Dwarrows of Ered Luin
Chapter Four: Dreams
Jóli crossed his arms, examining the path before them, winding into the pine trees once more. He twisted one of the twin-tresses in his still-sparse beard, raising a bead to his lips and tapping his teeth.
They had been walking for hours, first descending the narrow trail leading down from the mining shaft, then on the path weaving itself around the mountains. The sun was high now, but they still had a long way to go, and despite his iron-will and sheer stubbornness, Thorin's strength was clearly fading.
His companion hobbled up to him, both hands wrapped around his wooden stick, hair damp with sweat that had drawn clear rivulets on his forehead and cheeks. Exertion had helped his colour, but now that they were stopping, Jóli clearly saw the pallor in his face, and the pain in his glassy eyes.
"The main road is still far", Jóli voiced. "Let's take a break."
Thorin just nodded, too winded to talk. They found shade under a pine tree, and sat down, Thorin gingerly extending his legs before leaning back against the trunk, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly, arm wrapped around his chest.
"How are you holding up?", Jóli ended up asking, worried by his persistent silence.
"I am all right", Thorin whispered, taking careful, measured breaths.
His hand was slowly uncurling and Jóli could see blisters forming on his fingers where he must have clung to the stick in silent, unvoiced pain. He rose, silently, following the soft sound of trickling water, and when he reached a small brooklet he knelt, took out his crumpled, soiled tissue-cap and rinsed it thoroughly.
He took his time filling Thorin's flask as well, and then he returned to the tree.
His companion had not moved an inch, eyes still closed, and Jóli sat down, gently turning his hand up, placing the cool tissue-cap against his palm. Thorin frowned slightly, blinking and making a move to snatch his hand away, but Jóli shushed him, pulling his sleeve up and bandaging his hand.
He was fastening the end when his eyes fell on Thorin's left forearm. On the criss-crossed tale of war told there, countless scars cutting one into the other, reaching all the way to his elbow and above.
Jóli only realised he was staring when Thorin pulled his arm away, slowly, tugging his sleeve back on. He was not looking at him, but he was not hostile either, cradling his arm, fingers curling around his ribs once more.
"Do they hurt?", Jóli ended up asking, quietly, and Thorin sighed.
"No need to fuss."
Thorin bent his uninjured leg, foot drawing a small line in the pine needles. And, because Jóli stayed silent and maybe because they were both bone-tired and had just clawed their way out of a mine together, his voice finally rose.
"No one ever tells you how utterly stupid it is, to use a branch as a makeshift vambrace."
He had a small, joyless huff, and his foot drew another thin, decided line.
"There is nothing like a true oaken shield. It is not made of metal, and it is full of splinters. And it splits just like bones do. But it is good story material."
Thorin was still looking at the ground, and Jóli could see the stern lines of his profile, the soft shadows of his eyelashes, the sharp features of his nose and cheekbone, the way his lips had closed, now that his tale was told.
"Does it bother you? That name people gave you… Oakenshield, does it upset you?"
Thorin stood silent such a long time that Jóli was sure he had overstepped. He ended up fiddling with the hem of his tunic, twisting it between his fingers. And then Thorin's low, deep voice rose.
"People need good stories", he said quietly. "They need songs. Something epic to remember, instead of loss and horror."
He fell silent, lips twisting slightly as he bit them, in an oddly boyish fashion.
"And you are willing to give it to them.", Jóli ended up voicing. "You are willing to stay Thorin Oakenshield for them, as long as it will make them proud and ease their pain."
Notwithstanding yours.
But Jóli did not say those words aloud – he did not need to. He just stayed seated next to Thorin and allowed them both to rest, for a while.
"When we will be back", Thorin ended up voicing, stretching against the trunk, fingers closing once more against his wooden stick, "Do remember me to burn this accursed, giant toothpick to the ground."
Jóli's laughter rang like a bell, and Thorin seemed pleased, a small smile playing on his lips. He rose, slowly, back still leaning on the tree, shoulder-blades pressing against the bark.
"I think we must go", he said softly. "The sun is high already."
They soon resumed their walk, trudging even deeper under the canopy of trees, entering the forest's shade. It was anything but silent: they could hear a woodpecker hammering, the brooklet bubbling nearby, the rustling of the leaves and the soft chirping of spring-birds – but no Dwarven voice, no clattering of pony-hooves, no shouts of rescue.
"I wish we could send word to the settlement", Jóli murmured, longingly.
