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SSD: OK, so...I know there's plenty of this genre out there, but I want to try my hand at it. I've had a rather trying time after being promoted and need a place to vent, so...this is my therapy. The OC's personality and struggles will heavily resemble my own, so...it's kind of an SI. I won't be using any real names, obviously, and some points in the character’s backstory will blatantly be fictional-based. Now, the reason I'm writing this instead of adding to Upon a Shooting Star (like I should be) is because I finished a Tolkien marathon and the Hobbit movies still break my heart. This will be a fix-it fic, and, I hope, it will extend to the time of Return of the King. Keep in mind, I've read the books, but it's been a reeeally long time, so this will mostly be based on the movies, but with the book timeline. Also, this prologue is based on an actual day I've experienced. Now, I give you my most recent work.

Danakh Khagal
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Prologue: Spirited Away
My phone jingles the Fire Emblem level up and I bite back a groan, my eye twitching a bit. I check for customers and quickly flip it over.

“I can't make it, I don't have a ride.”

Yep. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. No matter how much I cut their hours, these people still call in for the stupidest of shit. Haven't they heard of Uber? Surely they can afford an Uber once a week, because that's exactly how often they call in, without fail. I normally help my employees in getting to work if they need it, but today was one of Those Days. And Those Days seem to be happening more often.

Let me back up a bit. My name is Gwyn Tabini, and four months ago, I got promoted to run the convenient store I've been working at for the past nine years. I was overjoyed at first, I'd been trying for a couple years now to be a manager. I had so many plans of what needed to be done and cleaned up, how it should be run...

It's all gone down the drain. Even before I took over, we were having problems with staffing and training. It's only gotten worse as this stupid pandemic goes on. No one wants to work. I've had four people out for Covid in the past month, running a 24/7 store on a total of 6 people, including myself. Not to mention the location is fairly busy during peak commuting hours. The only bonus is I’m not getting yelled at for my crazy amount of overtime. I turned in 25 hours of OT last week, just for myself. I'm at my wit's end.

Dingle dingle

I look up at the tall, elderly man that enters and give a genuine smile. No matter how much I may feel like screaming inside, I will never let my customers see that side. Poor service. Even so, this man has been coming in since I took over, always right at the same time. I check the clock and, yep, 2 o'clock on the dot.

“Afternoon, Mr. Deer. Pack of Marlboro southerns, like usual?” I go to get the usual pack of smokes he purchases.

Mr. Deer smiles genially at me, dark eyes glittering. His beard is starting to look scruffy, I notice, but he's still in the same worn gray suit and worn black shoes. His hair is still tied in that loose ponytail behind him. Mr. Deer is also a giant, I'm pretty sure he’s taller than my cousin and he's 6’6”. I'm on the taller side of average, standing at 5’7”, but he's at least a head taller.

“Ms. Gywn, a pleasure to see you this day.” Mr. Deer is also on the more formal side of speaking. It's something I enjoy every now and then since not many appreciate when I start using my “big words" vocabulary. “But not today I think. I'll just help myself to some tea.”

The Fire Emblem jingle goes off again.

My teeth grind behind my smile. “Why don't I ring you up for that right now then? I know you like to take a while steeping the bags.”

Mr. Deer acquises and I quickly close him out. I take a quick check for anyone else in the store, step away from my register and check the phone again. I can feel the vein in my temple pulse angrily.

“Gwyn, I can't make it in. My babysitter canceled on me.”

For the love of all things holy. As if this can't be any worse. It's bad enough I've had to run the kitchen side on top of register, taking care of cleaning stocking and everything else because that one called in too! And now my night shift calls in?

I take a deep breath, hold it, then release.

I can't do anything more than what I'm doing right now. My graveyard person will, hopefully, be able to come in earlier. I walk out from the back, shoulders tense and nearly run into Mr. Deer while going to check on my supplies in the front.

“Jesus!”

“Ho there!” Mr. Deer precariously stops himself from spilling his tea. His wizened face crinkles in concern and I paste a smile on my face. “Is everything alright, Ms. Gwyn?”

I wave him off while I work on stocking up cups and condiment packets. “Just the usual, you know? This and that call in. I got it covered.”

He sips his tea. “Surely not another long day?”

“Story of my life, Mr. Deer.” I turn to the door as the chime goes off again. “Hi, I'll be right with you! You all set here, Mr. Deer? You have a good day, and I'll see you tomorrow.” I smile at him and head back to the register.

As I go back, I swear I hear him mutter something along the lines of, “Yes...tomorrow. On the morrow then, Ms. Gywn. May it dawn brighter than this day.”

My day continues in much this same way. After going in at 4am to do paperwork and closeout, I finally am able to head home at 6pm when my overnight arrives early as requested. I get into my car and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. “What I wouldn't give to be Isekai'd. Not as the heroine or whatever, but to just...escape. i'm about ready to strangle these people!” I sigh wearily and start up my car to make my way home.
I get home, greeting my parents. Shoshanna and Dafydd Tabini have been married over 35 years. My mom, Shoshanna, is on the short side at 5’3”, but my dad is on the tall side at 6'2”. About fifteen years ago, though, my dad had an accident and lost his leg. His health just declined from there. My parents have had their arguments, my dad trying to drive himself into the grave with bad eating habits and my mom, by his side, trying to keep him healthy and alive to the best of her ability. He's now homebound, unable to walk for long periods of time since he was hospitalized for Covid and doesn't have the strength. Despite everything, though, I can tell they do love each other. Mom's getting on in years as it is, so I never found a reason or need to bother moving out.

I fall face-forward into my bed, my foot knocking my sword collection a bit as I go down. I blearily look over, kicking my shoes off and grabbing one by the belt. I pull my leg back, grimacing as the strain starts making my hamstring cramp up. I take the the sword out of the cloth sheath and admire it. By far, this is my favorite of my collection. It's a tactical sword, coming with two throwing knives, which was the initial reason I bought it. But what really stood out was that it reflects all seven colors of the rainbow.

“Gwyn, are you going to eat anything?” Mom pokes her head in my door, mouse-blonde hair hanging loose around her face.

I put the sword back in the sheath and shake my head. “Not really hungry, I picked something up on the way home.”

I can hear the frown in her voice. “You can't keep going on like this, Gwyneth. You'll run yourself into the ground.”

“Good night, mom.” I stress out and close my eyes tiredly, sword loosely in my grasp. I flop back into my pillow. Time to start this all over again tomorrow. Great...

As my consciousness fades, I feel weightless and sag into my bedding as everything falls away.
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Why is it so bright? Did I forget to set my alarm? Shit! I go to move and stifle a groan of pain. Oh, ow! I know I overdid it yesterday, but I didn't think I'd be this sore. Sitting up, I blink my eyes open and stare in confusion around me. Why am I outside in a…park?

“Good morning, Ms. Gwyn. I do apologize for the rough awakening, traveling Between can be quite difficult.” And why does that sound like Mr. Deer?

I set my hand down, meeting soft, vibrant green grass and a familiar scabbard. Behind me, dressed in a ragged gray robe and wizard's hat is my new regular. I stare at him blankly, my mind not really comprehending what I'm seeing. “I've had ideas to join a LARPing event, but I haven't had the time to make the needed costume. I will say this is one of the more lucid dreams I've had. Where are the chimera going to appear, because that's usually what happens next?” Huh, this is definitely my sword. Did I fall asleep on it and that's why it followed me in this weird dream?

Mr. Deer gives me a bemused look. “You are no longer on Earth, dear girl. I had not expected much when turning my eye to the Other Side for aide, but you will do quite well for the Company.”

Pretty sure this is my turn to be confused. “I know I'm having a rough go of it, but I'm sure things will go fine. This is a bit weird for a recruitment offer...how does my brain come up with these things...?” I shake my head. “Where are we, Mr. Deer?”

The old man is amused, I can see that. “Mr. Deer is what I use when in your world. One of many. I am mostly called Gandalf here.”
Isekai fantasy dream it is. Great job brain. I laugh, just a touch brokenly. “Oh! I get it! Mr. Deer. Mithrandir. Makes complete sense! Right, I'll just fast forward to the good parts, not a whole lot of time tonight, you know?” Good parts, right. Normally I end in some sort of steamy situation since it's the only way I'll likely ever see any sort of romance with the way my life is.

And now "Gandalf” is just staring at me. “Ms. Gwyn, this is no dream. Over the past four months since discovering you, I have assessed your character and lain the groundwork for the spell to pull you here. Until your task is done, you will be unable to return to your world.”

“I'm stuck here...?” I look at my hand, standing and pulling my favorite sword out. I place my thumb to the edge and press down, hissing sharply. Fuck! it wasn't this sharp before! I stare at the blood welling up from the cut and stick my thumb in my mouth. Ugh, copper, it's definitely my blood. A terrifying thought crosses my mind. “I live with my parents still, Mr D-Gandalf! They'll find me gone and then what?! My job...! That store is going to collapse on itself if I'm not-"

I swear the old man swells in size, looming over me like a shadow. “It shall not!” The shadow around him fades and I see him looking at me wearily. “I have seen you running yourself ragged for a place of work that does not appreciate you. For all the effort you put in, those that are meant to follow you take you for granted. They spurn the mercy you grant time and again. The Company, I believe, will be a much better fit for your abilities.”

I give him a dry look. “I'm fairly certain there aren't any cash registers around here, or ledgers I'd need to look at.”

“Indeed not, but you do have a gift for words and holding your temper when displeased until you are in a more private area. Much more level than a dwarf's, and they will need a diplomat.”

He gestures away from us and starts walking away. I quickly try to follow the supposed wizard. “Clearly you don't know what my temper is like...” My best friend and I joke that my temper is like a dragon's, slow to ire but burns hot. Oh no...”I have to go back! Adi-"

“Will be fine.” Ugh...more pity.

“But she's like my sister! Leaving-"

“-Is the best you can do for yourself, Ms. Gwyn. Now enough of this. You have, by my estimate, six months to prepare yourself for the journey ahead. Landing in the right moment is a work in progress, as you might say. I suggest you brush up on your swordwork until it is time for the Journey.” Gandalf reaches a tied up horse by this point and swings into the saddle. Seriously? Where did it come from, and how long has it been there?

I shake my head vehemently, choosing to focus on the other, more important, matter. “I've never fought before! You can't just drop someone in a new world and tell them to have at! I mean, I know body mechanics and physics, but actual combat?! And I'm in the middle of no where! One year of Girl Scouts does not an outdoors woman make!”

Dark eyes glitter in amusement and I really, really want to punch him. “I would not be so cruel. If you continue west, you will encounter a small settlement. If you leave now, you should make it before sundown.” He starts galloping away into the distance. “I will see you when the Journey begins!”

“GANDALF, YOU OLD CODGER! I'LL SHOVE THIS SWORD UP YOUR ASS NEXT TIME!” Well. There goes my temper. I glare at the wizard's retreating back and try to get my bearings.

The...meadow?...I woke up in is definitely green, there's a smattering of trees around. I never studied botany, so the exact species is unknown to me. And...aha! There is a road! Should have been obvious now that I see it since it cuts through the meadow, but still, a road is an excellent start. The road looks to be leading towards a mountain range and cliffside. If I follow this, I can hopefully get to civilization. My hand clutches around my canvas covered sword and I take this moment to further assess myself. I'm still in my work uniform from the day before. That's good, at least I didn't get dropped here while in my usual night shirt. That would have been mortifying, and probably extra dangerous in a medieval-like setting. I glance down at my feet and sigh at the “Roll initiative” staring back at me. No shoes. Wonderful. And I like these socks. I regretfully roll off the peds and tuck them into my pocket, wiggling my toes in the blades of grass. Clearly, my initiative roll crit-failed this time.

I laugh at my own joke and wipe a hand down my face. “Okay, Gwyn, you're on your own with a weapon you barely know how use, no shoes, and are several miles from the nearest sign of life. On the brightside, no fucking dipshits to deal with, calls in the middle of the morning, noon or night, or higher bosses reaming me for not doing task x because I was busy with y!” I think that alone gave me the cheerful boost I needed to start walking down the road, opposite from where Gandalf had rode off. I pause, seeing a lump where Gandalf had the horse tied up.
I walk over and lift it. My eye twitches faintly. It's a dress. A nice, medieval, middle-class looking dress, but that horse clearly trampled on it since it’s covered in dirt, grass stains and gods know what else. At least it's green. I glance back down at my work uniform and sigh. Probably for the best. At least I won't have to pay for a replacement shirt, but I like these jeans. Good thing I had emptied my pockets before passing out. Minus my socks. Well, time to do as the Romans do.
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Several hours later

My feet are killing me. Pretty sure I'm leaving bloody footprints behind me, but I can’t bring myself to care. It's, thankfully, not too warm out. Maybe a little on the chilly side for my reptilian nature at 70-ish degrees. But I haven't walked this much since I played golf in high school and they made us walk the course. This dress is also annoying. I swear it snags on every branch and thistle I pass! At least i'm not carrying 20lbs of clubs or supplies on my back, just a light blade.

Thankfully, the throwing knives were still attached to the sheath, so it's one more thing I have to defend myself with. As I've been walking, I've been practicing twirling one in my hand. Occasionally, I'll pause, aim at a tree, and try my hand at throwing them. I can safely say my accuracy is improving. I already had decent throwing skills with pens, pencils, spoiled food, etcetera, but knives was something I didn't get to practice all that often. It distracted me from my phone withdrawal. So many mobile events and I'm in the wilderness. My ranks are going to be dead last if I ever get back.

The sun is starting to set by now though, and I still haven't found the settlement Gandalf told me about. The mountain range I've been walking towards is making the sunset seem a lot darker than it should be and I really don't want to spend a night out in the wild if I could help it. I pick up my pace and, squinting against the glare of the sun I see...smoke? A chimney! Thank the Valar, Maker, God and whoever, a sign of intelligent life! Even better, a little further ahead of me,, I can see two silhouettes jostling each other as they walk.. A pair of friends or siblings, maybe? With any luck, they might be the owners of the dwelling ahead.

I quickly tuck my throwing knife back into the pocket for them on my sheath and start running up to catch them. As I get closer, I can see they both have long hair, the one on the left's is twice the length of the other's shoulder-length hair.The longer haired one is shorter than the other, but just barely, and their hair gleams gold in the dying sunlight. Both of them are carrying...I think those are rabbits? Hunters. Maybe this isn't such a good idea? No, Gwyn, stop thinking like that. Gandalf is an old-as-dirt codger, but he wouldn't send me off straight into danger. Right? Come to think of it...these two look kind of familiar, even from behind.

I shake my head and start calling out. I really hope my accent-mimicry is on point today. Middle Earth doesn't need an American South drawl. I start up a light jog to catch up. I think a bit of Brit, with a tinge of Scot should work. Mama Ancestors, help me now.

“E-Excuse me! Can I trouble you gentlemen for some directions, please?” Can't believe I'm out of breath already, I wasn't built for running like this. What was I thinking?

The pair ahead stops and turns around. Huh, Goldilocks has braids, and a braided mustache. The darker one has a fine bit of stubble growing in. Yet, even with the facial hair on them, they look really...young. Young enough that I'd peg them as barely 20, Stubbles I'd put for being 17. I come to a stop in front of them, bending forward and gasping for breath as I try to recover from my sprint. Glancing up, I can see them eying me in open concern and, confusion? And...they're short. Shorter than me at least. I had pegged the height due to distance, but no. These two...boys...are a head shorter than me, standing barely 5’0”. I also have the feeling I should know exactly who they are, but some things just aren't clicking.

Goldilocks is the one who speaks to me first, handing his catch to Stubbles. “Is everything alright, miss?” Wow, his eyes are really blue.

I manage to finally catch my breath and straighten up. “Yeah, er, yes...Just a tad out of breath. My...guide...ditched me further down the road and took off on the horse. You two are the first signs of intelligence I've seen on this road. Would you terribly mind directing me to the closest settlement?” There, perfectly delivered. Thank you, years of Harry Potter and Dragon Age.

Goldilocks’ baby blues darken, and I can see the corners of his mouth tighten in a grimace. “You were just left abandoned? With nothing?”

Oh, Stubbles is looking upset as well. Sorry, Goldilocks, but he looks just a bit more menacing when angered.

I do feel myself flounder for answer, though. “Well, I was able to grab my sword, but otherwise...yes?” I unconsciously tighten my grip on the canvas wrap.

“Fee, we can't leave her on her own! It’s not right!” Stubbles looks genuinely upset. I feel like scooping him up and telling this smol bean to not worry. He’s too precious.

Goldilocks, or Fee, as it is, pats his, I'm guessing, brother on the shoulder. “I'll handle this, Kee. Go take Amad our catch and I'll follow you in a moment.”

Poor Stubbles looks like he doesn't want to leave. I grin uneasily and he seems to relent to Fee's command, turning and going towards the nearby home. “Again, I'm really sorry for the trouble. If I could just get those directions, you can be back in time for supper."

Fee shakes his head, mane of hair swishing with him. Huh, that's almost hypnotic. Focus, ADD. “Forgive me, I've yet to introduce myself. Fili, at your service.”

Right, that's how greetings go here. “Gwyneth Tabini, at yours, Mi-aster Fili.” Right, forgot that people address one another as Master and Miss here. That was close! “But most just call me Gwyn.”

That's odd. Fili seems to start at my last name before relaxing. He gives me a genial smile. “A pleasure, Miss Tabini. If you don't mind joining us for dinner, we would like to hear more about your journey and the scoundrel that abandoned you.”

“I'd hate to be a bother.” Fili, Fili, Fili...now I know I know that name. I know it's important.

“Nonsense, I insist. Amad would shave me for leaving a dam on her own.” He walks to the side of me and places a hand on my back, near my shoulder.

How can I refuse? I'm a little leery of eating rabbit, but meat will be meat. I hope. “Well, if you insist.” We continue up the road and onto a side path that leads to a small home.

I don't know if I can call it a cabin or a shack. It doesn't have the aesthetics of a cabin, but it's too well-made to be called a shack. My earlier assessment of “dwelling" seems to be more accurate. It's nestled up into the side of the cliff jutting above. There's wooden walls that extend from the cliff face, boxy cut windows in them. No glass, but there are wooden shudders that are currently open and look like they close inward on a pivot system. There's a small garden in the front, I'm guessing it's primarily herbs if these smells are anything to judge by. All-in-all, it looks very cozy.

We get to the door and Fili opens it for me, allowing me in first.

“Amad! We have a guest.” Fili calls out.

The outside was deceptive. The wooden walls were just part of the home, not the entirety. The entryway is a slanted roof, narrowing closer to the door and going up further in where it butts up against rock. The interior itself is carved into the cliffside. It's really quite ingenious. As I'm examining all this, a woman exits from where the kitchen might be. I take a moment to blink and reconfirm what I'm seeing. This woman is shorter even than Fili, barely coming up to my chest. She's also quite...robust. Wide shoulders and hips, a fair-sized bust, all covered in a blue linen dress. What catches my eye is that she has facial hair. It's very well groomed, the smooth and silky looking hairs are parted from the center of her chin and tie up into and down her hair in braids to give the look of mutton chops. It's a rich, black color the same as Stubbles' hair. Her eyes match Fili's blue, though.

I feel somewhat awkward when she looks up at me and gasps, her hands going up to cover her mouth. “I'm terribly sorry to intrude on your home, my lady. My guide left me several miles down the road and-"

Amad, I think that's her name, comes up and waves Fili away. “Kili was just telling me about your encounter. How dreadful! Come and sit, dear, we'll get you sorted. Kili failed to mention your name, but I don't blame him. Abandoning a dam in the middle of the road, how disgraceful!”

The tiny but mighty woman ushers me into what looks like a dining room. I blink, completely bewildered. She's a regular force of nature. She pries my sword out of my hand and passes it off to Fili. We get into the dining room and I'm pushed into a seat, Amad bustling over to get a tea set. Thankfully, I'm already sitting down, because the familiarity finally hits me. My eyes widen and I shoot looks from where Fili left, back to Kili and I'm wondering how the fuck did I miss it? My back thunks against the chair, my mind spinning.

The Company. Gandalf mentioned that before leaving me. He wants me on the journey to Erebor. As a diplomat. A fucking diplomat. Granted, things probably would have gone over smoother with a middleman in certain parts, but me?! What part of “Convenient Store Manager" equates to “Diplomat for Dwarven Affairs"?! I'm going to skin that old Maiar and feed HIM to the trolls when it's time!

I feel a strangled whimper leave my throat. Oh, gods...these boys...the movies put them as being older looking, but still young, but in reality? They're too young. If the journey starts in six months, then these boys only have two more years alive? That...that can't be right. My eyes trail to Amad, Dis, and I can feel my heart shatter worse than when I had first seen Battle of the Five Armies. The woman, dam, loses her brother and sons in the same day...and wouldn't find out for months afterwards.

I can feel my vision blur, my eyes burning, my chest aching. They would show a lost stranger this much kindness, and end up suffering such tragedy? No. No no no no no. Not on my watch. Not again.

I hiccup and can feel tears pour down my cheeks. The woman I now realize is Dis startles, sets down the tea set, and walks over to my chair. She pulls me into a hug and I cry even harder for her.

Dis smooths back my hair, shushing me. “There, there, let it out. I don't know what you've gone through on your journey here, but we'll take care of you. Dwarrow look after our own, after all.”

I sniffle and look at Dis in confusion. “Wha? What do you mean?”

The dam shifts her eyes. “Well, I can't speak for your parents, but it is obvious that at least one of them was a Dwarf.”

Why...do they think I'm half-Dwarf? I know my family has strong ties to our Welsh roots as far as naming, but I don't think that's a sign of being a Dwarf. I don't have facial hair, though there's two stubborn locks of hair I can never put up in my ponytails. I can't braid worth a damn, certainly not my own hair. Although...there is the part that, though I have height, I still have what could be considered a “stocky" build. My shoulders are broad from carrying too many textbooks at once in my youth, and golf. My face is more squared than round, my nose looks a little on the large side. My bust is large, my hips are wide, my thighs are thick from walking. I guess it's an easy mistake to make.

