "You get into a bit o' a rhythm an' next thing you know, you've got a finished chair leg or table leg."
"So, not only does it help make square wood round, it also helps t' pass the time?" Bofur's brow rose slightly in amusement. "Sounds like a good machine t' have, even if it requires lots o' manual labor."
Will nodded, running his hand through his hair; he frowned when a shower of wood shavings fell past his face and onto the floor. "I was actually goin' t' ask if it's alright if I go an' fetch my lathe from the Tankard," he then said. Walking over to the wall, he grabbed the broom and went to go sweep up his mess.
"Aye, feel free," Bifur told him. "Will you need any help with it? They can be heavy buggers, after all."
"I've got mine built onto a wheeled platform for that very reason." A small, but cheeky, grin came to his lips. "I got tired o' having t' rebuild it every time I went t' a new job site when we were rebuildin' the city, so I came up with a way t' make it easier t' transport."
"He's not just good for reachin' the top shelf an' buildin' things," Bofur joked. "He's also got some brains all the way up there in that noggin o' his."
Fili snorted as Will blew a raspberry at the dwarf. "He has to have some brains to make up for all the ones you lost while drinking."
It was Bofur's turn to blow a raspberry.
"Now, now, lads," Bifur laughed. "You best be behavin' in front o' the prince. We want t' set a good example for wee lad, after all." He laughed harder as Fili limped over and got him in a headlock before rubbing his knuckles against his scalp.
"It's too late for behavin'," Bofur snorted, watching the two begin to flat-out wrestle. "He's already learned our bad manners!"
Will paused in his sweeping to watch the two wrestle. "Are they going t' hurt each other, wrestlin' that roughly?"
Bofur shook his head and hooked his thumbs through his beltloops. "Nah. This is just some friendly, no-stakes wrestlin'. If they were bein' serious about it, there'd be a lot more swearin' and things would be far more violent."
As if on cue, Fili swore in Khuzdul as his right leg suddenly bent at a painful-looking angle. Will's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the broom in shock; how was Fili not screaming in pain!? Seeing his expression, Bofur chuckled.
"Nothin' t' worry about, Will," he assured him. "Fili's got himself a fake leg."
"Oh. Well, that's good t' know," replied the human, a sigh of relief leaving his mouth.
"Ah, sorry about that, lad," Bifur frowned. "My foot got pinched by your knee joint." He helped Fili stand up, acting as a support while the prince stood on his left leg.
"It's fine. It happens sometimes." He half-laughed, half grunted as he finagled his leg back into place. "The harness for it is getting a bit worn out anyway, so I have to keep tightening it throughout the day."
Bofur shook his head. "You really need t' look into gettin' a new leg, lad."
Fili rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. I've been searching for a craftsman whose work I like enough and who can guarantee that I'll get many years of use out of the thing."
"Pardon me for askin', but do you always wear the fake leg?" Will questioned. "Or do you sometimes go without?"
"I try to wear it as much as possible," Fili answered, wiggling his leg slightly to make sure his stump fit into the holder correctly. "There are some days when I use a crutch, but I hate using it since it takes away one of my hands and it's more uncomfortable."
Will nodded in understanding. "I can believe that. They dig into an' bruise your armpit, no matter how much padding you wrap around them."
Fili's brow rose in amusement. "I see you've got experience with them."
"Not me, actually, but my da'. After the war, he had t' use a pair o' crutches for nearly three months while his leg an' hip healed. An' now, my aunt might have t' be using some while her tendon heals."
The prince's nose scrunched up slightly. "Tendon injuries are the most annoying," he sighed, "especially leg tendons. I would much rather have an injured arm than an injured leg."
"See, I'm the opposite," Bofur stated. "I'm fine with sittin' on my arse while my leg heals up, but if my arm's hurt, that means I can't do any work. An' if I can't do any work, well…" He shrugged.
"He gets like Baylee when she's forced t' sit down and take a break," Bifur joked.
"Oh, blessings, you get that antsy?" Will snorted, looking at Bofur. "If that's the case, I really hope you never hurt either o' your arms."
Bofur grinned cheekily. "So long as there isn't another war comin', I don't think you'll have t' worry about that, lad," he said, "because the only injuries I'll be gettin' on my arms from here on out are cuts and bruises from toymakin'." He then paused a moment, a contemplative look on his face. "An' maybe my tattoos retouched. Some o' them are gettin' a bit faded."
"…You can get tattoos retouched?" Will asked.