A bird cawed a few yards away, and Jóli sighed – he was hungry, his legs hurt, he was bone-tired, but he was sure it was much worse for Thorin, and he did not hear him complain, so he kept his mouth carefully shut.
He did not hear Thorin walk, as a matter of fact, and when he turned towards him, he realised his companion had stopped in the middle of the path, frowning slightly.
Listening.
And seemingly reaching a conclusion, blue eyes narrowed in resolution as he limped towards Jóli.
"I think we can", he said, eventually. "But you must stay silent. Do not move. Do not frighten him – he is not one of Roäc's clan, you see."
Jóli just stared at him, searching for signs of confusion – it had to be the pain, or the strain of everything, but Thorin seemed to move with purpose, treading as gently as he could until he was facing an old beech tree.
A small croak left his lips, and Jóli moved up to him, worried about his ribs.
"Shh…", Thorin whispered, hand closing around Jóli's forearm, and then he cawed again, face raised towards the branches.
And blazes, coals and Mahal's sacred anvil, something between the green, almond-shaped leaves croaked back.
"She is flustered", Thorin explained. "She is not used to anybody but Ravens talking to her. Stay close to me, and do not move. Let her look at us."
Jóli obeyed, somewhat in a daze, because there was indeed a coal-black bird perched on one of the branches, flinging its wings softly, beaded eyes darting between them.
Thorin made another soft, thrilling sound, and the Raven opened its grey beak and cawed back, energetically, causing Thorin to smile.
"She is a bit upset, because I assumed she was a male, and she is absolutely right. She will get on splendidly with Dís, I am sure."
Jóli was watching the exchange with fascination – Thorin was talking back gently, explaining their situation, and the Raven's dark, intelligent eyes were fixed on his face now, assessing him and listening.
"Her name is Hrefna", Thorin announced, eventually. "And she agreed to help us."
"Maikmin, Hrefna", Jóli said, quietly, and Hrefna made a soft, short chirp, spread her dark-feathered wings, and was gone.
"She likes you", Thorin said, a small half-smile twisting his lips. "She says you are willing to change currents, whenever the wind carries unexpected tidings, and that it is a rare quality. That I am lucky to have you, being, of course, entirely full of prejudices and old-fashioned notions of pride and honour."
"You are making this up", Jóli stammered.
"Not one bit", Thorin answered, softly, and there was something in his looks now, despite his shortened beard – something grand, or long-gone, cutting a somewhat striking figure with his long black locks and his dark-blue eyes.
"Dwarves cannot talk to Ravens anymore – can they?", Jóli asked.
And he realized that he did not want Thorin to tell him no – because Jóli was not better than anybody, Jóli loved a good story and already clutched that tale of Hrefna and them close to his heart, because it gave him hope.
"Some could, long ago", Thorin whispered. "Far away, on high Eastern slopes. A few still can."
He did not say more – he looked tired, suddenly, features pinched as he resumed his painful walk, limping close to Jóli, fully Dwarrow once more.
He ended up wrapping Thorin's arm around his shoulders, after the sun had begun its downward curve, because after a few more hours of endless walking, his companion was unable to keep upright on his own anymore.
Thorin was biting his lip stubbornly, but his knee was locked in pain and his eyes shone, bright with exhaustion and what clearly threatened to become a fever. Jóli could feel him tremble, whenever they paused, taking a few seconds to breathe, and he was worried.
"We should remove your boot. Bathe your foot. Look at that injury thoroughly", Jóli told him, leading him away from a small hole in their uneven path.
"If… we do that", Thorin panted. "I… am not… getting up… anymore."
It was his first admission of how much he was hurting, and it silenced Jóli. They walked for a few minutes more, and he could feel Thorin's body become heavier and heavier against him. Until his temple met Jóli's neck, slick with cold sweat – until it was clear Thorin was unable to go on.
"Let's sit you down", Jóli whispered to him, but Thorin just blinked, wrist cold and clammy in Jóli's hand.
Jóli let him slide gently on a huge, fallen trunk that was thankfully just a few steps away, and sat down next to him, keeping his arm around Thorin's waist.
Tremors were running through him, and he was hunched, breathing fast and light against Jóli's arm, slung around him like a belt. Sweat was running from his forehead along his nose, like tears, and Thorin lacked even the strength to wipe it, letting the drops fall on the ground between their feet.
"Take your time", Jóli told him, trying not to panic, not to let despair win, not after that cave-in, not after all that climbing. "Take all the time you need."
"I… think…"
"Shh. Don't speak. Just breathe."
"I think… you should… move on."