“I'm sorry, and please don't take this the wrong way, but why would you say I'm, uhh, half-Dwarf?”

I hope I didn't say anything wrong, but the two in front of me exchange looks. Fili is still not back?

Dis sighs and pats my hand. “Tabini, in Khuzdul, means to weave.”

That brings me up short. “That's...that's quite the coincidence.” I can use this...oh, I feel horrible for even considering lying to them. But I'm good at world building and the lore aspects of story telling for campaigns. Besides, Gandalf might not want me to advertise I’m from another world. Not if he went through the trouble of getting me period-appropriate clothes. One Half-Dwarf, uhh...damn, I guess Rogue would fit with how this is going, coming right up. “I mean, I get my height from my da, but mum just comes to my chin. If I do have...Dwarrow blood, it isn't something they shared with me.” I try to look suitably confused and shamed. Sadly, it's not that hard for me to dredge up those feelings.

Dis strokes my hair. That feels really nice. “It's understandable. There aren't a lot of mixed pairs. It must have been hard growing up with Menfolk.”

There's a startled shout from the hallway, causing Dis, Kili, and I to look that way and we all go out to see what happened. Well, I hobble, not walk. Fili has my sword out in his hand, staring at the anodized metal in awe. He's holding it to his eye, running his hand over the steel, and then Kili's right next to him after catching the glint. Fili looks up at me. “Where did you get a blade like this? Do you know how the Smith was able to fold the layers for this effect?”

“Uhh...” I may have watched several episodes of Forged in Fire, and I know this was on it once. But I can’t, for the life of me, recall the details. “Sorry. I had watched it, but so much has happened that I can't remember the details.”

Sweet Maker, Fili looks like I killed his puppy and I hate it. Why must these boys be so adorable! it should be illegal! “I understand. It's very beautiful.”

I can see Dis nodding in agreement. “Quite. Was it from a suitor? The craftsmanship and skill to bring out such vibrant colors in steel would need to be Masterwork quality.”

It takes all I can to not burst out laughing from such a...ludicrous thought. An awkward smile stretches across my lips. Before I can answer, the front door opens and-

Sweet cheese and crackers.

I've seen my fair share of attractive people, had a decent number of crushes. But I never did anything about them because, being me, I knew nothing would come of it. This moment feels like those, only ten times worse.

Framed by the twilight behind him, stands The Thorin Oakenshield (TM). There's not as much gray in his hair as what the movies had portrayed, but there is one dignified streak from his temple and bleeding down his long locks. What takes me more by surprise is that he isn't in armor at all, or in heavy furs. Instead, he wears a casual tunic (admittedly, it looks a bit fancier than “casual") and leather...breeches? trousers? I’ll worry about terminology later. Either way, the leather is streaked with black smears and practically clings to those muscular legs. He also has a black leather apron on over his clothes, but he's already divesting that as he calls out to Dis and the boys.

“Dis, I'm back.”

Kill me, please. His voice is richer than what I recall from the movie and I swear I'm going to melt into a puddle of goo.

Dis leaves my side to go embrace her brother. “Welcome home, nadad. Hope you don't mind, but we have some company.”

Darks brows furrow over blue, blue eyes and he seems to finally acknowledge me. I can see the scowl starting to creep into his expression, probably when he realizes that my height makes it so I have to look down at him slightly. “And who might our guest be?”

Is it wrong that even having The Thorin Oakenshield (totally TM'd) scowling at me isn't enough to rattle this strange euphoria I'm feeling? I mean, he's talking to me. I've always laughed at women and men that swoon, but I feel like that right now. It takes me a moment to snap out of my trance and I can feel my cheeks burning. I clear my throat. “G-Gwyneth Tabini, daughter of Shoshanna, at your service.” Do I sound too breathy? Fuck! Bad Gwyn, stop trying to turn to jelly! I make a shaky little bow.

Oh, we made eye contact. The Majestic One meets my eyes and I see his jaw clench, his own eyes widening slightly. His mouth moves faintly, “Erebor danakh...” That's Khuzel? No, Khuzdul. Right, I recognize the word Erebor, and that's it. I see his jaw moving (oh, those neck muscles...) and he speaks again. “Daughter of Shoshanna of the Tabini, you say? Can't say I've heard of them.”

Right, time to play up my acting skills. Slytherin mode is go! “Well, as I told Dis earlier, if I have Dwarrow blood, it's news to me. My da is of Men, but mum does have a few hallmarks of being a...dam after seeing Dis. She has a similar stature.”

Thorin hums thoughtfully, and I swear I just melted into slag. Bad Gwyn, settle into the Rogue character! Make the Wisdom Save! “What's your purpose for coming to Ered Luin?”

Tragic backstory or tragic backstory, gee what should I go with? Nothing like lying with some truth, though. Remembering my cues from psychology, I let my lip tremble faintly before glancing down and to my left. “My da passed. There was a skirmish and he lost his leg. He passed from the trauma.. Mum...” I swallow thickly, tears hazing my eyes. Crap, I think i'm making myself believe this. “Mum didn't last much longer after da... Somethin’ broke inside her after he passed. i was wandering with a friend of my da's, trying to find my own way...” And here's my temper rising up again. “That codgering, senile coot went and left me on the side of the road! Didn't leave me supplies or anything! I was lucky to even have a blade on hand!” Is my eye twitching? Pretty sure it is.

I do try to watch Thorin as I craft my story. Not too obviously, but there's no mistaking the thunderous expression on his face. He spits out a slur in Khuzdul, something I'm sure I'd feel vindicated for being directed at the wizard responsible for this. He eyes the blade that Fili is still holding. “Is that it?”

I nod and he extends his hand out to Fili. The blond boy obediently puts it in his uncle’s hand. Thorin does the same as Fili previously, eyeing it up, running a hand over the blade, testing the weight. “Too heavy on the handle, these holes in the fuller weaken the overall blade. It's a pretty piece, but not very good for combat. At least your knives there are salvageable.” Ouch. I mean...he's supposed to be a master blacksmith, so he would be the expert. “Hope the lad that made it is a better match.”

Wait, what? “What?”

Dis chimes in now. “The lad who gifted you the blade. That is why you're in Ered Luin, right? You have a suitor here?”

Yeah, no. Not going for that kind of backstory here. Not when short, dark, and deliciously broody is here. “No, no! No suitor. None. I saw it on display in a smithy and it caught my fancy, is all.” Which is true. It was on display at a convention, it called to me, into my collection it went. “I have a habit of collecting blades, but this is the one that I prefer most. The rest of my collection was taken.” I look at my sword fondly. “it was the last one I bought before...” I shake my head.

Is it just me, or do the Durin family suddenly look a bit shifty? Probably just me, because, these are Durins.

Dis clears her throat. “Well, would you like to come help me with supper? All this excitement has set it back some.”

A little relieved that the tension has passed, I nod. “I don't mind helping out when it was my fault to begin with. I'm a fair hand in the kitchen, just tell me what you need.” I follow Dis into the kitchen.

I can hear a dull thrum of conversation between Thorin and the boys, but can't understand it. Must in Khuzdul or they're talking to low.

“He's available, you know.” Dis' comment startles me from where I'm washing up my hands. I can feel the heat in my cheeks as I glance at her. The dam has this crafty look in those blue eyes, lips tilting up in a smirk. “At first, when you came in, I thought you were eyeing my boys, or at least Fili.” Her voice is low as she preps the rabbit.

I shake my head. “No offense, Dis, but they're too young.” I give her a sharp look. “Are you trying to set up a stranger you just met with your brother? That I still haven't been introduced to?”

That crafty look is back. “You know Khuzdul?”

I shake my head. “A word or two, here and there. Nothing in depth.” Which is true. What Tolkein fan doesn't know how to at least say "shut up" in Dwarven?

“I see…his name is Thorin. You...truly don't recognize him?” Eww, I think I will appreciate the butchers at home much more. I think I'm a little green from seeing Dis casually skin and gut the rabbits.

“I was raised with Menfolk.” I take to washing and cutting the vegetables, trying to put the grisly scene from my mind.

Dis hums thoughtfully. Must be a family trait, but it’s nowhere near as Gwyn-goo inducing. “It's a common belief my brother is craft-wed, but he isn't. It does help cut out the suitors that wouldn't fit him. I've seen my share of those trying to woo him over the years, dams and dwarrow both.” She sets the filet knife down and gets the cleaver. Should I be nervous? “But I have never seen such an honest reaction to a first meeting. You played it off well, but you felt it, didn't you?”

Felt like a sledgehammer hit my stomach and I couldn't breath before becoming a pile of melted Gwyn after hearing the King of All Majesty speak? Definitely. Not gonna admit it. My cheeks are probably flush red, I can feel my head pounding from the blood rush. “No idea what you mean.” Am I dicing these too much? Oh well.

Dis gives a hearty chuckle and stokes the logs beneath a brick oven. She sets the rabbit meat in a pan, scoops my diced vegetables into it, and places it in the stone oven. “Play ignorant if you wish. But I know what I saw. I wish you the best. Now, let's get you cleaned up.”

As we leave the kitchen, I glance back into the hall by the foyer and see Thorin in conversation with Fili and Kili. I catch sight of those so blue eyes and feel my mouth go dry. What the hell is going on with me? I tear my eyes away with a struggle and follow Dis into a washroom. The grin I see on her face could give the Cheshire Cat a run for its money.

I huff. “Not a word. I'm really, really grateful for you and your family's help. I don't want to take further advantage of that kindness.”

Dis nods at me, but I can still see a teasing glint in her expression. “Very well. Just know, I will have no issue with you staying here until you can get on your feet.” A sly grin crosses her lips. “Or being swept off of them.” She cackles as I shoo her out of the washroom.

I guess Gandalf does know what he's doing. Sometimes. Looks like I'm staying with the Durins for the time being. Hopefully my heart will be able to handle this. I think I feel even more pressure now than when running my store. There are three lives on the line, and I think Gandalf or the Valar want me to save the line of Durin. No pressure.
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SSD: This is the end of Gwyn’s POV, unless I get requests for it. From now on, I'll be writing in 3rd person. There will be a version of this chapter centered on the Durin POV, which should show a bit more of the picture. At least as far as how the Durins view her situation. This POV chapter was more of an outlet for my own frustrations since the issues Gwyn experienced are things I'm *still* going through at work. I've left some characteristics on Gwyn vague since, 1) she doesn't have a positive view of herself and 2) it feels more poignant, to me, for her description to be from the Durins' POV.

Also, I had an epiphany while watching LotR. There was a line about how the Dwarves became more interested in mining into the mountain for riches. I can’t be certain, and it might come up again later in this story, but I think that the Dwarves all succumbed to Gold Sickness. Dain took over after the Durins’ deaths, but I don’t think it’s said he did anything to try and clear Smaug’s taint from the gold. That, kind of annoys me. A lot. Especially since he was particularly pushy about moving people straight into Erebor ASAP.

Another note, this is my debut on AO3. I go by the same penname on FF.net.

Anyway, please review, as always.

Chapter Text

SSD: Right, now for the prologue from the Durins’ viewpoint. I’ve been bouncing a couple of ideas in my head for how I want their interactions in Ered Luin to be. I’ve seen fanfics where they rule over it like they did in Erebor, some of the backstory highlighted in the movies show Thorin as being a wandering blacksmith, so I’m going to go with option C and combine everything. Here’s hoping it works out. As a side note, I went in on Roll20 and actually made a character sheet for Gwyn and Company. This is about to get real as I run this like a campaign XD
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Danakh Khagal
Prologue Part 2: A Day Not-so Ordinary
Thorin’s Gate, a dwarven city built into the hills and face of the blue mountain. It had been built over the oldest Dwarven ruins of Kheledûl, the former capitol laid abandoned after the war against Morgoth in the Second Age. After the Sacking of Erebor, this was where the Dwarves had finally made their home. It had taken decades of work to shore up the structure of the ruins of the once great city in order to make it livable. In that time, parts of the forest, one great and large enough to rival the Greenwood, had been cleared to be used as lumber and needed farmland. The Dwarves built their first homesteads like that of Men, out of necessity and of wood. As progress in the rebuilding efforts continued, some of those more well-off tunneled their homes into the mountain side or moved into the newly refurbished residential areas of the settlement.

The reconstruction of the city’s palace spurred Thrór’s idea to muster an army and take back the lands that were lost to them. Surely if Mahal had guided them and blessed their efforts for Kheledûl to be restored to its former glory, the other fallen capitols of the Dwarves should experience no less. This foolhardy endeavor would lead to the loss of over 5000 Dwarven lives in the Battle of Azanulbizar, including Thrór, his son Thraín, and his grandson, Frerin. The aftermath would see Thorin crowned as a young King.

Upon arriving home, battle weary and with an empty victory, Thorin vowed to not step foot into a palace that was not Erebor’s halls. He gathered a trusted council and left them in charge of running the now renamed Thorin’s Gate as he set off on his own journey, chasing away the mental demons brought about from the Battle, and avowing to find his father, who had not been among the dead burned at Azanulbizar.

Thorin would return to his new home once a decade, sending letters and gold to aid in the care of his remaining family, Dís. Thorin’s wandering lifestyle, however, backfired on him drastically. Letters from him arrived home in a timely manner, but returning said correspondence proved to be futile. It wasn’t until Thorin returned over a year late from his scheduled visit to find his beloved sister weeping, and with two bairns in arm. After wandering for near 70 years, Thorin hung up his pack and settled into the dwelling his sister and her husband had built, away from the new palace. On occasion over the following years, he would consult with the Council he left in charge over governance matters, but had otherwise set aside the mantle of King. Dwarves that remember Erebor would still refer to him as such, and Thorin would accept their acknowledgement, but he stayed resolved that he would be no King unless Erebor was reclaimed.

Even so, Thorin stayed with Dís through the following years, years turning into decades. Once a year, he would make a trip through the lands of Men to sell Dwarven steel and earn money for the settlement as a whole. He took over the role of father for his nephews, Fíli and Kíli. The settling brought him more into the circle of governance, but he still attempted to curtail those calling him King of Ered Luin. The only King he would be, is King Under the Mountain.

Now, a typical day for the Durin family included the three males of the line going into the town proper, being seen off by Dís. Fíli and Kíli would go to tutor under an older dwarf named Balin, Fíli receiving further tutoring due to his position as his Uncle’s heir. Kíli would be left under the hand of Balin’s brother, Captain of Thorin’s Gate’s Guard, Dwalin, to learn a variety of combat abilities. Fíli would then join his brother after lunch for combat instruction. Just before sunset, they would be released and hunt up dinner in the forest on the way back home. Thorin, meanwhile, would spend his mornings in a room with the Councilors, going over various issues and concerns brought to their attention. Trade routes, harvest inventory, population needs, and other topics were all brought to the table. After lunch, he would go to his smithy to hone and expand his inventory for his yearly trip, usually taking him well into sunset before he would make his way home.

It was one such typical day that something…undefinable…shifted in the Durin home.

Dís waved off her sons and brother as they headed into town and stared into the late sunrise thoughtfully. She stroked her beard, eyes straying towards the east with longing and concern. Thorin confessed to her that morning, as the boys were getting ready, that he had felt the Call more strongly than ever in the past.
“The Mountain,” He said in his serious timbre, “it is Calling me home.”
She did not tell him that she, too, had felt the Call as she stood there at the door. Her boys, also, looked to the east with alien, but familiar, longing in their gazes.
Erebor was calling to the Line of Durin.
…...
……
Kíli grinned as he plucked the arrow out of his third rabbit that evening. Holding it up by the ears, he waved it at his golden haired brother. “How many have you got now, nadad? One?” He grinned teasingly.

Fíli scowled good-naturedly and shoved his younger brother as he walked past. “Yes, yes, you win this night, Kee.” He took the rabbit and strung it up with others after slitting its neck to drain it. “Why don’t we try knives tomorrow? See how well you do then?”

The dark haired boy scowled back. “How is it my fault you are utterly useless with a bow?”

“You took after Adad mo-” Fíli clamped his mouth shut, eyes pinching at the corners. “Never you mind,” he muttered while shaking his head. He checked that the rabbits had finished draining of blood and buried the sullied soil in more dirt. “Let’s get this catch back home, we’re late enough today as it is.”

Kíli hummed in agreement and scratched at his stubbling beard. “Fee…what was Adad like? I know Amad and Uncle don’t like discussing him but, they should have told us something, right? Or at least to you. It’s not like we’re bairns anymore. We can handle whatever they have to say happened to him.”

Fíli draped the rabbits over his shoulder and stood. “It doesn’t matter, really. He’s gone and not coming back. Amad and Uncle likely have a good reason not to say anything. Let’s move, we’re going to be walking home in the dark at this rate.”

As the two head back to the well-worn path leading to Thorin’s Gate, the mood lifted, returning to their normal light-hearted banter. Kíli feigned a swoon and a horrible falsetto. “Oh, Prince Fíli, your golden locks are even more radiant today!”

Fíli choked a laugh and nudged a now laughing Kíli. “I think that was your worst Lady Belnura impersonation yet. Her voice was much more shrill and terror inducing.”

Kíli snorted, his laughs turning into cackles. They almost didn’t hear the cries over his laughter.

“E-excuse me! Can I trouble you gentlemen for some directions please?”

The brothers’ laughter died off as they exchanged a quick, wary look. Fíli turned to their caller first, and stilled. It was a female, the lack of a beard lending weight to this being a woman of Men. She wore a dress of fine make, but it had clearly seen better days. The hem of the emerald green garment was ragged and threads were trailing from it. There were also small nicks and gashes in the cloth, along with leaves and twigs stuck to the fabric, on top of the dirt and grass stains. Kíli subtly nudged his brother and gestured to the woman’s feet that were bare like a Hobbits, but nowhere near as hardy or large. The same nicks and gashes that scored her dress also marred her feet in a multitude of tiny bleeding cuts.

Fíli felt his concern for the woman notch up several levels. She had an unusual looking blade, sheathed, in hand, but it appeared she had little to no skill in wielding it. It wasn’t belted to her at all! Master Dwalin would have had the boys’ heads if he ever caught them running around with their weapons like that. The woman’s hair glinted the color of brass, or even copper, in the dying sunlight. Her hair was obscenely short for a woman, too, just brushing her shoulders loosely.

The boys took all this in as she came to halt in front of them, panting heavily and bracing herself on her knees. Her build confused Fíli. She was clearly as tall as one of Men, a good head taller than him or Kíli, but her shoulders and hips had the same breadth of a dam. Her hands, braced on her thighs as they were, also alluded to those being of similar proportion. Her nose was smaller than a dam’s normally was, though it had a bit of a Dwarven look to the bridge. But no beard.

Fíli and Kíli’s breath was stolen away when she raised her head. Her eyes were the same rich green as her dress, but threaded throughout the iris were veins of gold.

Fíli unslung the rabbits from his shoulder and passed them off to Kíli. “Is everything alright, miss?”

Her accent was also unfamiliar. It sounded similar to that from the neighboring Menfolk, but it had that hint of Iron Hills that they have heard so much from Dwalin and Balin. “Yeah, er, yes…Just a tad out of breath. My guide ditched me further down the road and took off on the horse. You two are the first signs of intelligence I’ve seen on this road. Would you terribly mind directing me to the closest settlement?”

What…? Fíli felt an incandescent rage fill him. What sort of gormless, vile… “You were just left abandoned? With nothing?”

Fíli could practically feel his brother vibrating in anger. A quick glance showed he was scowling fiercely. He regretted not holding back his rage some as he saw the woman clutch her sword a little tighter.

“Well…I was able to grab my sword, but otherwise…yes?”

Poor thing, she must still be shook up from the ordeal. Kíli tugged on Fíli’s sleeve. “Fee, we can’t leave her on her own! It’s not right!”

Fíli patted the younger Dwarf’s shoulder, catching the embarrassed look on the woman’s face. “I’ll handle this, Kee. Go take Amad our catch and I’ll follow you in a moment.” Kíli glanced between the two, gave Fíli a nod, and walked to the path before taking off at a run once out of sight.

“Again, I’m really sorry for the trouble. If I could just get those directions, you can be back in time for supper.” She gave the boy an uneasy grin.

Fíli shook his head. “Forgive me, I’ve yet to introduce myself. Fíli, at your service.” He gave a short bow.

The woman clumsily copied him. “Gwyneth Tabini, at yours, Master Fíli. But most just call me Gwyn.”

Tabini…a Khuzdul family name? For a daughter of Men? Fíli felt his posture relax unconsciously and gave her a far more warm smile. It isn’t unheard of for mixed pairs, he supposed. “A pleasure, Miss Tabini. If you don’t mind joining us for dinner, we would like to hear more about your journey and the scoundrel that abandoned you.”
…..
….
Dís listened to her youngest attentively after he barged into the home and slung the day’s catch into the kitchen. Something had upset him horribly for him to be in such a dark mood.

“Amad! There’s a woman who was left abandoned on the road!”

A kernel of unsettled agony spurred in Dís’ heart at that statement. “Whatever do you mean?”

Kíli scowled angrily. “Some filth left a defenseless woman on the East Road. Fee and I got a little caught up in our competition and went past the house. We were on the way back when she ran up to us asking for directions to the city.”

That is upsetting. For Dwarrow, it would be an inconceivable offense. Dís listened as her youngest listed off everything he could remember about the woman’s condition and she frowned in concern. The Princess of Durin’s Folk left the rabbits on the countertop and left to prepare the washroom. Knowing her oldest, they were sure to have company shortly. He was such a gentle heart.