A look of confusion came to Fili's face, but before he could say anything, Bifur answered with, "Aye—in fact, it's actually recommended for we dwarves t' get them redone every few decades so the details stay sharp." He then looked at the prince. "Remember, lad, humans don't have the same culture surroundin' tattoos as us."
"That's right—they think they're worn by people of ill-repute, right?" Fili asked.
"For the most part," Will answered. "Though, there are some who rather fancy them." He chuckled, remembering how entranced Baylee had been at the sight of Bofur's tattoos. Then, an apologetic smile came to his lips and he said, "I hate t' cut this short, but I need t' go get my lathe if I want t' get the supports made for the shelf I'm workin' on."
"Aye, go on then," Bofur smiled, making a shooing motion with his hands at him. "We'll see you when you get back."
"He's a nice lad," Fili commented once he heard the front door close. "He doesn't seem like the sort who'd be a carpenter, though. With his size, I'd expect him to be more of a soldier or a mercenary."
Bifur nodded in agreement. "That's what we thought when we first met him. Though, he is apparently a very good warrior—their whole family is. Even wee Baylee."
"While I can believe that of Warren and Will, I'm afraid I really can't see such a small thing as her being a warrior," the prince chuckled. "What would she use for a weapon? A kitchen knife?"
Bofur's lips pursed slightly; Bifur quietly snickered at the expression. "I'll have you know she used a sword an' shield when she fought at the Battle o' Five Armies," he informed the prince. "An' given how she lived with so few scars, I'd say she used them quite well. An' now that she's learnin' how t' use a spear, she's gettin' even better."
Fili held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, though he was laughing a bit. "Sorry, sorry—I didn't mean any offense towards your lass, Bofur." He then paused, his brows furrowing slightly. "Wait…She fought during the Battle?"
"Aye, she did," Bifur nodded.
"That means she was part of the group of women fighting in Dale."
"Aye, it does," Bofur confirmed.
Fili rubbed the back of his head, his eyes wide. "Well then…I guess human women are stronger than we give them credit for. I've always heard that they're weak in terms of battle prowess."
Bifur shook his head. "Aye, we've learned not t' underestimate human lasses in our time here." He started to walk towards the back door, wanting to see how much work Will had gotten done so far that day. "We've actually learned not t' underestimate humans in general while staying here."
"There are those who are bad apples, o' course, but for the most part, they're fairly nice folk," Bofur agreed. "It's interestin' seein' what things they do differently from us dwarves. Like their kitchens. They don't have combination stoves and ovens like we do—they still have an open hearth for spit-roastin' and a smaller, raised hearth that they use as their stove."
Fili cocked a disbelieving brow. "Wait, they still use hearths for cooking? I can understand for spit-roasting, but for everything else…?"
The cousins nodded, amused by his reaction. "That's how all the food at the Tankard is cooked," Bifur said. "Except for the pork last night—that was cooked in the ground."
"An' it was cooked to perfection," Bofur grinned, a bit of a wistful grin on his lips as he remembered how delicious dinner had been the previous night.
"Perhaps I should talk uncle into including ranges as part of the trade treaties…They're so much more efficient than hearths." Shaking his head, Fili let out a sigh only to purse his lips in a bit of a pout when he heard Bofur and Bifur beginning to snicker. "What? What's so funny?"
Bifur's brow rose as he grinned teasingly. "You, lad—talkin' about givin' the people o' Dale ranges as part o' a treaty. What you do is you set one up somewhere where a lot o' the public can see you using it, an' then advertise the advantages o' the things over traditional hearths."
"An' then, bein' so impressed with it, the people will flock t' Erebor an' start commissioning them like crazy," Bofur concluded. "Thereby increasin' the flow o' money between the two realms even more and keeping the people up-t'-date with the latest cooking equipment."
Rolling his eyes, Fili let out a small laugh. "We don't need any more money flowing through our coffers," he countered. "I think it'd be a nice gesture of friendship, gifting the town with ranges. I know we've already helped them rebuild a fair portion of the city, but considering the hell we put them through eight years ago, I think we still owe them reparations."
"Really?" Bifur questioned, his brow cocked. "I wouldn't have expected you t' think such a thing."
Fili rubbed the side of his neck, another small laugh leaving his mouth—this one, however, sounded a bit on the nervous side. "Well, I mean…sure, the gold won't bring back those who died because of our errand, but it will ensure that those who are still living—whether in health or were crippled because of the battle—can live in comfort. Not to mention, you can't tell me that our treasury doesn't have enough gold. The amount we have hidden away in there is enough to rebuild Laketown, Dale, and Erebor thrice over." He blinked when he was suddenly lightly elbowed by Bofur.