Thorin had heaved those words out like pants – he really looked alarming, features bloodless, gaze almost unfocused. And he was still trembling.
"Don't even think about it."
"It is… the only… way."
Jóli drew back from him – just a little, just to take a better look at him, and to put more strength into his words.
"Listen carefully now: I – am – not – leaving you alone in that state."
Thorin shivered once more, and then he drew a clumsy arm up to his brow and wiped it, dragging his sleeve along his face as he recovered, slowly.
"I will be… all right", he said, bright eyes meeting Jóli's, pleading. "I… feel much better sitting down. I am not… in any danger. But I am… slowing you down."
Jóli felt his heart clench – because it was true. And yet, he was not leaving him. There had to be another way. A better way.
"Now, listen. You are going to drink a few hearty sips of water, you hear me? Without talking nonsense. You just drink and breathe. And we'll think of something."
He reached for Thorin's flask and uncorked it, wrapping his fingers around it and helping him raise it towards his lips – and then he ripped the edge of his tunic and wet the rag, placing it on Thorin's neck, trying to revive him.
And after a while, Thorin looked up, looking a bit less broken, a bit more focused, but still thoroughly at the end of his tether.
"I cannot walk anymore", he said, voice hoarse but determined. "But you still have a few hours of sunlight left, and you are light on your feet. You can walk, fast and quick. Join the main road. Find someone. If you… if you help me reach the brooklet, I can wait for more than a day here."
"But…"
"No but, Jóli. Fill the flask to the brim. Take that last bit of cake, for maztân's luck. And go, swift and unburdened. I will wait for you here."
Thorin had placed a hand on his forearm. It was firm, and cold, and his eyes softened when he saw Jóli's burn, unbidden, because it felt awful leaving him there, and yet he could not think of anything better.
"I'll fill the flask alright. But you are keeping it. And we share that last bit. I'm not leaving until you eat it."
He ended up helping Thorin lean against the trunk and stretch his injured leg. He placed the flask on the ground next to his hip, and then, because Thorin was still shivering and despite his protests, he shrugged out of his tunic and covered him with it, tucking it around his chest and shoulders.
"I'll be fast. I'll be back."
And then Jóli was leaving, trying to not think about how young and frail Thorin looked, against that huge, felled tree, one knee drawn against his chest to keep himself warm.
Thorin was right, he was fast, and he was almost running on the path now, determined to join the main road. And all the way, he was wiping fierce tears of anger and anguish, because it should never have come to this, it was not right to leave a Dwarrow utterly alone like that, not after everything.
He did not register the cawing, at first, he was too busy fiercely scrubbing his eyes. But in the end, they circled him, two beautiful, black-feathered Ravens, perching on a small chestnut tree.
"You are upset, Jóli son of Jónar."
It took Jóli a while to realize one of the Ravens had actually talked to him. He stared at them, blinking through his tears, and then he said the first thing that came to his mind:
"I'm no Dwarrow from the East."
"I know", the Raven said – and Jóli saw that it was not Hrefna, for she was preening her feathers next to her companion, her dark, beady eyes never leaving his face. "And I am no common Raven – I can speak your language. My name is Roäc, and I am an old friend of Thorin son of Thráin."
Jóli made a small sound and wiped his eyes once more.
"Hrefna told me he is injured. Help is on the way, not even an hour away from you. Pray, where is Thorin and how does he fare?"
"I…", Jóli croaked. "I left him. I am so sorry."
He was sobbing now. He had not cried down the mine, not even above the ore-pass, but it was too much now, knowing that he was not alone in this anymore – but that Thorin still was, huddled against that trunk that offered no real shelter.
He heard a fluttering of wings, and suddenly the Raven – Roäc – was flying down, perching himself on his shoulder. He was not heavy, but his weight grounded Jóli, as well as the soft feeling of Roäc's feathers against his cheek, because the Raven was nuzzling him, gently.
"You have been a good friend to him, Jóli. Thorin can be stubborn, and it was the right thing to do. Hrefna will fly back and tell them where we are. Take me to him."
And soon, Jóli was running – straight back on the path, Roäc flying above him. He had not walked half an hour from where he had left Thorin – and he could soon hear the brooklet once more.
Even sooner, he could see the hard, horizontal shape of the trunk his friend – yes, his friend, coals and blazes, who was he trying to cheat? – was leaning against, body slumped, head turned against the bark, raven-locks falling like a curtain on his face.
"Thorin… Thorin, I am back."