When the door opened, letting in the last rays of sunlight, Dís gasped at the sight of the woman Kíli told her about. Those eyes…but it couldn’t be possible…and her build…this is most certainly a Dwarrow-blood. Dís waved off her concerns and ushered the poor girl (If she is Dwarrow and not of Men, she is most certainly a girl and not woman) into the dining room, taking note of the small splotches of blood left behind on the floor. It was a testament to the girl’s exhaustion that she voiced no complaint.

“Kili was just telling me about your encounter. How dreadful! Come and sit, dear, we'll get you sorted. Kili failed to mention your name, but I don't blame him. Abandoning a dam in the middle of the road, how disgraceful!”

Her boys seemed to relax at her calling the girl a dam. Fíli took the sword from her and went back to the foyer, leaving Dís to mother over their company. Dís looked at the girl in slight bewilderment as she started to cry, at first silently, then in shaky, uneven gasps, her gaze flitted from Kíli to Fíli and to Dís herself before crumbling into her arms. The Durin matron approached the girl and held her, soothed her through the wracking sobs.

A frown creased Dís’ face. With the way she had looked at her sons, at first, Dís thought that, perhaps this half-dam had the Heart Call. Her subsequent breakdown, though, seemed to disprove that. Eyes like hers though…she would be important. Her eyes were so much like the Halls of Erebor…

In the hallway, Fíli glanced at the kitchen from where he could hear Gwyn’s sobs. Something in them made his heart ache fiercely and his blood pound with fury. Whoever had abandoned her had best pray to Mahal that Fíli did not come across them. He shook his head and headed to the “armory” where the Durin family stored their weapons. The light of the fire from the den caught on the strange ring of metal on the hilt of the blade and drew Fíli’s eye. He examined the blade in more detail.

The sheath was a strange, black fabric that was coarse, but durable. Not enough for the blade within, though. Blue eyes picked out a point on the odd sheath that seemed to be where the sword had torn through it. Perhaps Gwyn would appreciate a sturdier, leather sheath? Cheeks pinking, Fíli hastily shoved the thought aside. The bit of metal poking out from the cloth wrapped hilt was curious, though. It looked…purple? Fíli quizzically pulled the blade out, shaking his head as it slipped passed what was supposed to be a fastener quite easily. He held it in the firelight and cried out in surprise, dropping the blade in shock. It was blue! Then purple! Orange and yellow on the edges! What sort of sorcery was used to make a weapon this vibrant?!

Jaw dropping, Fíli barely noticed when the other three of the house entered the hallway. He hardly noticed, absorbed as he was in inspecting the blade, until Kíli was taking it from him to do the same, looking over the unusual colors in awe. Fíli felt a small part of him curl up and wither. Whoever made such a gift, it was clearly the sort meant to impress. Still, surely Miss Tabini knew the smith personally for work like this.
“Where did you get a blade like this? Do you know how the Smith was able to fold the layers for this effect?”

She did not, in fact know. Not the precise details, at any rate. Fíli should have expected as much. If it was indeed a suitor who had gifted it, she would feel honor bound to keep the technique a secret with her future family.

The main door of the home opens then, allowing the last Durin of the household entry. Fíli sees the moment that Gwyneth Tabini sets eyes on his uncle and…his brow furrowed in confusion. Normally when a dam meets his uncle for the first time, they become “giggly” (for lack of better words) and try various ways to catch his eye. This dam (half-dam), instead seemed to stop breathing, her legs trembling like a newborn fawn, and her face turned near scarlet. The gold veins in her eyes also seemed to brighten, marginally. The heir of Thorin looked to his mother, only to see her sending glances between Gwyn and Thorin, an unholy gleam beginning to shine in her Durin blue eyes.
…..
…..
Thorin was later than his normal time. Hopefully the boys left something more for him to eat than some stew and bread this time. He opened the door to his sister’s home and called out to her in greeting. He hung his apron on the rack by the door (Dís was a stickler for cleanliness. She’s have his beard if he got soot or smudge on her furniture.) and turned to see his nephews, sister, and an unknown Menfolk woman in the hallway. He tensed at the sight of this stranger in his home, and stiffened in surprise at the sight of too green eyes. The flames in the den flickered, casting warm light into the hall and cast those eyes into alternating gold and green hues.

The King of Durin’s Folk felt his mouth go dry as the woman introduced herself, sounding near as out of breath as he felt. “Erebor danakh…” He could feel those surfacing memories claw at the back of his mind. He could see the green stone of the Mountain veined in gold. Home. He could see Home. His eyes burned. How could someone have eyes that perfectly reflect what he has long sought for? He swallowed thickly, mumbling her introduction over to himself. “Can’t say I’ve heard of them.”

He listened intently to her story. Her accent was unusual, but he couldn’t help not listening to it. He nodded slightly, appraising the woman’s short hair in a new light when he heard of her parents’ passing. As she reached where she had been abandoned to the road, Thorin couldn’t help the slur on his tongue. “Kakhuf inbarathrag!” His eye then catches the sword in Fíli’s hand and he motioned for his sister-son to hand it to him. His lip curled up faintly before he forced the urge down. He glared at the colorful blade before going over it with a hypercritical eye. “Too heavy on the handle, these holes in the fuller weaken the overall blade. It's a pretty piece, but not very good for combat. At least your knives there are salvageable.” He shoved the blade back into Fíli’s hand, emotion curdling unfamiliarly and sickeningly in his chest. “Hope the lad that made it is a better match.” For pretty as it was, it could be no less than a courting gift.

He caught the confusion on the dam (by her admission, and Thorin could feel a faint ring of truth in her story) and his heart fluttered once more. He ruthlessly crushed the sentiment as his sister voiced that Gwyn had a suitor here in Ered Luin. Her eyes widened in realization and she hastily shook her head, short hair whipping her face.

“No, no! No suitor. None. I saw it on display in a smithy and it caught my fancy, is all.” Her eyes turned sorrowful. “I have a habit of collecting blades, but this is the one that I prefer most. The rest of my collection was taken. It was the last one I bought before...”

She…has no suitor? Thorin caught Dís’ gaze and saw her nod. A smirk caught at the corner of her mouth before she smothered it. The King-in-exile saw his nephews exchanging shifty looks before giving him quick signals in Inglishmek that he had their approval. Thorin did not know if he should feel exasperated with his family’s attempts to see him settled with a dam or Dwarrow, or fondness for the care they showed. It is unusual that they would all agree on a stranger. One that, as Dís took her to the kitchen, seemed to be completely ignorant of what had transpired moments earlier.

And yet…Thorin had never had such a sensation upon meeting someone before. It left him more breathless and homesick than the Mountain Call that morning. By all accounts, it perfectly matched the legends of their people upon meeting their One. The son of Thrain couldn’t believe his luck and his thoughts turned to the old wizard that had been lurking in his steps the past few months, trying to convince him to put together an expedition. The portents were lining up too well for nothing less than the inevitability of Erebor being reclaimed in his lifetime. The wizard, the increasing strength of the Mountain Call, birds returning to the Mountain…and now a half-dam wandering into his life with eyes that match Erebor’s grand halls. Gazing at his curious nephews, Thorin allowed a small smile for them.

“It would seem, it is time for Durin’s Folk to return to Erebor.”

The boys glanced at each other in excitement, Kíli more anticipatory than his brother. “Truly, Uncle? We can go?”

Fíli looked more suitable wary. “What if the Dragon isn’t dead, though? You would be risking any Dwarf’s life on the slim chance it might be gone. I do not wish to see you become like Gamul Adad.”

Thorin reached up and braced his forehead to Fíli’s. “I understand your concern, more than you might know. But there have been too many signs leading that way. This is the latest.”

“The portents could be wrong!” Fíli sharply protested.

“You worry too much, Fee. I, for one, would love to see Erebor in full.”

Thorin gave Kíli an indulgent smile, a rare expression from him. “It was glorious once. The halls were filled reflected light at all times, basking the green stone of the mountain in warm shades of gold.”

Kíli’s expression morphed to one of pure mischief. “Was it similar to our future Irak’amad’s eyes, Irak’Adad?”

The boys’ uncle gave his mischievous nephew a stern look. “THAT remains to be seen, and you’d do well to remember it.” He gently cuffed the scruffy brat around the head. The boy’s expression didn’t falter, instead seeming to deepen as he spotted a faint hint of color on the surly Dwarf’s cheeks.

“It’s true! You felt it!”

Fíli’s frown deepened. “Miss Tabini, too, I suspect.”

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it that his nephews chose NOW to be unscrupulous in their perception? He caught movement in the corner of his eye and glanced up to see Dís ushering their new guest to the washroom. Their eyes met once more and Thorin felt the pervading Call of the Mountain rush through him, darkening his gaze. Gwyn flushed a bright scarlet, not missed by that imp Thorin called sister, and ducked into the room. Thorin turned his attention back to his nephews and felt his wariness increase tenfold. Even Fíli seemed to join Kíli’s mischief from witnessing the brief exchange.

“Whatever you two are planning, cease.”

“But, Uncle-“ Kíli started.

“We would need to see-“

“Erebor in its glory-“

“To ascertain for ourselves-“

“If it’s a match.” The two finished together, matching grins on their faces.

Thorin sighed wearily. The boys’ habit of speaking in sync when mischief was abound caused no end of headaches and consternation. It was always a sign they were up to no good. Mahal have mercy on his sanity, and that of their guest. He could only hope his sister abstained from joining in this particular mischief, but the cackle from the washroom quickly dashed his hopes.

Dís smiled smugly at her brother. “It’s a gift, nadad, Mahal is guiding our path. I saw her reaction clear as day and with eyes like hers…there is no doubt. Erebor truly is calling us home.” She turned and walked further into the stone halls towards her room. Hopefully Gwyn would be able to fit in what she had available.
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SSD: A little shorter since it’s not exactly an omniscient viewpoint. I want to address the “Irak’Adad/Uncle” before I have anyone say anything. The boys do, normally, use “Uncle” when addressing Thorin, even in private, unless they’re trying to convey an air of importance. Such as in the case of Kíli ribbing our broodmaster King. I will also add that, at one point, the Durin boys’ father will come into play, and I guarantee it will be no one anyone will suspect. I am eagerly anticipating that moment.

If the pace is moving a little too fast for somethings, I apologize. But I feel that Dwarves aren’t quite as mercurial as they usually are portrayed. For Tolkein’s Dwarves, I see them as being able to feel everything more intensely: anger, rage, happiness, sorrow, grief, love, all of it seems to be more to them for me.

We also get to see the source of some miscommunications here, and likely the start of quite a few more. I’m probably going to skip over the dinner next chapter, and sink into some of the other bits of what Gwyn needs to focus on. It was troublesome trying to keep up with the switching viewpoints this chapter, so I’m going to try to limit it to one POV per chapter with the occasion Gwyn-chapter thrown in the mix.
And yes, I created character sheets for the Company. A lot of the interactions and observations were based on skill-checks I made. Gwyn got a 22 Deception at level 1 to Level 9 Thorin’s 8 Insight check. Just for giggles, here’s the current statblocks.

Gwyn Tabini- Level 1 “Half-Dwarf” Rogue (Neutral)
Str 12
Dex 14
Con 12
Int 18
Wis 13
Cha 12
Skill Proficiencies: Acrobatics +4, Deception +5(expertise), Insight +3, Perception +3, Performance +3, Persuasion +5 (expertise), Stealth +4

Thorin Oakenshield- Level 9 Mountain Dwarf Fighter-Champion (Lawful Neutral)
Str 18
Dex 10
Con 14
Int 12
Wis 10
Cha 18
Skill Proficiencies: Athletics +8, History +5, Intimidation +8, Persuasion +8
Fighting style: Defense

Fíli Durin- Level 2 Fighter (Lawful Good)
Str 15
Dex 12
Con 16
Int 11
Wis 10
Cha 11
Skill Proficiencies: History +2, Perception +2, Persuasion +2, Survival +2

Kíli Durin- Level 2 Ranger (Chaotic Good)
Str 17
Dex 17
Con 10
Int 10
Wis 15
Cha 18
Skill Proficiencies: Animal Handling +4, History +2, Nature +2, Perception +4, Persuasion +6, Stealth +5 (he had disadvantage in Laketown, okay?), Survival +6

Here’s where it gets fun. How about a participation event? Fellow D&D nerds, I give you the chance to level up Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo and Gwyn into the Archetype of your choice! Due to Reasons, the Durin heirs are NOT exempt to magic-based paths, if that’s how the voting goes. Paths available are as follows:
Gwyn: Arcane Trickster, Assassin, Inquisitive, Mastermind, Phantom, Scout, Soulknife, Swashbuckler, and Thief
Bilbo: Vote before appearance whether Bilbo will be a Druid or a Rogue
Fíli: Battle Master, Cavalier, Champion, Eldritch Knight, Psi Warrior, Rune Knight, Samurai (Will be renamed to fit something Dwarven, but otherwise identical)
Kíli: Beast Master (TCE), Beast Master (PHB), Fey Wanderer, Gloom Stalker, Horizon Walker, Hunter, Monster Slayer, Swarmkeeper, Drakewarden
I look forward to your suggestions!

Chapter Text

SSD: Time for the real chapters to begin. I, honestly, don't really have an outline for this except in really broad aspects. But we'll get to see some more awkwardness between Gwyn, Thorin, and the other Durins.

For those curious, the slur Thorin used in the last one means “goat turd" mostly in response to Gwyn calling her “kidnapper" senile and a coot.

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Chapter 1: New Dawn

Gwyn sat on the old fashioned toilet and pulled her right foot up on her knee. She winced at the shredded mess she saw there. She must have tracked blood throughout the dwelling. Hopefully Dís wouldn't be too upset with her. Maybe she could clean it up before dinner...crap! She tracked over the rugs!

The Earther groaned and looked around the old-style washroom. There was a cabinet/counter with a shined metal disk hanging on the wall above it. Right, glass is for the stupidly wealthy and while the Durins are royalty, they aren't exactly swimming in riches nowadays.Polished metal was used for mirror before glass became widespread. There was a hand pump beside the toilet. Which, reminded her of her grandmother’s set up. Since a widespread waste system likely hadn't been invented here yet, it probably led to a septic tank or something. The hand pump, though, was inserted in the ground and was placed over a metal bowl on a stand. “Washroom” was a very accurate description.

Gwyn cranked the pump and filled the bowl with water. She opened the cabinet and grabbed the most threadbare towel she could find.. Hopefully her hosts wouldn't mind.. Gwyn then set to work cleaning up the mess that was her feet. The woman hissed, plucking a particularly prickly burr out of a scrape.

“Just shows how tired I  am if I didn't feel THAT at first...” she sulked. But it seemed like they believed her, for the time being. She resolutely pushed Dís' secondary offer from her mind. “I need to get them to train me somehow..and figure out a way to convince Thorin to let me join the quest.” She hung her head.. “Okay, Gwyn, think! Try to translate your skill set into medieval terms. Drawing? Good, but not enough to sell as a worthwhile trade. Singing? Goblins are better. Storytelling and writing?” Gwyn winced. “Not if I want them looking too closely at my own. Okay, business trades. Customer service, but they likely don't need help here since things are run by families.” She blinked, idea forming. “Family business...it covers customer service, contract negotiations, bartering...” she grimaced. “Diplomacy and compromise. Damn you, Gandalf!” She hissed quietly.

A knock sounded on the door. “Gwyn dear? I brought a change of clothes, if you would like?” Dís was on the other side.

Gwyn stood and awkwardly walked on the outside of her feet to the door. She unlatched it and swung it open to see Dís standing there with a folded pile of cloth and roll of white linen. The Dwarf woman scooted passed her and set the items on the counter.

“Let’s look at your feet now.”

Gwyn shook her head. “Thank you, really, but I can wrap it myself.” Her mouth snapped shut as stern blue eyes narrowed at her.

“Sit.”

The command was promptly followed, Gywn wobbling to the toilet and sitting with a thunk. Dís brought up one of the younger woman's feet and tutted softly. “This is a right mess, isn't it? You seem to have cleaned most of it.” After checking there was no debris, Dis started wrapping it in the linen..

“Thank you...” Gwyn said softly. She still felt awkward with someone else touching her person.

Dís smiled reassuringly. “We'll take you to see Master Oin in the morning, just to be sure. He's the city's primary healer and has been at his craft for two centuries. He'll get you patched up and dancing again in no time.” She finished the one foot,, showing the roll was two straps of fabric combined as she started on the other. “I do apologize if I upset you earlier.”

Gwyn shook her head. “No, no, I probably didn't present the best image. I don't know what came over me to so rude before. I didn't mean to make a fool of myself. Your brother isn't upset with it, is he?”

Blue eyes glittered with mischief. “My brother can be quite surly, but you shouldn't worry about that. You can be forgiven.”

Gwyn cleared her throat. “Right...I am sorry about tracking blood through your home.”

Dís waved her concern off. “Don't fret about that. It can be cleaned up shortly enough. Now, I brought a spare change of clothes, if you would like to change. After seeing Master Oin tomorrow, we can look into mending it and getting you some other clothes.”

Gwyn shifted awkwardly. “I appreciate that, but you don't have to go to such lengths on my behalf. I'm able to sew well enough. I can make do with whatever spare fabric and thread you have.”

Dís regarded her guest carefully before sighing in resignation. “Stubborn as the other...very well, we'll pick up some cloth and thread in the market, then. Now, finish washing up, change, and come to the dining room when you finish.” The dam pat her guest's hand and left the room.

Gwyn secured the door once more and silently cursed Gandalf. “Couldn't have left a bag of clothes, no...just leave an Earthlander with the clothes on her back and one appropriate set of clothing.” She dumped the bloodied water down the toilet and pumped in fresh. Taking off the dress, Gwyn looked at it, poking her finger through one of the holes torn into the material. She eyed the replacement garment warily, factoring in Dís' height to her own and cringed. “This is going to be so inappropriate to them...” she smirked slyly. “But it would be rude to reject this generous offer.”

Lifting the garment, Gwyn was taken aback by the smooth feel of the fabric. It felt like silk, but not as stifling. Eyeing it more curiously, Gwyn unfolded it to show a very long tunic with long sleeves. There's no way this was made for a Dwarf. Wrangling herself out of the dress and giving herself a quick wash,, Gwyn tugged on the tunic. The material had a give to it that was strangely elastic, but not, the garment conformed to her figure. She self-consciously tugged on the area around her middle, but it still clung to her. The tunic fell to knee length, was too tight in the shoulder and across her chest. if not for the strangely stretchy, almost nylon, quality, she was sure the fabric would have torn. There was also a pair of leggings of the same material. She shimmied into those as well, the legs trailed well passed her feet. Whoever wore this was taller even than her. She rolled up the legs into large cuffs. For being an extremely tight fit,it was remarkably easy to breathe in. She folded up her dress and held it in front of her.

Treading carefully out into the hall, Gwyn tried to spot her bloodstains so she could clean them later.. Getting to the dining room,, she dismayed at the fact her feet had a left a bloody trail through the whole house. It was going to be a nightmare to clean up!Her head hung low as she entered the room, missing the nostalgic look on Dís' face. She raised her head at hearing an angry growl and muttered Khuzdul. Thorin was giving Dís a baleful, accusing glare. The dam gave her brother a neutral look, spoke something else in Khuzdul and offered a smile to Gwyn.

“I'm glad they fit. Unfortunately, that was all I had close to your size.” Dís set a plate down with a loaf of bread on it, likely made earlier that day. “Have a seat, dinner is about ready.” She took the dress from Gwyn's hands and set it out of the way.

Gwyn’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, abruptly reminding her it had been over 24 hours since she last ate. She flushed bright red when she saw Thorin raise a dark brow at her. “I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday morning...” Despite telling her mother she had eaten on the way home  she was just too tired to worry about food. A breakfast taco was her last meal. Roast rabbit was definitely sounding appetizing right now..

The expressions on the Durins faces all darkened at the reminder of their guest's circumstances. Gwyn felt a touch guilty that her own negligence was being laid, unknowingly, at Gandalf's feet. Dís swiftly bustled about, setting a mug of ale in front of everyone and placing the rabbit pot roast on the table.

Gwyn glanced at the mug of alcohol in trepidation. She didn't drink.. Maybe once a year, if even that. But alcohol was one thing she had no care for. Either side of her family could probably drink a keg solo before feeling any effects, but Gwyn found herself not caring for the taste. It always settled sourly on her tongue.

“Is something the matter?”

Goo-Gwyn returned, a slight tremor going down her spine and straight to a broiling pit in her stomach. “Ah, everything looks and smells delicious. I really can't thank you all enough for letting me stay.” She smiled at them like she would her customers and began to eat.

Thorin frowned at her answer as Dís served the meal. He watched her while they ate, Fíli and Kíli reenacting a run in with one of the few noble families that settle in the Blue Mountains, Gwyn had yet to touch her mug. “Is the ale not to your liking?”

Gwyn jolted in surprise, chagrined at being found out. “I'm sorry. I mean no offense. I just....have never been particularly enamored with alcohol, of any sort. It never fails to settle sourly so I stopped trying to force myself to drink it. Never understood how my cousins could pack away entire kegs between them.” She smiled fondly.

“Why didn't you go with your kin?” Fíli asked around a bite of rabbit.

Gwyn coughed and shifted. “My Uncles would have taken me in, I have no doubt, but I would not want to burden them. My cousins have already assumed control of what businesses they had and adding my care to it is not something that seemed ...important. Besides, they live clear over the mountains, it isn't exactly an easy journey to make on my own with an old escort.”

Thorin hummed in thought. “Your kin are from the Iron Hills?”

Gwyn shook her head. “To the south, in Gondor. Mum said she had kin there, though. I never heard from them, so I suppose they wrote her off for her choice in husband.”

Kíli frowned. “But if your adad was your amad's One, that shouldn't have mattered. Right, Amad?” He turned to Dis, who looked contemplative.