"An' that's exactly why, someday, you're goin' t' be a great king, lad," Bofur smiled. "You care about people."
Fili's cheeks turned a bit pink and a bashful smile came to his lips. "Thanks, Bofur…but, there's still quite a few decades left before I'm made king."
"Maybe. Or, maybe, Thorin will step down as king within the next decade or so," Bifur grinned. "With how he's been having you attend so many meetings and sending you off to do royal errands around the mountain, it wouldn't surprise me if he stepped down within the next fifteen years or so."
"Please don't say that," Fili groaned, leaning back against the wall. "I don't think I'll ever be ready to king. There's so much you have to do and so much you have to remember to not do for fear of offending someone." He shook his head. "Did you know that, when greeting someone from the Stiffbeard clan, the customary greeting isn't to clasp hands and hug like we do, but full on headbutt someone? And, unless you've an injury, it's seen as insulting to not participate in the headbutt."
Bifur and Bofur exchanged curious glances. "You mean like how Balin an' Dwalin green one another?" the latter asked.
"Somewhat. You're supposed to clasp hands and then make sure you slam the very front of your forehead against the very front of their forehead. If you tilted your head too far forward, it's seen as a subtle way to insult the other's height. Meanwhile, not tilting the head far enough back could be seen as you calling that person beneath you." He shook his head. "And that's just for the Stiffbeards. The Stonefoots and Blacklocks have their own different ways of greeting one another, too. I'm not sure if the Ironfists have a sp—" He blinked only to end up rolling his eyes as Bifur and Bofur scrunched up their noses and cursed the word 'Ironfist'.
"No need t' worry about their greetings, lad," Bofur assured him. "You'll never have t' deal with them, so it's pointless t' learn how they greet one another."
"An' if you do have the misfortune o' coming across one, then it'll probably be in battle," Bifur agreed with a nod, "in which case, they'll end up pinned between the ground an' one o' your axes."
Fili, however, didn't seem as eager to join in with their insulting of the Ironfists. "Not unless they're attacking me first," he said. "Even then, I wouldn't want to kill them if I didn't have to." He knew all too well how the Ironfists had slighted the Longbeards an age ago, but…it was an age ago. Surely their people had changed over the centuries?
The cousins exchanged glances once more. "Why's that, lad?" Bifur questioned.
He shrugged, rubbing the side of his neck as he glanced away. "I don't know…I think it just might be time to end the feud between our clans. It's been so long, after all—for all we know, they may want peace, but are too scared that we'll kill them on sight to seek it out." He sighed. "I mean, they can't all be bad—Dori's got some Ironfist contacts that he says are quite pleasant."
Bofur scratched his beard, a contemplative expression on his face. "Well, the sorts o' people who Dori finds pleasant an' who the rest o' us find pleasant can be vastly differently at times. We'd have t' meet these contacts for ourselves—which we all know isn't about t' happen anytime soon. Your uncle would never allow an Ironfist within fifty miles o' the Mountain."
"Then it's something that may have to wait until I'm on the throne, I guess," he chuckled. He was a bit relieved that neither of them were scolding him for defending the 'enemy' clan—every time he tried to bring up possible peace negotiations between them with Thorin, Balin, or his mother, he'd get an earful about how the Ironfists were monsters.
'Then again,' he thought, 'they, along with Bombur, aren't Longbeards. They don't exactly hold grudges like Longbeards can…'
"You're right, love—the view from up here is quite nice."
Ori grinned as he glanced up at Dwalin. "Worth the climb, isn't it?"
Dwalin snorted, his brow rising slightly. "I'm not quite so sure about that…" Shaking his head, he looked down at the shorter dwarf, a fond smile on his lips. "How often do you come up here?" With no one else around, the pair spoke in Khuzdul.
"Once or twice a week." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the railing of the tower. "I used to come here more often, but now that I've been helping Bifur and Bofur, I don't get the chance as often." A smile came to his lips as he felt a gentle spring breeze waft past them. "I like how I can see for miles in all directions from up here."
"It'd be a good place to station some lookouts…they might even be able to see some of those raiders from up here." He reached over and set his hand on Ori's back, rubbing it gently. "But, I suppose for those who are more artistically minded, it's better for practicing landscapes."
At that, Ori laughed, his brow rising. "Not just landscapes. It's a good place to come when I want to be alone…which is happening a bit more often, now that I'm around Bifur and Bofur more throughout the day." He shook his head, sighing. "They're good friends, yes, but…they're a bit too chatty at times. That, and I'm a wee bit tired of Bofur always glaring at Rán during the meals."