His eyes were closed, but when Jóli touched his shoulder, Thorin blinked, brow furrowing. His eyes opened, glassy and unfocused, and he let Jóli lean him against him, wrapping one arm carefully around his waist.
"You have been… fast."
Jóli gave a small chuckle, gently tucking his tunic around him, because he was cold.
"I didn't get very far. Your friend found me before I could truly run away from you."
Roäc cawed, perching himself on Thorin's knee, gently pecking him through the fabric of his trousers. And the smile on Thorin's face was something to behold –chasing some of the pain and pallor away, spreading slowly like a ray of sunshine.
"Light upon your day, Roäc son of Carc."
Thorin chuckled softly when Roäc climbed up his shoulder, beak caressing his braids. But Jóli realized that his hand had flung up to his waist where Jóli's lay, palm squeezing his fingers in a mute expression of gratitude.
They did not let go of each other. Not until voices and heavy footsteps broke through the forest's soft sounds – they had both given in to exhaustion, by then, had fallen asleep one against the other, and it took Jóli a good while to make sense of all the agitation going on around them.
"Jóli!"
"Thorin!"
"Bofur - 'Adad… 'Adad, is that really you?"
Jóli was stammering now, pulled into a firm, warm embrace that had always meant home and safety to him, and that he would have recognized anywhere.
"Yes, my boy", his father answered, rocking him gently and kissing his forehead. "We finally found you. My boy. My wonderful boy."
"The Ravens showed us the way! Can you believe it, Jóli? Ravens?!"
Bofur's excited voice was registering through the fog that had invaded Jóli's mind, and he nodded. Of course he could believe it. He was so tired…
"Drink this. You will feel better", a soft voice was telling him.
Jóli turned his face, still tucked safely between his father's arms – and there she was. Eyes as clear and sparkling as the brooklet bubbling beneath them, raven-locks carefully fastened around her temples, features chiselled like her brother's, but softer. Younger. And so beautiful.
"Something's wrong with Thorin's leg", Jóli voiced.
"We figured that much out", Dís told him, handing him a cup. "Dwalin is taking care of it. Drink."
Jóli obeyed. The drink was strong, burning his throat and causing him to cough slightly, but it was also whipping , and he soon felt able to recover, his father freeing him from his embrace, ruffling his hair.
Bofur was there indeed, safe and sound – they all were, no one had been injured in the cave-in save them, his friend told him. But of course, they had lost precious time getting out, fetching help, then realising they could not dig a way through the fallen rocks. By then, night had been falling, and they had been forced to wait for the dawn to head for the other side of the mines – hoping to find a way-in there.
"The Raven-lass met us halfway", Bofur told him, excitedly. "And she told everything to the lady Dís. I know you'll think me crazy, Jóli, but that's what happened, she cawed and croaked and the lady Dís – begging your pardon, uzbadnâtha – the lady Dís croaked something back and told us you were already out of the mine and walking towards us!"
"I don't think you're crazy, Bofur", Jóli said softly, eyes trained on Thorin who was still sitting against the fallen tree.
Thorin's hands were fisted into the ground next to his thighs, and a very tall Dwarf sporting a brown mohawk and huge blue rune-shaped tattoos around the temples was finally removing his boot.
Roäc was still perched on Thorin's shoulder, and Thorin let his brow meet the Raven's head, closing his eyes with a soft sound of pain, once the other Dwarrow – Dwalin – managed to free his foot, removing his sock and pulling up his trousers.
Dwalin swore, Thorin blinked, and Jóli just stared at the black and blue mess that was Thorin's left ankle – so swollen that the skin had cut itself open against his boot, causing him to bleed. It was clearly broken, the bruise stretching all the way down to his foot and up to his shin. The skin around the wound was inflamed, but the break itself seemed clean enough.
How Thorin had managed to walk on it for so long was beneath him – but Jóli let Dwalin do the cleansing, cursing, bandaging and splinting; let his father and Dwalin link their arms in a makeshift carry to help Thorin up the cart they had brought all the way, sitting him down carefully.
He climbed behind him and sat down cross-legged, watching Thorin settle against the cart's railing, still very pale but looking less ragged, his bandaged foot carefully extended, a touch of colour on his cheeks now that there was a proper splint around his ankle and a blanket around his shoulders.
His father climbed on the cart's driving seat, Bofur next to him. Dwalin sat down next to Thorin and Dís opposite her brother.
"Let's go home", his father said, nudging the ponies onward.
And Jóli, wrapped in a woollen blanket, looked at Thorin, met the silent smile in his eyes and closed his, head leaning against the cart's railing, feeling safe at last.