Gwyn tried to think of something to say without making it obvious she was making smoke. She settled on a shrug. “I wish I could say I knew all the circumstances, but I don't. Da was usually busy running the caravan routes. Mum was a governess, tutoring the mayor's children.” She hoped it played close enough to the truth to be believable.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed on her. Kíli had a fair point. Most Dwarves would not protest a match if the pair in question were one another’s One. On the other hand, considering how rare and special finding a One was, it wouldn't have been unheard of if the girl's mother had been betrothed and broke that agreement upon meeting her One. He sopped up some juice on his plate with the bread, an old memory niggling at him. He had received some correspondence from his cousin, Dain, about an incident in the Iron Hills some thirty-odd years ago that matched what Gwyn was saying. If he remembered correctly, a dam, well past her coming of age, had been promised to his cousin's son. She had not found her One, so it had been approved to be a viable match. Only weeks before the wedding, she had run off, joining a human trade caravan that had since been banned from the Iron Hills.

“How old are you, Miss Tabini?”

Gwyn shuddered faintly. “I'll be thirty-four in July.” She shoved a bit of her food around. “Umm, you can call me Gwyn, Master Thorin. I don't mind.” She shoved a fork full in her mouth, feeling her cheeks heat up.

Thorin inwardly cursed. It would match up. At thirty-three, it would put Gwyn well over the coming of age of humans, but below that of Dwarrow standards. Physical appearance would lend credence to her having the maturation of Menfolk. She looked to be just older than Fíli which meant she was of age. Had she appeared closer to Kili's age, he would have been honor bound to return her to her kin. He probably still should, the agreement between Dain and her kin (It wasn't Tabini, similar, but it was a derivative of the actual clan name) would still be standing or would have fallen to another member of the family. Besides...he regarded Gwyn as she finished her portion of dinner, he had no compunction to surrender her to what would have awaited her. His gaze hooded, attention turning inward as he felt the pleasant hum under his skin, drawing him towards her. No, Gwyn was where she belonged. Dís would take care of educating her in their ways. She would recognize what was between them, and then he could court her like a true dam.

But first, he would need to dip into some of their savings to provide her with clothing more suitable than her current garb. Dís can handle her wardrobe. He smirked faintly at Gwyn’s insistence that he use her name. “Then I insist you call me Thorin.” A sour thought occurred to him. His family was well off enough, but not if he intended to build a family for himself. Most of his earnings went into Thorin’s Gate's construction as it was, he took enough for his sister and her sons to get by along with himself. Fíli coming of age was a good help and increased their earnings considerably, but it wouldn't be enough.

Thorin resolved to speak with Balin in the morning. He couldn't argue against the signs anymore. After 150 years of being in exile, he would reclaim Erebor. As much as Thorin’s Gate had improved over the decades since the Battle of Azanulbizar, it was nowhere near how Erebor was. His people deserved more. His One would deserve all of the luxuries he could give as a King and nothing less. Balin is sure to have a list available of Dwarves that would be willing to go on an expedition to reclaim their home. He also needed to figure out where he hid his courting bead. The King-in-exile had gone so long without finding a good match that he had hidden it away. Making a new one because a Dwarf couldn't find the one they originally made just wasn't done.

Gwyn’s lips quirked upwards, eyes closing a moment. This insane euphoria every time Thorin spoke or looked at her needed to stop. She had things to do and focus on! She needed to stop being such a simp and focus on the goals she set in the bathroom. Washroom. She was still trying to adjust to the terminology. A wide yawn forced itself from her, startling her with its intensity. “Sorry, it's been a long couple days.”

Dís nodded. “Fíli, Kíli, you're on clean up.” She gave them a stern look. “Bend my forks or knives with your usual antics, and you will regret it.”

The two boys sulked. “Yes, Amad...” They got up and started clearing away the dinner plates.

Dís nodded and smiled at Gwyn. “Let's get you settled in the guest room.” She stood and ushered Gwyn into the stone part of the home.

“I should help you clean up...” Gwyn glanced worriedly at a footprint stained on a woven blue rug in the main hallway. Another jawcracker tried to escape her, but she held it back with a clenched jaw and watering eyes.

Dís looked at her, amused. “I’ll take care of it. Raising two boys taught me a lot in regards to clean up.” She opened the door closest to the den. “You just get some rest, namad'dli.” Mischief sparked in her eyes as she quietly slipped away.

Gwyn looked around the modest room. It was just large enough for a dresser at the foot of a twin-size bed, a nightstand, and a candleholder on said nightstand. The candle wasn't lit, so the room was dark, but Gwyn could make out that much from the nearby firelight.The bed was covered with a fur throw and linen, the mattress stuffed with straw. Gwyn just hoped she didn't fall out of the bed from her usual restless sleep patterns. She bit back another yawn. With a full belly and time to rest, her exhaustion was kicking in even more after the past few weeks (months) of stress.

“Is it to your liking?” The smooth timbre rumbled behind her.

A shudder ran down Gwyn’s spine and she whirled around to look at Thorin. The Dwarf was way too close. He was taller than Fili and Kili, and only 3-4 inches shorter than Gwyn. Eye contact was made quite easily and the King's intense gaze sent heat straight through her. Taking a shaky, calming, breath, Gwyn nodded. “Y-yes. This is just fine, thank you.” She cleared her throat and stepped back into the room, bracing her hand on the door as color filled her cheeks. “Thank you again for letting me stay.”

Thorin drew a step closer, eyes dark. “Should you need anything, feel free to ask. If it is within my ability to grant it, I will do so. I wish you a good night, Gwyn.” He reluctantly tore his gaze from her and went to his own room.

Gwyn breathed out an answering good night, closed the door, and rested her forehead to it as she shook. “How the hell can he make me feel smaller when I'm taller than him? This is what happens when you have zero romance and a million fantasies, Gwyn-girl. Snap out of it. He's just being a good host, you're likely reading into it too much.”

Of course, closing the door left her with the slight problem of there not being any light in the room now. Gwyn squinted into the darkness, letting her eyes adjust and stumbled over to the bed. She lifted the thick pelt, lay down, and was out before her head hit the pillow.

Down the hall, Thorin cursed his impulsive forwardness. He glared at his snickering sister. “Educate her in our ways.”

Dís smirked. “But, nadad, watching you flounder in your courtship is much too entertaining.” She sobered up. “I will take her to see Oin for her feet tomorrow. Hopefully the boots will fit.”

Thorin’s glare intensified. “I thought you had burned those garments decades ago.”

The damn sigh forlornly. “For all he did...and leaving...he was still my One, Thorin. If his clothes are the only things left of his that I can have, then I will have them. And our boys.” She looked at her brother seriously. “Gwyn wishes to make her own clothes. We were going to go to the market after visiting Oin and pick up some cloth.”

Thorin scowled. “Absolutely not. I will give you the funds to purchase her some appropriate garments.”

“What funds, Thorin? The shares from your last supply run have already been handed out.”

The King shifted. “I was saving coin...to put together an excursion to Erebor.” He admitted quietly. “It may require a secondary sponsor, but I saved enough that it would be possible."

Dís stiffened in fear. “What of Smaug? Surely you aren't going to attempt entering the mountain with that beast still there?”

Thorin took his sister's hands in his, squeezing reassuringly. “There's been too many signs of this being the right time. Tharkun has sought me out, saying he can get me and any who follow me to the mountain. We can go home, Dís.”

Dís squeezed back. “...don't take my boys, Thorin. Find others, but don't take my boys. Fíli's only just come of age and Kíli is too young. We can follow you after the mountain is reclaimed.”

His gaze softened, but was no less hard than steel. “If Fíli chooses to join, it will be on him. He is my heir and of age, he is capable of making that decision on his own. I agree on keeping Kíli here. As skilled with a bow he may be, he is too young. There are others I can seek out with similar talent.” He glanced at the door to the guest room. “He will also need to watch over you and Gwyn until I return.”

The dam looked at him, surprised. “You sound as if you are leaving immediately?”

“No less than a month. It should be plenty of time for Gwyn to understand our ways enough that I may present her with my bead.”

“Take her with you.” Dis insisted.

Thorin recoiled from the idea. “No! It will be dangerous, too dangerous for one not even trained.”

“Then train her. But you hear me, Thorin, you will not start a courtship with that girl and then abandon her while you go on a quest that could claim your life. Not when you have just found your One. It wouldn't be fair to her.” Dís looked at him imploringly.

Thorin’s jaw clenched. “You would trust her to learn enough to keep up on that same journey?”

“She survived two days on her own in the wild, I would say she has the potential. And despite your disparaging remarks on her weapon of choice, she was able to hold on to it. Her knives showed use, so she has practice with those at least. And most of all...” Her eyes gleamed with mischief. “I would like news that I am to be an Aunt by the time I reach Erebor, as a true homecoming.”

He had never detested his sister's mischief more and knew exactly where her sons got it from. “Very well. You've...convinced...me. After she's recovered enough, Gwyn will join in with the boys' training. You will teach her our ways while the boys are in lessons with Balin.”

Dís smirked in victory. “Agreed. I will see you in the morrow, nadad. I need to clean up those stains.” She cheerfully left her brother at his door to go scrub out the blood Gwyn left behind.

Thorin palmed a hand over his face, already regretting agreeing to Dís’ suggestions. He had a hard enough time restraining himself from touching the girl just to feel the thrum under his skin once more. Being on a seven month journey, minimum, would drive him insane. Especially with other dwarrow on that same journey. Hopefully, she would have his bead at the end of the month and that would be one less obstacle. He just needed to find the blasted thing. He entered his room, lit a candle, and started the search.

.....

.....

.....

The problem with never getting an adequate amount of sleep on a daily basis is that it doesn't take much to wake someone up, since they are expecting to be interrupted during sleep. Gwyn's eyes snapped open at the sound of a door closing near her.. Her breath hitched as she peered into the pitch black room, focusing her hearing. She heard the sound of running water and relaxed. Just mom on a bathroom run..

Gwyn yawned and sat up, patting near her pillow where her cellphone usually lay. She frowned in confusion. These were not her Sheex sheets, these were not nearly as comfortable. And her blanket was too heavy. Grunting and rubbing sleep from her eye, Gwyn turned over to lay back down and yelped as she fell off the bed. Blinking away the daze, she stared from upside-down as her door swung open,, the faintest of light coming from the left side but blocked by a bulky figure. She squinted and then blushed in mortification.

Last night really wasn't a strangely lucid dream. She was in Middle Earth and staying with The Thorin Oakenshield and family. Said Dwarf was eying her current predicament in amusement, blue eyes bright in the morning dawn. He also looked dressed for the day already in another semi-casual tunic (in red this time) and leather breeches.

“Are you alright, Gwyn? I heard you yell.” The rich baritone was definitely sounding amused.

Gwyn tried pulling herself back up on the bed. When that failed, she let herself finish sliding off the bed and quickly stood. “Fine! I'm fine!” She hissed when her feet met the stone floor. She hobbled to the door as her feet reminded her that, yes, she was injured.

Thorin held his arm out to her, glancing her over in concern. “Allow me. You can lean your weight on me until we get to the dining room.”

Gwyn looked at his arm, heat flushing her cheeks. Her eyes flicked back to Thorin and could just make out that he seemed unsettled. Right, he's a male in the room of an unwed woman. An unwed woman who got propositioned by said male's sister to pursue him. Hesitantly, she placed her hand on the muscled appendage and felt heat race up her arm. It didn't burn, or shoot straight to her groin like most of their interactions seemed to do last night. Instead, it seemed to settle in a comfortable warmth in her chest that almost made her drowsy, relaxed. Gwyn smiled and settled her weight against him, sighing when the pressure on her feet was lessened.

“Thank you, you're probably going to become sick of hearing me say that, though.” Gwyn grinned teasingly.

Thorin’s voice came out more hoarse than moments before. “I told you last night, Gwyn, if it is within my ability to grant you what you require, I will do so. You need but ask me. Dis is starting on breakfast, there's still an hour left until full daybreak, if you wish to rest a while longer?”

Gwyn shook her head as the warmth in her chest sunk lower. “No, I'm actually used to getting up earlier even than this. I just hope I'll be able to make the walk into town. I can hardly believe I was able to make it here with how bad my feet hurt now.” She smiled.

Thorin eyed Gwyn’s form and ran some quick calculations in his mind. “My meeting can wait if you need me to carry you to Oin's.”

Gwyn’s mouth clacked shut, eyes wide. She wasn't light, she gave up on even the notion of being skinny. She wasn't excessively heavy, but she knew she was over what medical experts on Earth would call “healthy weight". Her hand inadvertently tightened on Thorin’s forearm, feeling the thick cords of muscle there and her mouth went dry. Her cheeks flushed bright red and the warmth in her chest shot straight south. “I-I-uh...hummawha....bwa?” Gwyn.exe has stopped working, please reboot. Loading...

The King-in-exile gave the half-dam a bemused look, appreciating her flustered appearance. To prove the point, he gently tugged her into him, bent slightly, and scooped her into his arms. He closed his eyes from the pleasant thrum of energy beneath his skin at the close proximity. Thorin chuckled when Gwyn let out another nonsensical babble and carried her into the dining room, Gwyn's hand came up to clench at his shoulder. He slowly exhaled and set her down on a chair.. He carefully pulled away, locking eyes on hers and relished in her dazed expression..

Gwyn.exe is back online. She had the brief thought that, had this still been one of her dreams, now was the time that things would escalate passed this building tension. Instead, Thorin seemed intent on keeping...whatever this was...going and unspoken. Was this behavior ever alluded to in the books? Definitely wasn't in the movies. Maybe this difference was because he was in his own home and felt more able to be free with his expressions? Her heart raced quickly, heat pooled low in her stomach and her breathing hitched, she felt something akin to a hum going through her body. It was...intoxicating.

The clearing of a throat and tinkling of pottery broke the spell over them. Thorin jerked back and exhaled sharply. He sent a mild glare to Dís, who went about setting up the tea cups while ignoring her brother. Dís poured them  three cups and placed one each in front of Thorin and Gwyn.

Dís smirked at the flushed pair. “A pleasant morning, I see?”

Thorin shifted and sat in a chair close to Gwyn. “Good morning, namad. Just a rough start, is all.”

Gwyn snapped out of her daze and nodded. “I may have fallen out of the bed. Thorin just helped me to here because he overheard it. That's all.” She stressed, trying to get her pulse down to a normal rate. Unfortunately, she didn't think Dís bought it.

The dam just hummed smugly. “What a dashing rescue, nadad. And how are your feet feeling, Gwyn?”

“Sore. Very, very sore.” Gwyn took the offered teacup and took a slow sip. She barely masked her first instinct to spit out the leaf juice. Unfortunately, this was likely to be her only source of caffeine in the near future and unless she wanted to suffer withdrawal, choking it down was the only thing to do.

Thorin and Dís missed Gwyn’s distaste for the tea, caught in their own staring contest. Dís raised an eyebrow at her brother, the two holding a conversation in Inglishmek.

:Falling out of bed?:

Thorin grabbed his teacup with a scowl, flicking out his response. :That is all it was. Believe what you will.:

Dís scoffed gently as Kíli stumbled into the room. The young Dwarf's hair looked worse than a bird's nest and he was dressed in a large sleeping tunic. He yawned widely and plopped into the chair across from Thorin. “Bakan galikh, amad, irak'adad.”

The dam's lips pursed upon the sight of her youngest. She tutted, walked over to the counter and took out a comb from the drawer there. She stood behind Kíli and started pulling the comb through the tangles.

“Did you go to bed with wet hair again, Kíli? You'll mold the straw!”

“Ow! Amad, gently, please!” Tears leaked from the corners of Kíli's eyes as Dís tugged the comb through some particularly horrible knots.

“If you took proper care of your hair, I wouldn't need to take matters into my own hands. Now hush and take your punishment.” Kíli yelped again, head jerking back with Dís' tugs.

Gwyn stared then glanced to Thorin. “Is this a common occurrence?”

Thorin sighed into his tea. “Almost every morning. Kili has the tendency to not groom himself properly.”

The Earthlander nodded sagely. “Ahh. That explains why he's still in his nightwear.”

The son of Durin placed a hand over his eyes. “Dís, leave the boy alone. Kíli, go get dressed. We have a guest, if you recall? And wake Fíli, while you're at it.”

Kíli's eyes snapped over to where Gwyn was sitting, eyes going wide as she waved with an amused smirk. The boy turned cherry red and dashed off, tearing the comb from Dís' hand because it was stuck in a gnarl of knots. The sound of a door slamming shut echoed in the hallway.

Gwyn snorted as she swallowed another mouthful of tea. She grinned over the lip at the two Durins. “At least it won't be dull to stay here. Free entertainment.”

Thorin chuckled and Dís shook her head. “Don't laugh, I remember when you were similar back in Erebor. Kíli takes much after you, nadad.”

“I was also thirty years younger than Kíli. The lad is almost full grown yet still acts like a young bairn.” Thorin leveled a knowing look at his sister.

“With that rat's nest, I can see why you called combing it out a punishment. It can be detangled fairly painlessly if you started at the bottom. Mum’s hair would get that way every now and then. She would put a dab of oil on the comb and work her way up.” Gwyn smiled in sad remembrance. A small frown creased her forehead. She hadn't meant to say that, so why did she...?

Dís, seeing the opportunity to start on the girl's lessons early, jumped at the chance given. “Hair is very important in our culture, since Dwarrow are born with a lot and we only grow more as we age. We have developed varying braids for many situations. Braids to determine your family and rank,” she gestured to the braids on either side of her face and the silver adorned beads at the ends. “Marriage,” her hand trailed softly over a rather intricate braid that pulled away from her temple and up into her bun. A white, wooden bead was secured there, but only the very tail end of script could be seen as it was turned to face into her hair. “Courtship as well. When Dwarrow come of age, they make one, precious bead that is to be saved until they meet their One, or are arranged to marry another or choose to become craft-wed. Arranged marriages are usually between those who have chosen their craft, and are more meant for breeding.”

Gwyn blinked at the info dump, eying Dís' marriage braid curiously. “That's...wow, you can tell all that just from looking at a dwarf's braids?”

Dís nodded. “Those that choose to be craft-wed will weave their own courting bead into their hair. The temple,” she tapped the start of the weave of her marriage braid, “signifies the closeness of our One in our thoughts. To weave your own bead, what is supposed to be one of the most important creations a Dwarrow can make, in the locks of hair there signifies there is nothing more important to them than their craft. Nadad there made a clever forgery of his own bead in order to stave off his suitors.” The dam gave him a smug look..

Gwyn looked at the implied lock of hair, seeing it was actually a rather loose plait with a plain blue bead at the end of it. There were some indents in the stone used that could possibly be viewed as writing. Without knowing what the actual bead was supposed to look like, Gwyn supposed it could pass as a decent forgery. “Must be a pretty good deterrent.”

Thorin mildly glared at his sister, but raised a hand to barely brush the ends of Gwyn’s hair. His gaze on the Earthlander turned heated. “It has lasted long enough. You would need your hair to grow out more for a proper courting braid to be placed...should that occur.”

Gwyn brought her hand up, smoothing her hair down and grazing Thorin’s hand. “I cut it after my parents passed. I don't know why, it just...it felt right. My cousins gave me grief over it and that's when I set out with my da's friend.” More lies, but...why did it feel real? Did Gandalf do something to her when they were crossing between the worlds?

Dís placed a gentle hand on Gwyn’s shoulder. “Dwarrow will shave their beards in a show of grief, among other things. When exiled, a dwarf will be stripped of all hair. It's possible you felt some of your heritage even ignorant as you are.”

“That...that makes sense, I suppose.”

Fíli and Kíki ambled in, both fully dressed this time. Fili approached Dis and kissed her cheek. “Bakan galikh, amad.”

Kíli very determinedly did not make eye contact with Gwyn or his uncle as he claimed his prior seat. To Gwyn’s amusement, the comb Dís was using was still stuck in the knot she was working out. “Kíli, you have something here,” she gestured to the back of her head with a wicked grin, “I think there's some unfinished business there.”

She and Thorin shared amused looks as Dís started fighting with Kíli's hair again. The boy's pained yelps filled the dining room. Fíli silently shuffled to the kitchen. “I'll just watch over breakfast until you finish, amad.”

“Thank you, Fíli.” Dís disentangled the comb from the nest of knots. She grunted as the comb got firmly stuck in the knot. Kili yelped in pain, eyes watering.

Gwyn felt a pang of pity. “Dís? I think that's enough. Just use the oil trick and put him out of his misery. At the rate you're going he'll end up with a bald patch.”

Kíli's eyes widened in horror. “I'm too young to go bald, amad! I don't want to look like Master Dwalin!”

Fíli's voice echoed from the kitchen. “At least Master Dwalin has a full beard to compensate!”

Snort. Gwyn hastily covered her mouth to hold in her laughter, especially after learning how important hair is in Dwarrow culture. It's probably really rude to comment on Kíli's notable lack of a beard. Kíli gave her the most betrayed expression Gwyn had ever seen and she immediately felt horrible.

“You're supposed to be on my side, irak'amad!”

Gwyn shrugged, confused as to why he'd refer to her as mother-anything.  “Fíli's wit was just more Super Effective.” And now she wanted to smack herself for the habitual reference.

Thankfully , the Durins didn't notice anything off with her comment, instead rebuking Kíli in Khuzdul. Was that Thorin blushing again? Gwyn needed to learn Khuzdul, she had the feeling a lot was going over her head right now.

After reprimanding Kíli for jumping to conclusions before consent, Dís left to her room and returned with a small jar of lightly perfumed oil. She dipped the comb in the barest bit and started on Kíli's hair again. This time, the comb glided through easily, even through the tangles after a bit of work.