Dwalin's brows furrowed slightly. "You mean that pretty boy half-dwarf?" he questioned. As Ori nodded, he made a sound of understanding. "I can see why he glares at him though. If that half-dwarf is his rival for the Braddock lass, he's got himself some stiff competition." He then shook his head. "Strange, though. I haven't seen many half-dwarves, but of the ones I have seen, he's the only one who shaves. That isn't right—someone with dwarf blood shaving."
Snickering, Ori rolled his eyes. "He also came from a much warmer climate than what we live in. Not to mention, an entirely different culture. Maybe the men in Dorwinion prefer smooth chins?" Leaning against Dwalin, he closed his eyes and let out a content sigh. "Maybe when winter comes around, he'll stop shaving and let his dwarvishness take over."
"I doubt that, since one of those rangers has a full beard—a short one, but a beard nevertheless."
"Why are you so concerned over Rán's lack of beard?" he laughed, opening an eye to look up at his lover. "He's allowed to shave if he wants."
"It's not right, though."
Opening both eyes now, he looked up at Dwalin with one brow cocked. "Think of it this way, love: He's a fairly handsome lad without a beard, but if he did have a beard, I might be staring at him a bit more often," he joked.
Dwalin gave him a dry look before lightly rubbing his knuckles against his scalp. "I know you're not into pretty boys like him. Otherwise, you would have fallen for Fili or Kili."
His cheeks turned red and, laughing, he tried to fend off Dwalin's hand. "Fili and Kili are like brothers to me—I wouldn't fall for either of them even if they were my type!" He blew a raspberry up at him when he successfully fought off his hand.
"Well, that's a relief to hear." A small grin came to his lips. "Neither of them would make a good match for you, anyway, what with Kili being into elves and Fili…well, he hasn't really shown interest in anyone, really."
"There's been a few lasses he's eyed in the past—not here in Erebor, but back in Ered Luin."
"And how do you know this?"
Shrugging, he leaned against the railing again. "He told me. I'm apparently the only dwarf he trusts enough to confide such information to, as he thinks everyone else would blab to Thorin and Dis."
"…Well, he's not entirely wrong there. Kili, after all, is quite the blabber mouth and Gloin's boy would take it upon himself to try and match Fili up with whoever it was he had his eye one."
Ori couldn't help but laugh at the thought and lightly shook his head. "I don't know why, but imagining Gimli, of all dwarves, playing matchmaker is rather hilarious. And yet, it's so very true. He would try to help Fili connect with a lass he fancied."
Dwalin quietly snorted. "Of course, whether or not he was successful in his endeavors to help Fili's romantic life is up for debate. I know the lad fancies himself quite the romantic, but from what I've heard from Gloin, the lad's so bad at flirting, he makes Bofur's attempts look suave."
Again, Ori laughed, his brow rising. "I guess it all depends on who Bofur's flirting with, then."
"Though…speaking of flirting and relationships and such…" There was hesitation in Dwalin's voice as he rubbed the back of his head. "I've been doing some thinking about our relationship—"
Ori's stomach started to churn in dread, thinking that Dwalin was about to end things with him, as absurd of a thought as that was.
"—And I think it's about time we told your brothers. About 'us', I mean."
A silent sigh of relief left his mouth, though his stomach still churned at the thought of Dori and Nori finding out about them. "You…think it's time to tell them? Really?"
He glanced away. "If you're not ready, then we don't have to," he quickly told him. "I just think it'd be better for them to find out through us rather than through secondary sources, you know?" Rubbing the back of his head again, he looked out towards Erebor once more. "As sneaky as we can be, there's always a chance someone's going to find out."
Nodding in agreement, Ori turned his gaze down towards the city. "That's true," he murmured. "Especially with Nori being Spymaster…" A quiet sigh left his mouth; he watched as people made their way through the streets, hocking their wares or moving at a leisurely pace as they spoke with a friend or lover. "We can tell them," he said after a moment, "but can we do it after I get back from Laketown? I want to have time to prepare myself mentally for Dori's reaction."
Dwalin couldn't help but snort at that. "That'll be for the best, to be honest. I've also got to prepare for his reaction—I'm going to have to either commission some really thick armor or buy myself a really fast pony if I want to avoid his wrath." A cheeky grin came to his lips when Ori, unable to hold back his snickers, smacked his arm.
"He won't be that upset…I hope."