He woke to colours so beautiful he thought he was still dreaming. The setting sun was painting the sky in soft hues of pink, violet and orange, and stretching their shadows against the mountains' slope.
Jóli's head had fallen against something soft, and he recovered, slowly, rubbing his eyes in a childish move. Opposite him, Thorin was stretched on the cart's floor, one knee raised slightly, head resting on Dwalin's thigh. He was fast asleep, lips half-parted, clutching the blanket to his chest in a loosened grip that made Jóli smile.
And then, following Dwalin's sharp gaze, he realized he had fallen asleep against Dís' shoulder, and felt himself blush furiously.
"Oh. I am sorry."
"No harm done", she answered, smiling gently at him.
She was not simpering, was not giving herself airs – she was simply lovely, crowned like a queen by the setting sun's light, framing her face like crystals.
"How do you feel?", Dís asked him, and Jóli smiled back at her.
"Hungry", he confessed. "Even though, I must say, your cake literally saved us down there. It was… just perfect."
Dís laughed at that, and it made her eyes sparkle.
"Well, I am glad you appreciated it. My brother could not care less about eating – sometimes he simply forgets, can you believe it?"
She was handing him bread Jóli recognized as Bombur's, and cheese.
"This is to help you wait. I think we will soon stop for the night. Light a fire, warm some soup, and rest until the sun rises."
It had to be a dream. Sat there, in a sunset so breathtaking they all seemed caught in a gem, with the most beautiful Dwarrowlass next to him, his 'adad and best friend close, and food...
"Please, Mahal, if it is indeed a dream, don't wake me now."
Dís laughed again, shaking her head quietly, and Jóli realised he must have spoken aloud, but somehow, he did not feel bashful at all.
"How is he?", he asked Dwalin, trying not to be too awed by those steely brown eyes, that mohawk, those huge, tattooed hands that still managed, somehow, to cradle Thorin's frame with the utmost care.
"Wiped out", Dwalin answered, voice rough and words clearly coated in inflexions from Zirinhanâd, unlike Thorin's and Dís' more refined speech. "Has slept as soon as you closed your eyes. Has not woken since. If he drools on my knee, though, I'm kicking his shin."
He was not serious, of course, but it amused Jóli a great deal. It didn't make Dwalin anything less than downright scary, yet Jóli could see the careful way he tested Thorin's forehead with the back of his hand.
Thorin did not even stir, and of course, he did not drool. He was still fast asleep when they finally stopped for the night, drawing the cart to a halt and lightening a fire.
"Should we wake him?", Dwalin asked, without moving.
Jóli's father bent over the cart's railing, looked at Thorin's prone form, and tucked the blanket closer around him.
"Seems a shame", his father said. "He's exhausted, and a bit fevered. Best let him sleep it off until your healer will be able to tend to him. We'll be close by if he wakes."
They placed a folded cloth under Thorin's head and covered him with an extra blanket, then the fire was lit – and they had the best dinner Jóli ever remembered, probably because he was starving, and because he had truly thought he would never taste anything like it again.
He gathered that Dwalin was indeed from the Iron Hills, but had followed Thorin and Dís ever since their exile, when he was still nothing more than a lad. Dwalin grunted at this, but Dís placed a soft hand on his forearm.
"He has been Thorin's shield-brother ever since", she said, tenderly, and Jóli tried not to feel jealous, but he still felt better when she finally let her hand fall to stir the soup.
They listened to Jóli's account of the cave-in and what followed, asking many questions, and his father placed a hand on his knee and squeezed, when Jóli reached the part about them climbing the shaft, because he could see how scared he still was.
Jónar told Dís and Dwalin about the old mines, about the mazes leading to the abandoned copper-excavations, about their mining techniques as well, using bolts to secure the rocks around them, listening carefully to the mountains' sounds.
It was dark and the stars had long begun to shine in the skies, and Jóli was starting to feel relaxed and almost sleepy again. His eyes fell on the cart, and he realised there was an upright shape there he had not noticed before, still and silent as it was.
He rose, quietly, and climbed the cart to find Thorin sitting up, hair mussed and eyes bright, looking at him like a Dwarfling just raised from sleep.
"Who is taking care of 'adad ?", Thorin questioned, voice hoarse, raising a hand to rub his eyes, clearly only half-awake.
"What do you mean?", Jóli asked him, smiling slightly at his confusion.
"Someone has to stay close", Thorin mumbled, eyes blinking.