‘If this is what every morning is like, I think I could get used to this.’ Gwyn smiled to herself, content. For now, in this moment, she was here in a new world with no prior responsibilities weighing her down. She may have a lot to do in the coming months, including convincing her host to let her join him on the Journey to reclaim his kingdom. And training. And healing because Gandalf was unable to tell her shoe size. Plus this strange, magnetic pull she had towards the King-in-exile. But right now? Gwyn closed her eyes as a pleasant thrum under her skin pulsed gently and warmly. ‘Nothing could be more perfect.’

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SSD: I had intended to go into Gwyn’s first day completely, but things got away from me and the characters didn't cooperate. It is fun writing based off of skill checks, though. Thorin needs to take Observant on his next advancement. So here's some new stats!

Gandalf the Grey (For stat/lore purposes, listed as Protector Aasimar)

Class: Tempest Cleric 15 Divine Soul Sorcerer 5

Str: 11

Dex: 11

Con: 12

Int: 14

Wis: 16

Cha: 18

Skills: Arcana +8, History +8, Insight +9, Medicine +9

The irony is he doesn't have proficiency in Persuasion, just the Charisma to go off on. I would list his spells, but know there's no big damage ones on there. Because he doesn't use big magic. Hence, the Wizard is actually a Sorcerer. I also have a stat block ready for Bilbo, but I won't reveal that yet. Bilbo will get a multiclass into Rogue during the Journey, so decide on Bilbo's Rogue Archetype!

I'm still looking for feedback on what paths Fíli and Kíli should take, their options are listed in last chapter.

Next chapter will have the trip to town, a bit of a healing time skip and possibly a training montage. Adieu, my readers!

Chapter Text

SSD: Okay, New chapter. This will try to focus more on Dis' POV than the split with Thorin and Gwyn I had running last chapter. I'll post Dís' stat block at the bottom. All I can say is...Fíli and Kíli must have taken more after their uncle and father than Dís. Dís had a horrible, HORRIBLE stat roll. I won't give away more, so enjoy!

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Chapter 2: Calm before the Storm

Dís, daughter of Thráin, was quite pleased with herself. The gamut Kíli ran prior to that morning’s breakfast was an excellent test for Gwyneth Tabini's character. Perfectly orchestrated with none of the actors aware was her preferred method of a plan, the mark of a true Mastermind. As in herself. And oh, how she longed to tease her dearest brother with how utterly besotted he was! That Gwyn seemed to be genuinely oblivious only made the situation so much sweeter. Kíli, blessed boy, still needed to learn the art of subtlety. He had no business calling Gwyn “Aunt" when nothing had been finalized yet. Dís had little doubt Thorin would be able to resist the Call much longer. She certainly hadn't, even despite her One being one of *them*.

Even so, once the five were done with their meal and the dishes put up, Dís brought out her husband's boots. She offered the deerskin leather boots to Gwyn with a sad smile. “Here you are, dear. Try them on.”

It felt alien for another not her One to be in his clothes, especially when they were such an ill fit for said other. Gwyn’s feet, luckily, slid in almost perfectly.. At least one part was suitably useful. The girl winced and wiggled her foot, her toes could be seen wriggling under the soft leather. She took it off soon after.

“They're comfortable, but I can feel the bandages riding up. I really don't want to ruin these for you, Dís.” Poor thing really didn't know how to accept kindness, did she? Dís resolved to smack the girl's kin if she ever saw them. Minus having a beard, she was a perfectly respectable dwarrowdam. Menfolk, she'd never understand their taste when love blinds them just as easily as any other race.

Dís decided to tease Gwyn instead. “It will have to do. Certainly you don't expect my brother to carry you down to Master Óin. I can already see the gossip hounds' tongues wagging.” The younger dam turned crimson, much to Dís' delight.

Thorin grumbled from his seat. “I have already offered, namad. You need not meddle.”

Gwyn crossed her arms under her chest, face flushed and trying to hide behind a meager curtain of hair. Dís would need to teach her how to properly braid her hair back before they left. Even being Thorin’s One, it was yet to be publicly acknowledged. Loose hair on a dam, without even a single braid, and in public, was a sign of shame and scorn. Married dams were allowed less freedom as only their One was allowed to see them with their hair down after marriage. Loose hair signified a free spirit. Dís took care to explain this to Gwyn, satisfied when she realized the message her current hairstyle would send to other Dwarrow.

“I normally just pull it up into a ponytail and call it a day. I never got the hang of braiding like mum would do with her hair. I lost my tie on the way here and didn't think about it.” She self-consciously smoothed down her hair. “Not like it stays in one place, even then.” Dís made out from her grumbling.

Dís tutted gently. “Well, if you'll allow me, I could help with that.” She was already plotting out how to put in the Durin braid in a way that wouldn't be too noticeable to the gossips. At the same time, it would need to be just noticeable enough to give others pause and note that Gwyn was under their protection. Her eyes stared intently at Thorin’s decoy bead. She smirked, catching her brother's wary eye and flicked a meaningful gaze at Gwyn.

Thorin’s gaze landed on Gwyn anxiously, only to see her toying with the tips of her hair thoughtfully. He gave a short, terse nod and gently took out his false courting bead from his own hair. Fíli, catching the exchange, widened his eyes in surprise and flushed, covering his face with one hand. They would be in sooo much trouble with the “noble” class when this got out.

“Kuf lu aglub gantel-zu.” (Why not say your Vows?) Fíli muttered in Khuzdul. He was treated to the sight of his uncle turning bright red under his beard..

Thorin bit back a gruff, “Itrid lagb-mêzu.” (Watch your tongue.) He rolled the bead across the table to Dís.

The flash of blue caught Gwyn’s eye and she reached out to grab the object on instinct, but Dís beat her to it and snatched up the bead. Taking the comb used on Kíli just a while ago, the older dam gently started running it through Gwyn’s hair. Sweeping the top half of her hair up, Dis separated it into seven strands, the start of the traditional Durin braid. Deft fingers wove the locks together into the dual braid. Near the middle of the tragically short braid, Dís secured her brother's bead and continued on. She made a motion to Kíli and her lovely son eagerly handed over the leather strip he normally used for his own hair on rare occasions.

Dís pulled back and examined her work, pleased. The half-up style was well in line for a young dam that was unmarried. It did bring another question to her mind. “What craft do you practice, Gwyn? You mentioned being able to sew, is that your trade?”

Gwyn blinked at the question and appeared to be thinking over the question. A sliver of doubt trickled into Dís thoughts. It was a simple question. Surely it wasn't that hard to answer what she dedicated her life to.

Gwyn bit her lip. “I don't have one. Nothing I've been able to truly dedicate to. I can draw, I can write poetry, I can sew, I can cook, I have skill with numbers, but I never had the time to truly dedicate to any one thing. I'm the only child of my parents and I was kept busy learning the business.”

A lie, but still truth. Dís' eyes narrowed in thought and she caught Thorin’s gaze. Even her brother now seemed suspicious. Something was off with their guest. As pleased as Dís was that Thorin had found his One, she should probably curb her enthusiasm. They truly didn't know anything about Gwyn. There was no denying she had been under stress, dark circles marred under her eyes to show a consistent lack of sleep. After all, even a Dwarrow-blood was allowed to pursue their craft. For Gwyn to say she had no time to do so, it went against everything in Dwarrow culture. A Dwarf's life was their craft, they were created to bring art to life in all ways and mediums. Elves preach their “refinement”, but it was Dwarrow who were meant to be the true artisans.

“Well, then, you should have plenty of time while you recover to learn it.” Dís settled on in response. “I imagine you won't be walking for quite some time if Master Oin has anything to say about it.”

Thorin watched Gwyn’s reaction, noting the grimace that crossed her face. And yet...there was a relief there, her shoulders relaxing. For all that he could feel the thrum of the Call under his skin, and his intent to follow through with that Call by Mahal's will, Thorin needed to learn what he could of his One. But that can wait until after today's matters are settled. There was more to this dam, he could feel it. His hand drifted to his pocket where he had placed the recovered courting bead. It took him longer than he would have preferred to recall it's location last night and lost out on some sleep. Perhaps he could forgo going to the forge today and spend the day getting to know his One. He would just need to keep his restraint on a tighter leash while he interrogated Gwyn. Mahal help him.

“I can escort you to Oin, go to my meeting, and then assist you in your market run. If you agree, danakhiblisê.” Thorin rumbled. A swell of satisfaction filled him as he felt the connection thrum deeply between Gwyn and himself, her eyes gaining a glazed look and a shudder ran down her frame.

A quiet, dazed “Okay" slipped from the younger dam. Morning light seeped into the dining room from the kitchen. Dís clapped her hands, drawing the attention of the other Durins plus guest. "First light is already up, let's get the day started..

Fíli and Kíli stood up to leave.

“I'll head on to town, Master Dwalin has a very rigorous Face-to-floor exercise for me today.” The younger brother grimaced.

Fíli smirked. “I'll distract Balin for you, Uncle. I'll see you during the meeting.”

The two gave shallow bows, kissed Dís' cheek and left after getting their weapons from the armory.

Dís turned her attention back to Gwyn and her brother. “Let's get going as well. I don't doubt Fíli’s ability for distraction, but that is more Kíli’s expertise.”

Thorin nodded and stood, double checking he had taken one of his money pouches. He checked the contents, seeing the glimmer of silver and a few glints of gold and copper. He walked to Gwyn, smirking as she steadily turned red. Her head tucked down and he caught the glimpse of his decoy bead flicking in her bronze colored hair. He bent to scoop her up, but froze when he made contact, eyes closing as he bit back a moan. The connection vibrated heavily between them, sapping his strength. He took a fortifying breath and opened his eyes, staring into confused green and gold.

“Are you okay, Thorin?” Gwyn’s hand gently rested on his forearm.

He swallowed harshly. This...may be harder than he initially thought. He shot a warning glare at his sister when he heard her stifled laughter. He rasped out his reply, his One becoming as malleable as liquid gold. “I am well, mezemel. Do not fret.” He steeled his will and lifted the taller dam into his arms. He smiled at her sharp intake of breath once she was nestled comfortably in her new spot.

Dís shook her head, mischief sparking in her eyes. “Are you sure carrying her in such a way is a good idea?”

Thorin gave her a dry look. “It is better this way, or would you prefer I carry Gwyn over my shoulder like a barbarian?”

“This is fine! I mean, I could still walk.”

“No.” “No.” Two pairs of blue eyes narrowed. Gwyn’s speech pattern was different. Now was not the time to address it though.

....

....

 It had taken the trio roughly an hour to reach the main city gates. The city proper was surrounded by a stone wall, encompassing and sheltering the market area, what looked like office buildings but shorter, and were patrolled regularly by a retinue of dwarrow. The opening in the wall was a massive wooden door framed by two statues of Dwarven warriors. The road lead up to a massive carved staircase with an intricately engraved arch creating the opening into the mountain itself.

It looked almost identical to the gates of Orzammar, if Gwyn was being honest with herself. Orcs and goblins were going to be enough to deal with, if she started seeing Griffon banners in blue and white and hearing “For the Grey Wardens!” she was going to smack Gandalf. Even if this world did have snuggly hot Dwarven Kings able to carry her lard ass.

But people were staring and Gwyn felt her anxiety starting to rise up. Gwyn bemoaned that she was taller than Thorin. Had she been smaller, she could have hidden in his hold. This was different from holding store meetings. In store meetings, she knew each employee, had hired them and knew all their problems (and said employees were little shits). She didn't know these people and their stares were unnerving. As were the whispers. Gwyn always had a sense of when people were talking about her and her ears were like fire right now.

“Why is the King carrying a female?”

“Who is that?”

“Did you see the bead?!” “Forget the bead, look at the braid!”

The whispers of shock, horror and disbelief continued as Thorin carried her through the city. Dís walked to their side, glancing at the gossips. “Don't mind them, Gwyn. They're just jealous you have a personal escort from my brother.” She sent a wink and smirk to her.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Don't fan the flames more, namadith. We are close to Oin's now.” He locked eyes with Gwyn and gestured up the road to one of the multistory buildings. “He runs the hospital there, though it is in the process of transferring into the mountain proper.” He adjusted his grip to ensure Gwyn was secure and continued walking to the dubbed hospital.

Gwyn eyed Thorin suspiciously. “...you passed your decoy over the table this morning, didn’t you?” Her eyes narrowed as she caught the small smirk. “...why would you do that?” She asked quietly.

Dís opened the door for the two. “Master Oin, are you in?”

“We will discuss it later, danakhibisê.”

An older Dwarf hobbled out from one of the rooms, arms laden with linen rolls. He looked up from over his stack of bandages. “Your Majesty, Your Highness, to what do I owe the honor?”

Dís took the lead, seeing Thorin’s expression twist in contempt at the title. She shook her head. He'd need to get used to it again if he was hoping to reclaim Erebor. “We have a patient for you. We did what we could, but we would like your expertise.”

Oin grumped and gestured down the hall. “There's a free room down here. Caravan arrived earlier this morning. Suffered from an ambush.” He entered the small room that only had a rickety cot, a small medicine cabinet on the wall, a table and a chair. “Set the lass on the bed and I'll take a look.”

Thorin tensed at the mention of an early morning caravan and set Gwyn down as directed. “We didn't pass a caravan trail.”

“Aye, aye, came from the South, methinks, not the East.” His lip curled. “Menfolk escorting Elves to the Grey Havens. Got ambushed by a goblin nest on the way back down by Lûne foothills.”

Thorin’s teeth ground together. It would be Menfolk, which means whatever goods they may have been transporting will now be higher in price to recover from the losses made by the ambush. “Which caravan line? Not Wilicks?” Greer Wilicks was a loathsome, greedy merchant, but he delivered quality tobacco and fabrics which were products that, unfortunately, the Dwarrow of the Ered Luin still weren't able to manufacture well. So he was a necessary evil. Thorin could easily see the man doubling the normal cost of his wares..

Oin shook his head as he directed Gwyn to raise her foot and began undoing the bandage. “Nah, not that sack of slugs. The other one. Dewrder.”

Gwyn jerked her head up. That was...but that's impossible. Eyes wide, her breathing quickened. “Which one?”

“You're familiar with them?” Thorin gently pressed, wary.

Gwyn nodded shortly. “Yes, but...they shouldn't be here. Dewrder is my Da's family name. He took Mum's name when they married. But why are they here?”

Thorin felt the muscles in his jaw twitch, casting a glance to Dís who had been quiet. She gave him an equally puzzled look along with an intense flicking of her gaze to Gwyn’s braid. Gwyn seemed confused on what her kin would be doing in this part of Arda. But with his own increasing suspicions, he wasn't sure if he could trust her reactions. The accent she used last night and on waking had also returned.

“Oin, how many were injured?” The King-in-exile demanded.

“About a dozen, including the leader. Those bringing him in said he put up a fight, slayed over two dozen of the muddy bastards on his own. Hand me the alcohol.” Dís passed him a clear bottle from the medicine cabinet, taking up the role of assistant while Thorin was briefed.

Gwyn hissed at the application of the alcohol. The bandages being pulled off had reopened several of her cuts and it stung like a bitch. “Who was it? Daryn? Lloyd? Caden or Cai?” Panic filled her. It couldn't possibly be her cousins, they were worlds away. Literally.

Oin looked up at her suspiciously. “Aye, Lloyd Dewrder. I have him further down the hall.”

Gwyn tried to take her foot back, but the healer was a lot stronger than he looked. “I need to see he's alright, please.” Unshed tears welled in her eyes.

Thorin cursed internally as the sight of those tears felt like a knife to the chest. He rested his hand on her shoulder and gently pressed her down to sit firmly on the cot. Balin was going to be furious with him for being so late. “I will check on him for you. Focus on your treatment, Gwyn, I will return.” He squeezed her shoulder, thumb gently brushing her neck in a way that turned her into a boneless heap. Thorin released his One's shoulder, chuckled at her mumbled babble and resolutely ignored the way Oin's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Which room is Master Dewrder in?”

The old healer shook himself from the shock. “Yellow room three.”

A frown creased Thorin’s brow as he nodded and went further into the building. The hospital was one of the first buildings that had been constructed out of stone after the settlement was established. It was one of the reasons Oin insisted on moving it into the mountain proper. The ground and first floors were stable enough, but the upper floors had several support beams rotting. Three rooms on the top floor had collapsed in the last month alone. It wasn't excessively large, but the hospital was still the size of a middling manor. It would be torn down and the stone reused in other projects once the hospital in the mountain was fully equipped.

Thorin passed a door with a red painted 3 and took a right at a cross section. The doors here had orange paint. He scowled and turned around, taking the left and into a hall with yellow painted numerals. If he remembered the progression right, it went along the lines of:

Blue- examination

Green- Quarantine

Yellow- open wounds, non-lifethreatening

Orange- severe injury/illness

Red- critical injury

Red used to be the only color down on the ground level since it would be foolish to move the severely injured up stares. Green was on the top floor, since it was most out of the way. Blue/Yellow shared the floor below Green and Orange was the floor above Red. With the upper two floors out of commission and half of the first also down with a collapsed hallway, all treatments were on the same level. And they were more or less jumbled. One hall would be Yellow then shift to orange or blue or some other combination. Unless one was a healer, it was easy to get turned around in the complex.

Thorin knocked on the yellow painted 3. Muffled cursing came from behind the wood, followed by a thunk. A young Dwarf with an apprentice braid answered with a scowl.

“Don't tell me there's anoth-ho, yah, hah, Majesty!” The young dwarf's eyes widened in shock and mortification. He straightened up immediately, hands wiping off on the white smock he wore and left faint streaks of blood.. “How may i assist?” He hastily bowed.

Thorin felt bemused at the flustered dwarf's stuttering. “I have need of Master Dewrder and would speak with him. Are you finished with the treatment?”

“A-ah, yes! Yes.” The apprentice stepped aside, revealing a Man reclining on the standard cot.

He appeared to be about the same height as his One. His hair was close cropped, unevenly, almost to his scalp and short tufts of dark bronze hair peppered with grey stuck up. His eyes were a dark hazel, more brown than green. Lloyd also had no shirt, revealing a smattering of freshly bandaged wounds on a somewhat stocky frame. Physically, he appeared to be nearly twice Gwyn’s age. The Man looked up at Thorin’s entrance and straightened his spine.

“I didn't think our caravan’s fate would call for the King of Ered Luin's attention. Forgive us for the disturbance.” He tried bowing, but grimaced and only managed an awkward half-bow.

Thorin withheld his disdain for that particular title. “It has little to do with your encounter, though I will address the issue with the Council. The Southern road is just as important as the Easterly.” He gave a Look at the apprentice. “Leave us.” The apprentice made an odd squeak/croaking sound and swiftly left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Thorin cleared his throat. “My interest lies in a more personal matter.”

Lloyd's demeanor stiffened, becoming more guarded. “In what manner, precisely, Your Majesty? I'm just a businessman.”

“Aye, you are. Do you have any kin that go by Tabini?” Thorin scrutinized the Man as he sharply inhaled.

“She made it here? Is Gwyneth safe? My sister found a note from her in her tent a fortnight ago and nowhere to be found.. Please, we've been worried sick.” Thorin’s scrutiny eased at seeing Lloyd's seemingly genuine concern.

“Gwyn is well. My nephews encountered her on the East road and she stayed the night with my family. She is with Master Oin now, seeing to her own injuries.” He held his hand up, gaze stern when he saw righteous fury burn in Lloyd's eyes. “Nothing untoward happened. Whatever escort she had abandoned her several miles from Thorin’s Gate and left her with no shoes and a poor blade for defense.”

Lloyd snorted. “She only knows the pointy bit goes in the opponent.” He looked away guiltily. “I apologize for thinking less of your honor, it was ignorant of me.” He swung his legs off the cot, wincing as his legs hit the edge. Taking a fortifying breath, Lloyd managed to push himself to standing. “Would you be so kind as to show me to her so I may ascertain her condition myself?”

Thorin gave a terse nod. Lloyd was taller than he initially estimated. Where Gwyn’s height made it so certain...areas...would be in easy reach for him later in their courtship, this Man was 4 inches taller than her and looming down at an unreasonable height. “She's in one of the exam rooms near the front.”

Lloyd gasped in pain, but managed to follow after Thorin’s lead. To his relief, Thorin’s lack of navigational skills did not flare up and he was able to get to Gwyn’s exam room with no issue. He opened the door, unconsciously relaxing as the ever-present thrum of their connection returned and his gaze softened on his One. Oin looked to be finishing up on her other foot when those green-gold eyes looked up at the door.

Gwyn’s eyes widened in complete shock, barely managing to prevent her jaw from dropping. Looming behind Thorin The Majestic was a perfect doppelganger of one of her older cousins. But...how?! How was it possible that her cousin was here?

“L-Lloyd? But...wha?” What are you doing here?

The Lloyd-lookalike hobbled in, scowl firmly in place. “A letter, Gwyn? Disappearing in the night? Erú above! Gisal has been frantic with worry the past weeks.”

Wait. She was a runaway here? The story Gwyn made up just last night wasn't actually a story? She was very confused. Gandalf had to have done something, there's no other explanation for why there's a copy of her family here. Or this really is a dream after all. Did she have a stroke from overwork and now she's trapped in a coma? Her mouth moved on its own, an anger coiling hotly in her chest.

“You were selling my Da's share, without consulting me! What didja think I would do!”. That wasn't like the Lloyd she knew, not at all. Shut up, mouth! “And to that louse Wilicks! Mum woulda rolled in her grave, as would Da!”

“Master Wilicks has run a successful caravan for years, the partnership would only help us. Especially after the losses we've had since Uncle Dafydd's death.” Lloyd spared a glance around the room, noticing the glares he was receiving from the Dwarrow inside. An unease filled him and he wasn't certain why they were acting so defensive. “Your Da's share doesn't exist, Gwyn. Not since his death. You know the laws as well as I do. Your advice is helpful-"

“When you bother listening.”

Frustration clouded Lloyd's features. “Can we not do this here? Do you even know who we're with right now?”

Clarity came over Gwyn. This Lloyd thinks she's ignorant, foolish, just a girl that didn't know what the world was like. The Lloyd she knew knew that she had a varied education, knew that she was capable. They may have only seen each other once every couple years, living states away, but she at least talked to her cousins through Facebook. An idea came to her, one that would slap this imposter with a dose of reality. And perhap a little spurred on by the fact she had what, in common belief, was Thorin’s courtship bead in her hair. Hopefully His Majesty wouldn't kill her for what she was about to do...

Planting her feet on the floor with a hiss, Erebor eyes narrowed as Gwyn stood, ignoring Oin's attempts to keep her seated. If this was a dream or a coma, nothing bad would happen from her intended course of action. Hopefully. She strode purposefully towards Thorin, nudging passed her cousin’s doppelganger, took his face in both hands, and kissed him.

A pin could have dropped and still be heard from the silence that took over the room. The three observers jaws all dropped in shock, Dís eying the girl in disbelief. She could have sworn it would take her longer to put together the clues the princess had been not-so-subtly dropping what with how clueless she had seemed. Oin appeared particularly flustered from the display, muttering about appropriateness and propriety. Lloyd's fists clenched, fury building when Thorin finally moved and not in a genteel way.

Thorin was, perhaps, the most surprised by Gwyn’s forwardness, especially considering how skittish she had behaved last night and all morning. Blue eyes slid closed, one large hand coming up to cradle the side of her head as he tilted her head down into a better angle. His other arm curled around her waist, pulling her to him. And the bond. The bond snapped firmly into place, a thread of mithril gossamer connecting and weaving their souls together even more closely. There was more he had wanted to uncover about his One before coming to this step, but his concerns fell to the wayside, pleasant heat and warmth erupting from their points of contact.

Balin was going to kill him for getting irrevocably betrothed before consulting him, but his cousin could stuff it.

Gwyn’s eyes fluttered closed and she stroked her hands up Thorin’s jaw and threaded them in his hair. This was nothing like the few kisses she had in high school. Those were awkward, wet, and, in her opinion, unpleasant. This was the complete opposite. There was no tongue, just the pressing and gentle suckling of the lips, but it felt perfect and warm. It was a little weird, having to be the one to tilt down, but it felt right. Thorin’s hand on her waist sent fire coursing up her spine and she felt something shift inside her head, as if something loose had finally clicked into place.

“Nothing untoward, was it? What do you call this, then, Your Majesty?” Lloyd's voice held a cold anger.

Regretfully pulling away, Gwyn tried to catch her breath as she remembered where she was. Wrapping her arms around Thorin’s shoulders in an embrace, she did her level best to glare at this fake form of her cousin. Thorin didn't fight her, his gaze dazed and face set in an expression of stupefied amazement. “Like you have any idea about the other half of my culture. Who's idea was it to not tell me about my mum being a Dwarf? Uncle Jor's? Uncle Rhett? Uncle Reece? Who convinced her to keep quiet?”

“Culture? You are part of Menfolk, Gwyn. We raised you and taught you, it's our customs you know, not theirs!” He glared at Thorin. “What sort of enchantment have you put on her?”

Dís squared up, eyes narrowed as she glared up at the Man a foot and a half taller than her. “You will watch your tone, Master Dewrder. Gwyn is more of a dam than a woman, the only thing she carries from you Menfolk is her height and lack of beard! Need I remind you that Thorin’s Gate is covering most of the cost of your treatment after your ordeal?”

A part of trade agreements made early on to entice merchants in the time the Dwarrow were still reestablishing their presence in the Blue Mountains.

Lloyd's bluster wilted quite comically under Dís' stern gaze. “This isn't like Gwyn, though! She's never so much as turned her head at a man.”

Dís sniffed haughtily. “As it is a private matter, I should not disclose this outside of close family.” She turned to Oin and nodded imperially at him. “May we have the room for a moment, Master Oin?”

The elder healer nodded mutely and shuffled from the room, still in shock from seeing his King being so lovestruck.

Dís squared her shoulders, ushered her oddly compliant brother and his One into the room with Lloyd and shut the door. “Judging by your spiel, you have little clue of Dwarrow culture despite one of your kin marrying one of ours.” She gave the older man a disapproving look. “We keep our culture close to our chest and I will keep it that way. However, our people will, on occasion experience what we simply name the Call. There are several other similar feelings in our culture with the same importance, but the one I witnessed last night was what we call Mudtelboss, the Heartbond Call. It is what happens when a Dwarf meets the other half of their soul.”

Lloyd looked to be in disbelief, glancing again at where his cousin stood wrapped and wrapping in the King's embrace. “You expect me to believe this is some Love at first sight fairy tale?”

“Any different than when Da came back from a trip with Mum in tow?” Gwyn’s mouth ran off again, giving her cousin a heated glare.

“Do you know how much that hurt us in losing business in the Iron Hills? It wasn't just your Da's branch that got banned, it was all four of the Dewrder brothers.”

Gwyn blinked. “What? That's why we haven't gone there? Why didn't you just say so instead of making me look a fool whenever I suggested we expand to there?”

Thorin finally pulled himself from his daze at hearing the talk. He frowned heavily, recalling what he did last night when he asked Gwyn her age. He leaned his head up to her ear, relishing the shiver that went through her. “I will tell you later, amrulê, but know it is a good thing you did not return.”

Lloyd's jaw twitched. “It wasn't important to discuss why. Frankly, your parents union upset a lot of the nobility in that area and Da, Reece and Rhett had to scramble to find other substitutions for clientele.” He waved a hand at the couple and dryly stated. “Am I to expect a wedding invitation now?”

Gwyn turned bright red, Thorin’s arm tightening possessively around her. Dís smirked, slyly answering. “The courtship is still unofficial by our ways. Gwyn still has much to learn, but I imagine no more than a month before such arrangements can be finalized.”

Wide eyes looked at Dís in betrayal. “Say what?” She colored darker as her King nuzzle her cheek. Sparing her cousin a glance, Lloyd was pointedly looking away from her. Comparing the versions of her cousin in a battle of Nature vs. Nurture, it looked like Nurture won out in her Middle Earth cousin.

Lloyd's shoulders sagged, Gwyn’s comment going ignored. He straightened with a wince and locked eyes with Thorin, glaring down. “If this is so, we will be working out a proper betrothal contract. Gwyn may have her mother's name, but she is still a Dewrder and my responsibility.”

Thorin couldn't believe his luck. After the horrors he experienced in his youth, the struggles of providing for his family and establishing a new home for his people, Mahal has truly smiled on him. When Gwyn first said she wasn't close to her kin, he thought it would be easier to forgo their blessing. Then finding her kin this morning and that they do care for her, he thought he would need to adjust and extend his plans for a proper courtship while convincing her kin it was a good idea. Mahal bless Dís and that silver tongue of hers! First chance he got, he was giving Gwyn the courtship bead properly.

A knock thudded on the door. “Thorin! Get your ass out ‘ere, Balin's gone spare with ye being two hours late!”

The door swung open, revealing a Dwarf the same height as Thorin with a bald, tattooed head and a full dark brown beard. Dwalin paused at the scene before him. He took the sight of a bandaged Man, the disturbing smirk on Dís’ face and...his King holding a Woman quite possessiv-was that what he thought it was?! Dwalin locked eyes on the familiar blue bead, flitted to Thorin’s hair, went back to the Woman’s braid, back to Thorin.

“You sly old dog! You didn't say you were courtin'!” Dwalin’s voice boomed into the hallway.

Thorin pressed his forehead to Gwyn’s shoulder. So much for his idea of slowly wooing and tormenting his One.

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SSD: Cut! Okay, this went on way longer than I wanted. And some of the characters caught on to things faster than intended. Considering that this is still about 6-9 months before the start of Hobbit canon, I think it's still plenty of time for Gwyn and Thorin to bond more than just the attraction. And Thorin’s plans keep getting thwarted by the most mundane of things.

I spent more time in the hospital scene than I wanted. It was supposed to be a quick patch n' go, but no. I decided to roll a percentile for an encounter. 99. This part of the plot was supposed to be several chapters away, but the characters clearly didn't agree with me. Oh well, I did my best to obscure what's happening, but I wonder who else will catch on to what's up my sleeve?

Remember, Gwyn, Fíli, Kíli and Bilbo's Rogue Archetypes are all in the air still. Although, for reasons, I'm leaning for Gwyn to be an Arcane Trickster. To leave you off with, here's Dís' stat block. Fair warning, I rolled her stats twice and it still came out with a 4 in the batch.

Dís Durin- Level 4 Mountain Dwarf Rogue-Mastermind (Chaotic Good)

Str 6

Dex 16

Con 13

Int 13

Wis 15

Cha 13

Skills: Deception +3, History +3, Insight +6 (expertise), Investigation +3, Perception +6 (expertise), Persuasion +3

Feat: Poisoner

I'm going to subscribe to the theory that Dís being separated from her One for so long gave her a massive negative buff to her Strength. And I'm not revealing who her One was/is! Just know it is NOT the fan-favorite creation of Víli. Next chapter I'll open with Dís' POV again, since she's going to want to cause SO much mayhem for her brother next chapter. Dwalin getting an 18 on a Perception check was not something I expected. It was a raw roll since I've yet had time to make his character sheet. Look forward to next time! Read, review, and kudos!

Chapter Text

SSD: Back with a new chapter, y’all! I will admit, this is just as fun a playground as the world of Fairy Tail. I'll add Khuzdul translations at the bottom,sentences will be in parentheses.Enjoy!
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Chapter 3: Upheaving Proposals

The morning was progressing in a very different direction than Dís had anticipated. She didn't miss the way Gwyn had rendered her surly brother into a stupefied dope, a memory she will *treasure*. What confused and stumped the princess was that her future sister-in-law hadn't shown such spine the night before. It could be a simple explanation of her being too exhausted to argue with her hosts, but Dís felt that wasn't the case. There were also times, last night and just now, where Gwyn almost...didn't seem in control of her own actions.

The kiss was 100% the dam's own doing. The First Kiss was an impossible reaction to fake, Dís had seen it all too many times on other dwarrow, one had even tried with her before she acknowledged her One. So no, the kiss was entirely Gwyn’s desire. The argument with her cousin, however, was not. Her eyes screamed disbelief and confusion, but her mouth spat nothing but anger and frustration. Dís couldn't understand the dichotomy. It was almost as if Gwyn was two people at once, but that was an impossibility. Dís would need to get in touch with some of her more...esoteric contacts. It would not do for the future Queen of Erebor to be under the enchanted control of some usurper.

Widespread belief was that only the Istari were capable of magic. That was...not entirely true. Magic was just exceptionally rare to come across outside of the Elven races. Dwarrow practiced runic and alchemical magic, for example, along with having innate stone-shaping. Elves were fortune-tellers and healers or other branches depending on which of the eight tribes they were.. Men were capable of tapping into either great evil or great good and influencing the people around them. Dís’ information on Hobbits was on the thin side, but she heard rumors coming from there of a small number of the creatures being able to commune with nature even better than a Sylvan Elf. Gwyn being, unknowingly, under a spell wasn't outside the realm of possibility. She'll keep an ear out for Tharkûn, he may be able to help dispel the enchantment, hopefully before the spellcaster is able to accomplish whatever goal he may have in mind.

She was also mildly annoyed with Dwalin. He wasn't stupid, but surely he knew that shouting about her brother's relationship status was not the smartest idea.

“Dwalin, cousin, what have I said about reading a room?” If Dís’ glare could peel paint...

Dwalin would probably still ignore it. “Scuse me for yer delicate sensibilities. Balin's ‘bout ta tear his beard out. Councilors are clamorin’ with news from the street about His Majesty struttin’ aroun’ with a dam in his arms an’ his bead in her hair. Yer sensible nephew is keepin’ his trap shut, but I can see why. Le's go put out the fires.”

Thorin gave a silent groan and swept Gwyn into his arms. Lloyd's eyes widened in surprise at the ease it was done. “Very well. Master Dewrder-”

“Lloyd, if you please. Seeing how we'll be family sooner or later.”

“Lloyd, if you have a tunic, I suggest you get it. We may be a while yet hammering out that betrothal contract.” He nodded to Dwalin to lead the way.

The Guard Captain looked askance at Gwyn and then up to Thorin. “Yeh sure yeh want this done now? That can't be all the lass has to wear.”

“Why IS she in Elven garb? Didn't you pack anything else, Gwyneth?”

Dís cleared her throat. “One of our ventures today was to get her more suitable clothing. Her garments were damaged in her travels. If the Council has a negative opinion of the clothes *I* loaned her, they can take it up with me.”

Gwyn allowed a sheepish expression to cross her face. It wasn't her fault, she didn't know she was going to drop into a fantasy setting! “Thought we agreed on fabric only?”

Lloyd scoffed. “If you want to wear a tent, cousin. Your needlework is something left to be desired.”

Gwyn frowned. That was bullshit. She had sewn plenty of costumes for cosplay, recently making a Soren from Path of Radiance. She used a Renaissance gown pattern as a base for that and it came out splendidly! ...on the second attempt. She will grant that. But was whatever backstory of her that existed here a completely incompetent clutz? Lloyd has been acting like she could barely string a sentence together unless it dealt with numbers and logistics. Give her a tape measure, some butcher paper and other supplies, she'd show him what a dedicated cosplayer could do! She made armor out of *cardboard* and made it look fantastic!

Dís’ brow creased in thought. Her intuition told her Gwyn had told her the truth when she said she could sew, but that same intuition told her Lloyd wasn't lying. This puzzle was proving to be most contradictory and vexing.

Thorin gently squeezed his One's side. “I would rather you have suitable attire first instead of stressing over crafting your own. Since your kin is here, perhaps some of your belongings are still with the caravan?” He glanced up at Lloyd, prompting him to answer.

Lloyd shrugged, wincing when it strained his stitches. “We were lucky enough that only one of us succumbed to our injuries.” He seemed to have an internal debate before shaking his head, deeming it irrelevant. “At least it was goblins and not bandits. Not much of our merchandise was lost, though it is roughed up. We will be willing to give you suitable discounts on anything deemed salvage.”

Thorin almost sagged in relief. At least his One's kin was reasonable! “It is good to see some among Men still value honor.”

Gwyn truly wanted to say something, anything, to counter but she wasn't the Gwyneth Tabini that this Lloyd was familiar with. That Gwyn probably was familiar with the economy of the area and could make an observation that sounded sensible. She was still insulted by her so-called cousin's assessment of her skills. Instead, she looped her other arm around Thorin’s neck to loosely embrace him, red tinting her cheeks from their closeness.

“Hopefully my books and drawings are still safe.” Gwyn bitterly bit out, ready to hear criticism on her "alter's” skills there, too.

Lloyd looked affronted. “Of course we kept them safe! Your Pink Willow paintings are one of our more popular items since that board you did for Gisal's wedding.”

Paintings? Paintings?! Her Alter could PAINT?! Gwyn was *horrible* with paint, not counting the event Lloyd brought up. Though in her memory, it was chalk, not paint and took four hours just to put the barebones concept down.

Dís hummed thoughtfully. “So you are a painter? Why did you not say so this morning?”

Gwyn went to deny it, but Lloyd spoke for her. “It's recent. My sister remarried 6 months ago. She and Gwyn have always been close, so Gwyn wanted to try something new to bless the union. She devoured books from the Shire on the Hobbits customs. Did you know they have an entire language dedicated to flowers and each flower has a special meaning? Well, Gwyn became enamored with the idea and crafted an image to use as the wedding banner. The townsfolk there saw and we started getting commissions for similar art.”

Gwyn felt her ears heat as the Dwarrow of the group gave her appraising looks. Thorin rumbled gently. “If there is time, I would like to see your craft.”

“It wasn't all that good, nothing spectacular...” the Earthlander mumbled, leaning in to try and hide in the King's arms. In her opinion, it was rubbish. It looked decent enough from a distance, but getting close showed all the dots and splotches and...it was a mess. If her Alter did the same painting, then the Dwarrow would definitely agree with he summation of it. Master artisans and all that jazz.

“All the same, it is yours and I wish to see.” The King's lips brushed her cheek just as they exited the hospital.

The trek inside the mountain progressed quietly, Dís asking Gwyn to expound more on her so-called “craft” of her Alter. As Gwyn explained she did more sketching or doodles than any real art, Dís began to feel that something was missing in the story between the cousins. Gwyn had too low an opinion of something that should be her pride, as is what a Dwarf's craft is. Lloyd, on the contrary, sang of her skill with a brush and color. Painting, to be fair, is an expensive craft, especially for those without the skill to mix their own paints. Considering Gwyn’s insistence to purchase fabric over tailored clothes, this would imply that she is used to only just getting by. Lloyd's insistence that she cannot sew, though, had seemed to wound Gwyn’s pride in the same way that insulting a Dwarf’s craft would. Yet she hadn't said a word contrary in his presence. Recalling how Gwyn refused her husband's boots this morning for fear of “ruining” them, a very uncomfortable picture was forming in Dís’ mind. And she didn't like it.

Entering Ered Luin proper, Thorin’s Gate referring to the outer part of the settlement, the party of five walked the stone halls. Two large disc's made of brass sat on swivel over top of large braziers that would normally be piled high with burning logs at night. The metal bounced the morning sunlight and refracted it into the mountain, casting it in a warm glow. Blue veins of minerals ran finely marbled through the otherwise grey stone, the blue casting tiny prisms of light that danced along the walls.

Gwyn was in awe. It was NOTHING like Orzammar. No river of magma to suffocate the people with noxious gases and light up the place, for one thing. For another, it wasn't crafted to reflect castes in a graduating ring. Oh, the interior was a large cavern, no mistaking that. By large, she meant it was like a shopping mall that was tens of miles big! Stairs and hallways, cordoned off “buildings”, it was just...phenomenal. On a rock shelf sat a carved palace of stone, gleaming blue in the reflected light. And they built this in only 150 years on scraps?

“Sweet Maker's breath and Andraste's sword...” Gwyn breathed out. She could see the appeal for Erebor’s treasure now, if what she remembered from the mmovie was even half as close to what existed. That much treasure could easily support this home, too, and give the Dwarrow a third great kingdom. Every fanfic she read had said Ered Luin was desolate, or on the verge of collapse, but that wasn't what she saw here. The journey to Erebor truly was a matter of a company of Dwarrow wanting to return home. Gwyn felt tears in her eyes as she made sense of Balin's words to Thorin in the movie.

He truly did help carve out a life for their people.

Lloyd's jaw dropped, having been coming this way for twenty years, but never seeing the interior of the Mountain. “By my stars...”

Dís was amused by Gwyn’s unusual swearing of Mahal and how taken she was with Ered Luin. She hopped up, clapping Lloyd's jaw shut. “Be honored, Master Lloyd, you are the first Man that we've allowed entry into the mountain proper. Welcome to Ered Luin.”

“It's beautiful...”

The older dam preened with pride for her people at Gwyn’s quiet awe. “Thank you.” She leaned up and whispered to the girl, knowing her brother would be able to hear. “Perhaps you can convince my stubborn nadad to move into the palace, like he is supposed to.”

“Not ruddy likely.” Thorin scowled.

Dís rolled her eyes. Typical.

Gwyn looked at Thorin curiously. She knew he was royalty, fanfiction and lore always agreed that he ruled in the Blue Mountains like he should have in Erebor. But...he and Dís lived so far outside even the main gate of the settlement. Thorin was called a King-in-exile, but with how Ered Luin was structured, he should have been enjoying all the amenities that came with being royalty. Why would he choose to live like a, well...like a commoner when his people still called him Majesty?

“Magnificent...” Lloyd whispered in equal awe. He knew that it was rumored among the merchant circles that the Dwarves of Ered Luin were poor and barely able to rub two gold together. It was unfathomable that they could create such wonders while being so destitute. Lloyd had seen the clothes they wear, the materials were almost substandard. He had seen better worn by the commonfolk in Gondor, even the Dwarven royalty wore common linen!

Dwalin grunted. “We done the gawkin’? Council's waitin’.”

The group trekked up the stone walkways and stairs, Thorin having to adjust his hold on Gwyn to prevent her from slipping out a few times. He cursed the slipperiness of the Elven material.

“Perhaps we should make a quick stop at a tailor or seamstress. This damn fabric...” Thorin scowled as he fisted the material.

Thankfully, the tunic was made for an Elf, or Gwyn might have ended up flashing some skin around the city. With their delicate, medieval sensibilities, that might have caused some truly scandalous rumors to fly.

Dís agreed. “It makes sense. We will be introducing Gwyn to the Council as your intended, brother. There is a shop not far off the main way we can use that is run by a distant cousin.”

Thorin racked his brain for the various bloodlines connected to theirs. He nodded upon realizing who Dís intended. “The Ri Clan would give their silence until anything public was made. Very well.”.

To Dwalin’s frustration, and inability to counter his rulers’ will, he grumbled and went with the direction change. They turned onto a side street and down a paved way that ran parallel to the main path. The group came to a low building, only about six and a half feet tall, perfectly reasonable height for a Dwarf, but a little claustrophobia-inducing for Gwyn, let alone Lloyd. There were squares cut into the stone to resemble windows, each draped in beautifully embroidered crimson linen. Shutters were attached to the windows, presumably for when the shop closed.

The Man needed to hunch down to enter, hissing in pain. Inside the shop was a Dwarf with a powerful, wide build. Fine silver hair was perfectly coifed and braided back in a very intricate bun, a thin beard of the same mithril color graced the Dwarf's jawline. A maroon velvet coat fit snug to their chest, emphasizing a well endowed bosom and a white line blouse poked from underneath the vest, the sleeves cuffed into belltops by leather cinches around the upper arms of the...dam?