The cart moved softly, and Jóli felt Dís join them, drawing an arm around her brother, gathering him close, stroking his hair gently when it became clear Thorin was falling back asleep against her.
"Balin stayed with him, marlel ", she told him. "Balin is watching over him."
Thorin gave a small sigh, nestling closer to her, and Dís bent and kissed his hair, tenderly running a hand against his back until he was thoroughly asleep once more.
"He is tired", she told Jóli, and there was so much sadness in her words. "He is always striving, always worrying. And he so rarely lets people hold him."
"He loves you more than words can say", Jóli answered, earnestly. "When we were trapped in the mines together, he kept talking about you."
Dís's fingers ran through Thorin's locks, silently, and Jóli gathered his fallen blanket and wrapped it around him, carefully, helping her to stretch him on the cart's floor once more.
"He dragged his stubborn self on a broken ankle through a whole mountain, just to get back to you", Jóli ended up saying, and he was rewarded with a soft chuckle.
And then felt utterly helpless when he saw Dís wipe her eyes with the inner part of her wrist, silently. Delicately.
"Ever since…", she began, and then she faced the stars, looking up to keep her tears carefully locked inside once more. "Ever since Frerin passed…"
She said that name with such love, one arm wrapped around herself just like Thorin.
"He found him, you see. He held him, until the very end. And I think… I think somehow, he is still holding him. Letting no one really close, letting no one truly near, because he feels he does not deserve it…"
She was still gazing at the stars, so beautiful. And so lonely.
"It is a bit better, ever since he came back. Ever since we reached these Mountains. Because… because I think there are no memories here. He is… easier to reach. But… when I saw you – how close you have managed to get to him, I wondered… I wondered if, somehow…"
She was looking at him now, that wonderful Dwarrowlass he wished to draw with his hands, to hold close until she was smiling once more – but there was no need for such things now.
"I do not hold the key to your brother's chains", Jóli told her, softly. "I have no magic words to share. I guess… I guess he just needs to feel… useful. To care for people. To lose himself in efforts for them. He certainly has the brightest plans about those shabby Mountains."
Dís was listening, quietly, attentively. And in the end, she smiled at him, sliding her hand towards him, palm facing the stars.
"Maybe you could tell me about them, Jóli son of Jónar…?"
Jóli looked at her, taking her in, taking them all in.
The miners and the warrior gathered around the fire, sharing stories in mute companionship. The daughter of Kings facing him, full of love and memory. The driven, broken, smart and unpredictable Princeling sleeping between them. And above them all, the Blue Mountains rising around them like the tired, old sentinels they were.
He took them all in, and then, Jóli placed his hand in Dís' palm and told her how, one day, they would all become one tribe in the most beautiful place they could imagine.
With mines proudly bestowing iron once more, and enough trees to light any fire, enough stone to build strong homes and halls, and a River mastered and conquered so that there would be no floodings and no cave-ins anymore.
Because a young, stubborn Dwarven-Prince who could defy rocks, climb chasms and speak to Ravens had sworn to make them all, one day, Dwarrows of Ered Luin.
.
FINIS.
.
Neo-Khuzdûl translations and notes:
- Uzbadnâtha : princess.
- Marlel : love of all loves, Dís' nickname for Thorin.
- I know I did not let Thorin eat much here, poor soul. He's really exhausted and has not much of an appetite, but rest assured, his sister and Dwalin fed him before he finally gave in to slumber, and he's going to be fine. Of course, Óin is going to yell at him for walking on a break, but what was Thorin to do, eh? Anyway, he gained a friend. And he's going to spend a lot of his recovery time perusing maps with Jóli, who is going to help him tremendously in securing the mines.
- Hrefna is the feminine form of Raven in Icelandic. That little Raven-lass is on fire, isn't she? She and Roäc left on tiptoes – probably because our somewhat formal, but truly loyal Raven fell utterly in love with her fiery, independent temper from the very first moment she found him and helped him rescue his friend.
A/N: And so, my dear readers, here we are, at the end of this story where Thorin and Dis slowly begin to settle in Ered Luin. I hope you enjoyed Joli as a character - I certainly enjoyed fleshing him out, as he is, indeed, my headcanon of Fili and Kili's father many years later. I absolutely loved the idea of him meeting Thorin and Dis that way, and I hope it worked for you as well :).
I thoroughly enjoyed researching about the mines and all the wonderful lore the Dwarrow Scholar harbours. I hope you had as much pleasure reading this fic as I had crafting it. Much love, take care, Meysun.