Gwyn held back her gasp of surprise. The hairdo matched what Dori had in the movies to a T, but everything else was different. Dori was a she, for one thing. The Earthlander silently bemoaned her misfortune. Not only had Gandalf pulled her into this world/gotten trapped in a coma, but it was a Rule 63 universe to boot! Who else was a different gender? Legolas? Arwen? Freaking Bilbo, because why not? This just made her ability to predict future happenings completely moot. And it annoyed her, greatly.

Dori looked over from where she was fussing over a gown on a mannequin. Her back went ramrod straight before she fell into a curtsey. “Your Majesty, Your Highness! What can I do for you?” She sent a brief, mistrustful look to the Man behind them before her equally silver gaze landed on Gwyn. Her gaze flicked curiously to her leaders.

“Do you have anything in stock that might fit a tall dam?” Dís took the lead, knowing Thorin disliked this part of shopping.

Dori glanced again at Gwyn and back to Dís. “A tall dam? No, not at the moment. Certainly nothing that might fit one of this lady's size.”

Lloyd sighed. “Perhaps we should have detoured back to the wagons before coming after all.”

The silver-haired dam puffed up in agitation. “Now, you see here! I said not at the moment. I have a few works that I've yet to finish hemming. Give me twenty minutes to let out the hem and it should be enough to cover that lass properly. Nerve of Menfolk...” Dori tutted.

Gwyn piped up. “Would you mind if I saw the dresses first? Or at least knew the colors? I mean, surely a master seamstress would know what would suit her client best, but I would like to know for my own peace of mind.”

Dori seemed unmoved by Gwyn’s plea, giving her a once over and sniffed haughtily. “My King and lady were right to bring you here. Clearly my expertise is needed. I have just the gown in mind. Give me twenty minutes to have it out.” She turned on her polished, booted heel and stalked into a door with several layers of sheer fabric hanging over it.

Gwyn blinked owlishly. Dís chuckled.

“Dori is normally like that, what with having to raise her siblings. Ori is the sweetest dam imaginable while Nori is a little...rambunctious.” Dís hesitated slightly on the topic of Nori, shooting a brief glance at Dwalin.

The Captain merely grumbled, looking as surly as Thorin, who finally set Gwyn down in a chair. “Annoying little prat...I oughta hang ‘im up by ‘is beard.” Did Dís spy a bit of pink on those cheeks?

She smirked impishly. “Don't tell me Nori has outwitted you again? Were left in your skivvies again this time?”

Dwalin looked affronted. “It was only the once, once! I'm gonna ring that mimkhi neck next I see ‘im.”

Lloyd looked uneasy. “This...Nori...is a troublemaker?”

Thorin frowned. “Nori has caused some trouble in the past, but their usefulness isn't in doubt. They are one of my more trusted agents. You likely will not meet them.”

The caravan trader nodded slowly. “Right...

Gwyn screamed internally. Dori and Ori were both Rule 63s and it seemed Nori identified as gender neutral or something like those lines. Would the two fem-Ri's even be allowed on the journey? Or were they going to be down those two from the beginning? Would they be down three? Nori might not go if Dori and Ori aren't there. How did the Company even get formed? It was formed from his kin, she knew that much. Which, the Ri Clan, as Dís called them, would fit. Does that give them an automatic pass into the Company? Why couldn't she have just gotten a "What to do to join the Company” manual from the stupid Wizard? She'd probably stress less if she had *some* sort of guidebook handy. Didn't Gandalf kidnap her to ease her stress? Stupid hypocrite.

The idle chit-chat continued until Dori came out of the room, a gown of rich, rose red thrown over her arm. The dam seemed rather flustered, probably due to the rush job.

“Apologies, it won't be my best work, but since it appears you are on a tight schedule, I hope this will do. If the miss will follow me to the dressing room?”

Gwyn went to stand, only to squawk as Thorin lifted her again. “I c’n manage a few steps, Thorin!” As great as it felt being in his arms, the protectiveness was starting to feel a little overbearing.

The King leveled a stern glare that knocked any protest from her. “We only just had your injuries rebandaged. You'll not risk undoing them.”

Gwyn pursed her lips and crossed her arms as she sulked in his hold. Thorin carted her into the dressing room, let her stand, and left to be replaced by Dori. The dam shut the door and started fussing around Gwyn.

“You just let him handle you like some porcelain doll? I'd have have given him a good piece of my mind.” She set up a stool and helped Gwyn out of the tunic. Dori paused at the bra Gwyn wore, looking at it curiously. “What is this? What a strange corset?” She poked the material and the underwire.

Gwyn yelped. “Easy! It's called a brassiere, or bra for short. A little easier to breath in than a corset.” Gwyn should know. She wore one, once, for her best friends’ wedding since it was one of the only times she had a worn a dress. And now she'll be wearing a dress again for the second time within a year. “Thorin’s just a little overprotective is all.”

Dori peered up at her over her nose, smaller than her male counterpart's but still on the bulbous side. “Any particular reason?” She shimmied the leggings off of Gwyn’s legs, the younger dam sighing in relief from the constricting material. Elf legs were a lot leaner than her thunder thighs.

Gwyn debated on answering, but shrugged, figuring it would be best to play dumb. “No idea.”

The silver-haired dam nodded, taking the words at face value as she threw the dress over her head. She eyed the bra, then the shoulderless gown. “You'll need to remove that “bra” contraption. I'd like to study it, if you don't mind, but it gets in the way of the dress.”

Gwyn hesitated, she was a big girl and needed the bra for support. “Do you have anything else for support?”

Dori thought for a moment, hoped off the stool, and came back with a gold trimmed leather piece. After moving the bodice down and removing the bra, she tugged the leather around Gwyn’s middle, centered it, then cinched the laces. She nodded in satisfaction as Gwyn’s feminine bits stayed up and presentable. “That should do.”

Now that Gwyn had a better look, throughout the velvet material were embroidered roses. it was done in red thread only a couple shades paler than the fabric, but it was very well done. Considering her business, Gwyn felt the dress more fitting than the green one she wore last night. The top, surprisingly, fit like a glove and was soft against her skin. The sleeves conformed around her arms just as snug but comfortably, but the skirts billowed out around her hips under the garnished leather. It fell about an inch short of her ankles, though.

“I never thought I'd see the day that His Majesty would find a wife.” Dori commented as she made minor tucks and adjustments to the fit..

Gwyn blushed. “We only just met yesterday and everyone is already talking about marriage. Is that normal with Dwarrow courtship?”

Dori blinked wide silver eyes at her, an understanding dawning in her gaze. “You weren't told anything?”

“I mean, there was a rushed lesson this morning during hair care and a bit about bead symbolism. It’s just been one thing after another and I feel this magnetism and get swept away and it's so-” Gwyn was beginning to ramble.

“You're his One.” Dori gaped in shock, most unbecomingly. “You are the King's One. Oh dear, I see why the rush now. No, let me get you a pair of slippers, my lady. One does not enter the palace barefoot, even if covered in bandages. I should see if I have a tunic to fit the fellow out there as well. Oh, the King being engaged and choosing my shop to dress his bride, I'm simply aflutteshop Dori bustled around in a frenzy, looking for slippers to fit.

Dams had proportionally bigger feet than a human woman, not to the size of Hobbit feet, but still on the larger scale. Seemed Gwyn’s Bigfoot syndrome was a result of those genes instead of her giant dad's. Had she actually been a half-Dwarf, at least. Gwyn was starting to feel the guilt creep up, but shook it off. Her belief this was a coma dream was starting to return with the reveal of her paternal relatives actually existing and not being some thought up story she wove. And she had apparently been reading too much Rule 63 fanfiction her little free time for her subconscious to change up characters as minor as the Ri Clan.

Dori returned with a pair of satin slippers with a leather sole. “This should do. I apologize for their simplicity, but-”

“They're fine. Thorin’s not going to let me walk around to bloody them up.”

“OH, it's not that. I was starting to worry I didn't have any that would fit you as well. These were the closest that came to your size in this color and they are still quite large.”

Gwyn blinked, but when Dori put on the slippers, they managed to catch on the bandages to stay in place. “Well, good thing I have extra padding at the moment, aye?”

Dori chuckled. “Indeed. Now stand there while I fetch your groom.” She ducked back into the store proper.

Considering her feet were starting to ache and throb from the standing, as well as her soles stinging something fierce, Gwyn didn't bother correcting the older dam. She kept her gaze on the door, wanting to see Thorin’s face when he saw her trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. The door opened again and Thorin froze, staring.

She had freckles dotting her shoulders in numerous amounts, near enough to number the stars in the sky, but only on her shoulders. There was a small smattering near the hollow of her throat, but the creamy expanse of skin revealed by the neckline of the gown showed none of the little golden flecks. Thorin’s eyes reluctantly tore away from her skin to examine the dress in detail. Off the shoulder, a straight, but gently dipping neckline to offer a hint of visible cleavage, a leather corset edged in golden thread, sleeves reaching halfway down her forearm with sheer fabric attached to give the illusion of the billowing sleeves he had seen becoming popular...the most becoming was his One's flush when she realized Thorin hadn't said a word.

“Mistress Dori, I think your skills may have broken him.” The teasing tone snapped Thorin from his daze and he strode forward.

“Not yet, you haven't.” He gently brushed his hand against her cheek and tugged her head down to meet his, foreheads resting against each other. “You look radiant. Perhaps I should call you barazambrâl-abanê.”

Gwyn traced her hand up along his beard, relishing the slight scratch. “You'd have to tell me what your nicknames for me mean so I can make that call first.”

“After this meeting, I can set up lessons for you to learn our language. But first, while we are alone-” He sent an intent glare at Dori, fingering his pocket and the bead there.

Dori was confused at first, then quickly backed out of the room, closing the door with a slight flush.

Thorin removed the bead from his pocket. “I would give you my true bead before we meet with the Council. Balin is probably the only other one besides Dís to know what it looks like and this will secure his favor. But also because I desire iyouI know that this has been rushed, between last night and this morning. I will confess that it worries me some as I still don't truly know you. But...Mahal made us for one another, we will have plenty of time to learn all there is to know. Gwyneth, daughter of Shoshanna, will you accept my courtship?”

Gwyn looked down as Thorin opened his palm and inhaled sharply. The bead was roughly the size of a nickel, carved in with a gold filigree dragon crowned by seven stars. What took her breath away was the anodization of the metal, something she didn't think was possible in this world. The difference was that the colors were more vibrant, resembling a prism reflecting primarily green and blue rather than a metallic rainbow. “How...?”

“A scrap of mithril from my old armor when we fled here from Erebor. On a Dwarf’s coming of age, we go through a week of fasting and meditation, aligning our will to that of our Father's with the single prayer that our One be revealed to us. At the end of the week, we find our courtship beads in our hand, the symbols engraved being our only clues to who our other half may be.”

Gwyn felt tears well in her eyes, a laugh of disbelief bubbling up. “Temper of a dragon, born in the seventh month, and wrapped in light.” The urge to spill the truth right there was strong, but Gwyn held back. He wouldn't believe her, not with her cousin’s doppelganger just outside the door.

Thorin gently brushed her tears away. “I've yet to see this dragon's temper, but it was my most worrisome clue. Your birthday is in July? How fortuitous that your birth month matches the number of Dwarven kingdoms.” He pulled some of the loose hair towards him. “Do I have your permission?”

This would seal her fate. If this was a coma dream, Gwyn didn't want to wake up. Fuck Gandalf, fuck her job, fuck her stupid copy of a cousin, this moment was so much better than any of her other romantic fantasies. “Yes.”

It was a thin braid, most of her hair held up in the updo Dís had done that morning, but it was enough to hold the light bead. Thorin thumbed the bead after securing it and looked up into his One's eyes. “Amrâlimê...” The whisper gusted gently over Gwyn’s lips before he claimed them.

This kiss was just as gentle as the one Gwyn gave him. It was soft and sweet and a complete flip from all the fanfiction Gwyn had read before involving any sort of Thorin romance. She melted into him all the same, heat burning in her chest and stomach in a way she had never felt before. Gwyn felt so...treasured...in that moment, it was all she could do to not cry. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling close. Thorin’s teeth gently bit her lip, just a nip, but it sent fire through her blood. She decided to borrow one of his pet names for her, having a feeling she understood the meaning behind it.

“Keep it up, amrulê, and we'll be even more late to your so-important meeting.” Was that really her voice sounding, dare she say, sexy? What was this man doing to her?

Thorin actually growled, briefly pressing tighter into her embrace. He managed to wrestle his desires back under control, blue eyes darkened to navy. “Another time, perhaps I'll take up that offer.” He pressed another kiss to her lips and swept her into his arms. He smirked at Gwyn’s startled yelp, her hand scrabbling to find purchase on his shoulder. The King left the room with her.

While the two were preoccupied, Dori had been able to find a tunic that would fit Lloyd. It was a little short, but fit in the shoulders. A wide belt covered the glimpse of skin that would have otherwise been shown. After paying Dori for the clothing using the majority of the few gold in his bag, the group continued up to the palace.

....

....

Fíli idly drummed the table, watching Balin pace back and forth in the conference room frantically. His eyes cast about the room, each of the Guild Masters in attendance along with the remainder of the Council. He did worry that his future aunt's injuries were more severe than they had thought and that was what was taking so long. Uncle wouldn't be able to pull himself away, not after the losses he's already had. He wouldn't leave until he was sure Aunt Gwyn would be fine.

Thorin’s heir said nothing of this to his distant cousin. He may be being a tad petty, but Balin had the tendency to act as if Fíli was still a wee bairn. He meant no harm by it, but when Fíli had said his uncle would be late and to start without him, Balin had insisted on waiting. And waiting. And waiting. The prince knew the Guild Masters were getting fed up with waiting, the Councilors kept hemming and hawing. And Fíli was sick of the strained silence.

“I'm sure Dwalin will return with uncle shortly. He likely has a good reason for being late.” Fíli attempted to placate the gathered Dwarrow. He could feel his uncle’s Shadow shift behind him and spared a glance at the star-haired Dwarf.

Nori casually leaned against the wall, picking out dirt under their fingernails using a thin blade. The Dwarf had a more delicate face than a normal male's, resembling more of a dam. Their beard was also on the sparse side, but braided on their chin in three distinct points. Nori was taller than most dams, though, almost even to Fíli's height, and Fíli still had a couple more inches to grow, at least for 5 years. Nori's height wasn't including their hair, which would put them over other Dwarrow.The spy preferred to not have pronouns attached to them, insisting it allowed them to do their work better, but the did allow masculine pronouns if no other option was viable.

Fíli was shaken from his musings by the chamber doors finally opening. He saw Dwalin’s ugly mug and straightened up. Behind Dwalin came his mother, impish delight in her blue eyes. He caught a flash of red behind them.

Dwalin cleared his throat. “Presenting Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór and his intended, Gwyneth, daughter of Shoshanna.” He and Dís stood aside, revealing his uncle carrying in Gwyn, who was now in a very fine red gown.

Oh. Oh! That was their play. Fíli noted the braid by Gwyn’s left ear and the unusual bead. Oh...not a ploy then. He really did ask. The heir looked over to see the entirety of the Council and Guild Masters caught flat-footed and gawking. Balin looked like his eyes would pop out of his skull.

Nori tensed behind Fíli, eyes narrowed. This should be entertaining. Did none of them realize a Man was in Dwarrow halls?

“I, hu, what, Thorin! What is the meaning of this?!” Balin sputtered.

Thorin walked through the hall, head held high and carefully settled Gwyn in the seat he normally used for these meetings. He nodded to his nephew in approval and Fíli felt pride swell in his chest. The King then addressed the Council.

“Let it be known that my One and I discovered each other and she has agreed to my courtship. Balin, your services will be needed to draw a betrothal contract up between me and her kin when we are done here. Now, on to other business.”

Just like that, Uncle took command and steered the meeting to his will. Fíli hoped he would one day be just as authoritative.

-----

SSD: Good lordy, again things took longer than I wanted! But the characters wish to talk, so I will let them. Oh, so while I always intended this to be Thorin/Gwyn, I had the brief idea of a younger Gwyn getting pulled into the Hobbit timeline, but without knowing what happened, only having the Lord of the Rings knowledge to go off of. That one would have been Fíli/Gwyn. But I think i'm preferring this one. Let me know if anyone wants to see the alternate version.

And yes, things are getting complicated. Gwyn is back to thinking things are a dream, Ered Luin does NOT equal Thorin’s Gate, timey-wimey-alternate-universe shenanigans are afoot. And Gandalf really *should* have left more detailed instructions to prepare Gwyn than “improve your sword work”.

Also, I made dice rolls to determine the Ri siblings genders. For clarification, Nori identifies as non-binary, but will answer to masculine addresses, but is biologically female. Yeah, in Khuzdul, Nori will be addressed using -khi rather than -zi (feminine) or -zu (masculine). Nori just really, really wanted to be difficult with me.

For the favorite part of the chapter...stat blocks for Nori, Ori and Bifur! And Óin!

Óin- Level 7 Hill Dwarf Cleric-Forge Domain

Str 11

Dex 11

Con 14

Int 14

Wis 14

Cha 10

Skills: History +5, Insight +5, Medicine +5, Religion +5

Bifur- Level 5 Hill Dwarf Barbarian-Path of the Ancestral Guardian

Str 18

Dex 13

Con 16

Int 14

Wis 15

Cha 14

Skills: Insight +5, Intimidation +5, Perception +5, Persuasion +5 (disadvantage due to language barriers), Survival +5

Feat- Slasher

Ori- Level 3 Mountain Dwarf Bard-College of Lore

Str 16

Dex 15

Con 17

Int 15

Wis 11

Cha 16

Skills: Arcana +6, History +6, Medicine +2, Nature +4, Perception +2, Performance +5, Persuasion +5, Religion +4

Nori- Level 7 Mountain Dwarf Rogue-Inquisitive

Str 13

Dex 16

Con 11

Int 13

Wis 16

Cha 7

Skills: Acrobatics +6, Athletics +4, Deception +4, Investigation +7 (expertise), Sleight of Hand +9 (expertise), Stealth +6

Feat: Alert

So, yes. Ori and Bifur are freaking beasts. I still have the screenshots from when I rolled their stats. Nori's Charisma is going down due to their personality, but they are definitely a good spy. On Óin being a Cleric...I believe I gave a good excuse for these characters to have a class with magic. Magic isn't restricted to only the Istria and Elves, that would be unfair a blatantly biased,, so each race has a sect of magic they are inclined to. They might branch out, but ultimately fall into those categories. Óin falls under the Forge Domain because what else would Mahal be? It was also the only class I could use that was a reliable healer. I might go back and redo it to make him a Mountain Druid or something, but I need to do more research on the Druid circles. So yes.

Raad, review and drop a kudos. Updates are sporadic due to my schedule.
For those curious, I don't know if it will show, but this is the picture in question.
[/img]https://i.imgur.com/E8LrvgP.jpg[img]

Chapter Text

SSD: Oh goodness, here's hoping this is the last chapter for the first day. Also, I apologize for any weird errors. I'm using Polaris Office on my phone and it acts...weirdly.. It'll randomly back up into other words, overwrite others and it takes longer to type out than i'd like because I have to go back and fix things. It also puts in the extra punctuation. End of this chapter, I'll put in Dori, Dwalin and Bofur's stat blocks which will leave Balin, Glóin and Bombur to finish off the Dwarrow. I will post Bilbo's when the Hobbit makes their debut.

Shameless plug, but I posted the story where it's Fíli/Gwyn. I also like to call it “That Time Gandalf Fucked Up”. Yeah...that Gwyn used the Konami Code or something compared to this one. Now, here's to hoping I can finally get to the training montage and the Meeting of the Seven Dwarf Lords.

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Chapter 4: Political Maneuvers and Crowns

The meeting passed by in a blur. Thorin reeled in the “nobles” of Ered Luin, listened to the issues of the Guild Masters, and resolved things in a more or less amicable way. If amicable included a punch or two being thrown. He was also able to find out that patrols to the South HAD been lax of late, much to his and Dwalin’s ire, and new routes were being drawn up so the caravans coming from that direction had equal safety as those coming from the East. An expedition force would also be sent to clear the area of goblins.

“Wouldn't it be best to work with the Rangers on that?” Gwyn spoke without thinking.

Thorin paused, a quiet settling in the discussions. He slowly nodded as the idea had merit and the Rangers were known to patrol the area anyway. Making it a joint effort seemed reasonable. “It would use less of our resources, and they would have better knowledge of the area.”

“Your Majesty! Should a female even be in here?” A rotund Dwarf with a thick mustache, but no beard interjected. The mustache fell in heaving twin plaits to his chest and he had extremely thick sideburns.

Thorin’s responding glare at the disrespect shown sent the Dwarf simpering into his seat, quivering in terror. “Master...Myrr, was it? Of the Mason's Guild. My intended raised a valid point and it is something to protect our people. Or would you allow a goblin nest to grow as out of control as the ones in Moria and lose us another home?”

Myrr, sufficiently cowed, shook his head. “No, my King.”

Dís, seated near the entrance cleared her throat and pinned the Mason with an unimpressed stare. “If you have nothing pertinent to say, may I advise silence until you do?”

Myrr looked to want to say something, but Dwalin fingering his axe kept the Dwarf's mouth shut.

After that outburst, things progressed to the betrothal contract and the outburst of realization that a Man was in the Dwarrow's sacred halls.

“How could you allow him in here?!” “Menfolk in the halls of Keledûl, Your Majesty!”

Gwyn gripped the arm of her chair and sent a look up to Thorin. He gave her a nod, and they were in sync for their next actions.

“SHAZARA!” Their voices rang out in the chamber, the small clink of a dislodged stone sounded in the room. At least Gwyn knew that word in Khuzdul. The Earthlander leveled a glare at those around her. They want to protest, she was going to put the fear of Gwyn in them.

“Listen and listen good, you yammering little toerags! You're sniveling is worse than a bairn's after scraping their knee the first time!” Thorin took this moment to take in the sight of his One worked up into a temper and found her utterly becoming. “Take a good look around you, look at the people that look to you for guidance. The world is larger than this room, than this mountain, and there's more than Dwarrow in it! You scoff and scorn the other races, look down on them as inferior and contemptible, but where does that leave you? Outside these halls, you are shown the same level of regard that you bestow to the other races. There's a saying I heard once: “Treat others the way you would want to be treated in return.” So man up, put on your big boy britches, and quit your belly aching.” Gwyn gave then one last intense glare, and Thorin caught how her hands were shaking.

The King placed his hand over hers, a show of support and comfort. “Gwyneth is right. We should, at the least, attempt relations with the Shirefolk and other Men. It is their lands our caravans journey through and we should aim to keep things amicable between our peoples.”

“And what of the Elves?” Groused the leader of Blacksmiths Guild, Agâr.

A sneer curled instinctively across Thorin’s lips. His motion halted when he felt a “thwap” at his abdomen. Glancing down, he caught Gwyn’s eye and was unsure as to why she was giving him that particular “do as I say look”. He continued with his initial statement. “Until we receive a formal apology from them regarding how they refused us aid when we needed it most, the Elves can rot.”

Gwyn’s eyebrow twitched and Thorin felt a flash of irritation through him. Surely she hadn't expected him to say otherwise? The other Dwarrow seemed mollified by Thorin’s answer, so he considered a win.

“Master Lloyd, you have the floor. Balin, take note of the demands so they can be negotiated.”

Gwyn barely withheld facepalming as her cousin completely floundered through the negotiations, practically giving her away. Granted, she had no knowledge of how, exactly, this was supposed to have gone, but she's pretty sure Thorin made out like a bandit if the mild smugness she saw was anything to go by. A twenty percent off discount rate across all Dewrder lines for as long as she was married to Thorin was fishy.

Gwyn held up her hand. “I know this is supposed to be done between you men, but I'd like to point out that Lloyd doesn't have say in the lines run by his brother and our cousins. Since Lloyd is the one acting as my Guardian, shouldn't the burden fall on him? My other cousins aren't here to defend themselves and offer alternatives.”

Lloyd looked lost at this. For all that he claimed he wanted a “proper betrothal contract”, he was acting like he hadn't done this before. Then again, Uncle Jor could have handled Gisal's initial contract. Gwyn didn't think a second marriage called for as much formality, but medieval sociology wasn't her area of expertise. She had a feeling her Earth cousin would have been able to match Thorin and Balin's arguments.

Some of Thorin’s smugness wore away, replaced with a sullen air. “In the spirit of fairness, your argument is...not wrong. The caravan line directly under Lloyd Dewrder and co-opertators, is that better wording?”

Gwyn thought it over and nodded. “That way, even if Lloyd were to leave it to his children or a partner, they could be counted as “co-operators”. You should probably add that specification. And clarify that partner can infer either romantic or business.”

Balin gleefully wrote the notes, making the agreement more Iron clad. The Guild Master of Law, Glóin, raised an eyebrow at the future Queen. He hadn't expected for the Man-looking dam to be as well versed in law as she was. Little did he know that she had experience, not with law, but with store protocol and procedure that was more finicky on wording than law books and had to repeatedly ask for clarification on a process.

Once things were in order, the contract was drafted by Glóin, passed to Thorin to read over and then passed down the table for Lloyd to do the same. When both signatures were obtained, the contract was then handed to Gwyn to sign her consent as the betrothed party. Gwyn hadn't anticipated that part, but did as asked and signed her name. It was awkward and clunky, and she didn't enjoy writing with a quill. A pinch of sand was sprinkled over the ink, blown on to dry, then folded to be put on record. Gwyn was officially an engaged woman.

Lloyd stood from the chair he had borrowed for the meeting and offered a short bow to the assembled Dwarrow. “Thank you for allowing me to be here, and for caring for my cousin. I leave her to your care. I must see to the rest of my staff, and take inventory of what was damaged. Gwyn, shall I deliver your belongings here?”

Gwyn gave Thorin a questioning look, she knew it wouldn't be to the palace since the Durins didn't stay there. The King shook his head. “I will send a runner for the items, if you don't mind?”

Lloyd nodded. “I will let them know. And, Gwyn?” The Earthlander looked up at him. “Try to come by before we leave. Gisal and her girls will want to say goodbye properly. We should be here for a few weeks.” He gave her a smile and hobbled out of the room. A nod from Thorin had Dwalin sending for a guard to guide the merchant to the outside of the mountain safely.

The meeting concluded shortly afterwards, the Guild Masters and Councilors leaving to do their own business. Gwyn sagged into the chair in relief that it was over. Thorin smirked and hoisted her up, chuckling at her sqwak of protest before he settled into the chair with her on his lap.

Gwyn gave him a mild glare and slapped his shoulder. “A little warning would have been nice!” Her cheeks flushed. Despite spending a good portion of her time being carried today, the new position felt a lot more intimate than she was normally comfortable with. At the same time, the warmth in her chest was fighting to say that it was right.

Thorin wrapped his arms around her instead. “A Dwarf I may be, but I still appreciate a rest, amrâlimê.” He felt along the fabric of her dress, relishing the way she tried to squirm away from him. He chuckled at the light swats Gwyn tried to deliver.

“Ahem.”

Thorin forgot his kin were still there. His nephew had an impish smirk on his face that was identical to his mother's at the moment. Dwalin was pointedly looking away from the couple, he was also the likely culprit for clearing their throat. Balin just smiled wistfully.

“Pleased as we are that you have finally selected a bride, might I ask what brought all this on so suddenly?” Balin was curious as to what could have changed Thorin’s mind after going so long with denying every eligible dam. Was it really just as simple as they claim?

The King-in-exile brought his hand up to brush the bead by Gwyn’s ear while Fíli and Dís informed Balin and Dwalin of how Gwyn came to be with them last night. Their eyebrows shot up in surprise at hearing they hadn't even known each other a full day.

“Be reasonable about this, Thorin, you have hardly known one another for twenty four hours, and you are rushing headlong into a betrothal!” Balin was more upset than he had anticipated.

“King said it was ‘is One, ya old stuffy pants. Did ya not get that memo?” Nori drawled, enjoying the way everyone jumped. Being too sneaky was so entertaining.

“Are ya SURE tha-” Balin started again, this time earning irritated glares from Dís, Thorin and Gwyn.

“Master Balin, correct?” Gwyn started, knowing who he was. At his nod, she continued. “Have you ever been in love?”

The old Dwarf's eyes turned wistful. “Aye, a long time ago. But you only just met, love isn't something that happens at a glance. It is something that takes time.”

Ah, so that's what it was. Balin was a skeptic of the Love at First Sight trope. Gwyn could work with that. “Twenty four hours ago, I would have agreed with your statement. The only love I had contented myself with prior was familial or it came from the pages of a book. One thing I can tell you, is that not all love is the same, nor does it happen the same. I can't deny this warmth I feel, one that has nothing to do with lust. I can look at Thorin and...and I know that I'm home.” She flushed, her gaze meeting Thorin’s in the final part of her speech to sway Balin to their side.

Thorin’s gaze was tender and he rested his forehead against hers. For Gwyn to call him her home...it wavered a part of him that wanted to go back to Erebor, fighting the insistent Call of the Mountain. “Amrali astî, danahkiblisê.”

Gwyn brought her hand up to his cheek, gently weaving her fingers into his beard. Tears welled in her eyes as she felt an immense warmth flood her. It wasn't heat or lust, it was just as she had said, a feeling of wholeness. Without knowing the language, she knew what he had said, just from the emotion she was experiencing.

Unknown to the now oblivious pair, the other Dwarrow were completely red-face, minus one. Balin was suitably swayed in his belief, the pair before him were genuinely in love no matter the time frame of their meeting. Dís had no intention of seeing her brother be so intimate, nor did Fíli as he was looking everywhere but his uncle’s direction. Dwalin was resolutely turned around and facing the door to ensured they stayed shut. Nori was refraining from bursting out laughing at the others’ reactions. Pulling the Council shift from among the others of their division was the best thing to happen this morning, and they got first rate entertainment for the day!

“Ah, well, I see...My mistake. Even after your prior speech, I should have, perhaps, approached this more open-mindedly. I can see, now, the truth of your words, my lady.” Balin was in their court, mission accomplished.

Thorin cleared his throat, cheeks stained pink as he remembered where he was. “Nori, are we alone?”

The spy left their spot on the wall and did a sweep of the room. After a moment, they returned and nodded. “All clear, yer Majesty.”

“Good, good. There was another issue I wanted to discuss, but not in front of the Council.” Thorin looked to Balin, determination in his gaze. “I believe it time that we tried to take back Erebor.”

Surprisingly, those that didn't know his intentions...weren't surprised. Instead, they seemed resigned. Thorin was taken aback by this.

“So then, you all...?”

Dwalin spoke first. “Yesterday at dawn, it was the strangest thing. Woke up an’ I couldna stop looking East.”

“I was the same, the Call of the Mountain had never been stronger than that moment.” Balin supported. Nori just nodded in agreement.

Dís’ gaze landed on the dam in her brother's lap, suspicions flaring in her mind. Those of Durin's line had all felt the Call of the Mountain yesterday's dawn and at sunset a dam arrived on the doorstep of the King with eyes perfectly mirroring the Halls of Erebor. A dam that just so happened to be her brother's One after over a century of searching and coming from the East? It was either providence or conspiracy, and Dís wasn't sure which outcome she preferred. Rusty senses were beginning to ping that something was not as it seemed. Either way the cards fell, she would not be leaving her brother's side during such a pivotal time.

Nori grinned menacingly, watching as Dís’ facial expressions closed off. The true King's Shadow was about to go active again and Nori would relish the chaos it sowed. Many forgot Dís’ true Calling wasn't in ruling or being a Princess. Oh, no. She was a Rogue, first and foremost, and Nori couldn't wait to see the fools’ faces when they realized a true Mastermind was at the King's side. She had only "retired" to raise her children. Nori didn't know what had twigged the Princess’ wariness, but they would keep their eyes peeled.

“There can be no doubt, then. The Line of Durin shall return to Erebor.” Thorin decreed. “I will send a message to the other Kingdoms to see who will answer our call to arms against Smaug.”

Gwyn held back a grimace, already knowing how that would play out. The outright rejection of the other six Great Clans would deal a bitter blow to Thorin’s pride and spur him to make rather rash decisions. Dís, her attention having not left the new Royal couple, caught the flinch.

“You think otherwise?” If her tone was accusatory, Gwyn only met her gaze with resolution.

“I've heard stories of the Desolation Smaug left, even among Menfolk. With the loss of life from that day, what makes you think those not of your blood would swear to follow on your quest?”

“What more reason would they have than to avenge that blood debt!” Dwalin seethed angrily. Apparently she said the wrong thing...

Balin made a calming motion, thinking over the words at more than face value. “Lass, do ye believe they would ignore an order from their King?”

Crap, how could she put this that would be believable? Then she remembered about Aragorn and Isildur's line's current exile. There couldn't be a better parallel. She sent an apologetic look to Thorin as she started her counter argument. “There's a legend passed in Gondor, about how the true King will return on the Eve of Arda's Darkest Hour, bearing a silver crown and a sword forged from the shards of Isildur's blade, Narsil. Do Dwarrow have a similar mark of leadership? What marks Thorin as King besides his heart? Before hearing him being addressed as Your Majesty, I didn't know, it hadn't come up in our prior conversations.”

Balin's face pinched, shooting a telling look at Thorin. Thorin’s brow furrowed in a frown, remembering the cursed jewel that drove his grandfather mad.

“Aye...it's called the Arkenstone. A more beautiful gem would be hard to find and my grandfather dubbed it the King's Jewel. Possession of that will mark the King Under the Mountain, Ruler of all Dwarrow. But it is cursed, it drove my grandfather mad.” Gwyn pressed her forehead to his in reassurance.

“Then what if we get that first? Form an escort, send in someone to retrieve it, then go to the other Dwarven Lord's for aid against Smaug?” Gwyn couldn’t believe she was the one having to make this suggestion.

“And who would be foolish enough to go in head first to a dragon's lair, eh? You?” Nori commented off to the side.

Gwyn shook her head. “Are you kidding? It can't be a Dwarf, he's been sitting in the scent of your kin the past century and a half. It likewise can't be one of Men. For one, less scrupulous, and two, he would be familiar with their scent as well.” She gave a mild glare to Thorin. “For three, Elves are out for obvious reasons, but they would have had the better chance being light of foot.”

“So we have nothing. Let's just go rustle the other Lords.” Dwalin groused.

The gears in Thorin’s mind turned, a couple of coincidences clicking into place. “Not nothing. There are still the Shirefolk, Hobbits. Tharkûn said he had someone in mind to aid us. That we were to meet at Bag End when our plans have been finalized. That crafty codger had this all planned.” Fíli, Balin and Thorin all turned to a straight-faced Gwyn while the others pondered the oddity. “Anything you'd like to share, amrulê?”

A bead of sweat ran down Gwyn’s jaw. She met Thorin’s stare before folding like a house of cards. “That look has no right to be so irresistible...Gandalf was the one who left me on the side of the road, saying to head towards the settlement and he'd see me again in about six months. I may have yelled a few expletives at him for his abandonment, but that was the end of his involvement with me.”

Six months? Taking into account weather, that would barely be enough time for him to call a meeting of the Lords and allow for their travel to Fornost, an agreed Neutral zone for the Great Clans. Then to have to double back to the Shire for the Hobbit Tharkûn would have recruited...that blasTed meddler.

“And he sent you to convince us of this path of action?” A piece of Thorin’s heart broke at the thought his One had been used against him in such a way.

Dís felt anger course through her. How could she...? Fíli hoped it wasn't the case.

Gwyn shook her head. “He didn't say where we, well, I, was going, just to reach the settlement.”

“Then your suggestions?” A bit of hope surged in Thorin’s chest.

“Clearly all you men here think with your swords and needed a more delicate touch. If you took an army and the dragon wasn't dead, it would have cost too many lives.” Gwyn thought that much would have been obvious.

Dís relaxed, assured. And also agreeing with her future sister-in-law’s observation. Her idea was more sound. A smaller number to escort the burglar and ensure their protection to the final destination is a more reasonable plan. Although, the losses from Erebor’s sacking wouldn't have been the only black mark against the Great Clans joining their effort. The Battle of Azanulbizar was also still on the mind of many, and the catastrophic losses under Thrór’s mad campaign. No, it would be wise to go the Lords after the Arkenstone was in hand so they could not refuse aid in a fight against Smaug. If only there was still anyone alive that could make the Black Arrows....she'd send a flurry of them at the beast. Unfortunately, Thrór took the secret of making them to his grave in his madness.

“We will need to put out a quiet inquiry for those that will join us.” Dís started to speak. “Nori, I leave that task to you. Find who else of our kin have felt the Call here at yesterday's dawn, I feel they would be the best to go to first.” The spy nodded, already formulating ideas.

“They will consider this another mad run of Durin’s line.” Balin tried to caution, but even he couldn't resist the draw that was the possibility of truly going home. “We have carved a life here, the start of a good life...can we not accept that much?”

Dwalin spoke this time. “We could, aye, but it wouldn't be the same as having Erebor’s stone underfoot. The stone don't speak the same and strikes wrong. Those that're born here might have no issue with remaining here. But my skin feels wrong here.”

Thorin nodded, a better plan forming in his mind. “Not all who fled Erebor settled here, there are many who made their home in the Iron Hills and the Grey Mountains. If we reclam the mountain, they are likely to want to return as well. We need not abandon Ered Luin. Kíli and Dís will remain he-”

“I think not, nadad.” Dís rebuked sternly. “I may be weakened, but I'll not let you cavort off into danger heedless of all sense. If Tharkûn is expecting us in the Shire in six months, we will need to be ready. Gwyn, your knives showed use, how skilled are you with those?”

Gwyn blinked at the sudden question. “Good enough, I suppose? I mostly tried aiming at branches while I was walking down the road.” She flushed a bit. “I'm mostly used to throwing small things at people annoying me.”

Thorin smirked. “Throwing things and yelling vulgarities at old wizards? I will need to see this for myself, for I have only seen a hint of spirit you claim to have.” He squeezed into the softness of her stomach, making Gwyn jolt and squirm.

Gwyn swatted him for the umpteenth time. “You're lucky you're attractive and I don't want to ruin the merchandise. If you want a real show, just try to make me angry. Very few have actually succeeded and you missed your last opportunity by about eight hours.”

Dís cleared her throat. “All well and good, but that mindset you have now is one I will be helping you to hone while we can. Winter is about to set in in just a few weeks, we will need to make any preparations for armaments in that time and a list of those that will be joining us.” She gave a Look to Thorin. “This also means any weapons that would be sold come spring we will need to take with us and sell along the way.”

Thorin nodded. “Aye. Balin, excluding the portion of wares I normally contribute, would we produce enough coin to provide for Ered Luin? If so, we can use part of mine as our armory and sell as we go to support the journey.”

Balin furiously wrote down a series of numbers and calculations. Gwyn was barely able to keep track on the paper and after doing the guestimations in her head, was surprised at just how much the weapons brought in. Then again, the notes were in a runic language she couldn't read, so she didn't know if that was copper, silver or gold. She hoped gold, but somehow doubted it. The world didn't view Dwarrow very kindly after all.

“We may be cutting it close, but the city should be alright for a year, maybe two.” Balin concluded.

“That would be enough, right? Erebor is supposed to be piled high with gold, but it should be easy enough to distribute some of it to support Ered Luin once it's reclaimed. Thorin is King of Ered Luin- don't make that face at me. The people and even my cousin referred to you as that. Leaving to reclaim a lost Kingdom isn't going to change how the people see you until you install someone to fill that position.” Gwyn was on a roll today. Her Common Sense was in excellent form.

Fíli nodded, smirking. “Aunt Gwyn seems to have the right of it, Uncle.” An epiphany hit him then. His uncle, at this time, was practically married. He would have his own children with her. Fíli may be his uncle’s heir, but what about after a child is born? His uncle’s direct line? Gwyn had, unknowingly, given Fíli the perfect solution. “You will need to have someone fill it. Ered Luin is my home, but I can not deny wishing to see the Halls you still love so dearly. Once the Lonely Mountain belongs to the Line of Durin again, I will return here and rule our people here.”

Dís inhaled sharply. “Fe-Fíli, no. You wouldn't be replaced.”

Gwyn looked between mother and son, confused at what they were talking about. Thorin patted her hip, understanding where his nephew was coming from...and mildly embarrassed he hadn't thought that far into his new future.

“Fíli does make an excellent case together with Gwyn. Much as I detest it, they do call me King of Ered Luin. Taking back Erebor would make me King of two thrones. Fíli is my heir, but what about when I have my own children? Fíli has received tutoring to govern and lead, the journey would give him worldly experience he hasn't had yet. He might even be lucky enough to find his One on the way.” Thorin leveled an assessing gaze on his heir. “Are you certain you could bear the crown? You are only just of age.”

Fíli resolutely met his uncle’s stare, chin up and shoulders square. “Aye, and you were younger than me when the crown fell to you.”

Thorin sighed deeply. “Then after this journey, nephew, you will be King.”

Nori stepped up and bowed. “All the same ta ya, I rather like bein’ the Shadow. I swear meself to th’ new King. Ya got yer own Shadow back now, Yer Majesty Thorin.”

Fíli flustered, his newfound bravado evaporating. “I-I'm no King yet. But I appreciate your oath, Nori. You have served Uncle loyally and we cannot thank you enough for your service.”

Unnoticed to most in the room, a lingering glance passed between spy and guard before they turned their attention to their respective Kings. Thorin appraised Nori, catching the glance and the meaning behind it. “Are you certain? We can alway switch Shadows.” He sent an understanding, but teasing look to his sister.

Dís sniffed. “I see how it is, you don't want your sister to be around crowding your “together time” with your One. No need to explain. I think I will switch with Nori. Fíli, at least, listens to me. And your One seems to have a sensible head on her shoulders.” The light glint in her eye softened the harshness her words may have otherwise caused.

If two sets of blue eyes caught the relieved sagging of a certain guard's shoulders, they weren't going to comment.

Thorin chuckled. “Have it your way, namad.” He turned serious once more. “We have a deadline. Travel to the Shire will take approximately 3-4 weeks depending on if there are late winter storms or rain. We have until mid-March to finish all preparations for the journey. Nori will compile a list of those that will want to join us. Balin, I leave the drafting of a suitable contract and escort terms. Include clauses for death and/or dismemberment, we will be going through the Wild lands to return home. Fìli, you will be joining me to care for domestic matters in the mornings instead of your lessons. You will be running them completely by the time we leave. Use this time to elect a proxy until we return. Dwalin, I leave the training of those that will accompany us to you. Ensure that they are able to reliably defend themselves.”

“I will assist Gwyn in her own training and recovery.” Dís spoke before Thorin could assign her.

He nodded in agreement. “We have our plan, now let's be ready. Tharkûn may have anticipated my trying to bring an army, but we will show him. Dû Bekar mi Erebor!”

“Dû bekar mi Erebor!”

Gwyn had a feeling she just irrevocably changed the timeline. Fuck.

-------

SSD: Finally, I FINALLY wrapped up the warm up! Now, there's a training montage and a 4-5 month fast forward, next chapter might even see Bilbo at the end! But yeah, I actually rolled to see if Dís would want to join the Company. Care to guess what she got? 86 on a percentile. I rolled a Persuasion check. Freaking 20. Azog is so fucked. You don't threaten a mother's kids in her ear shot. For that matter, Azog's whole spawn line is fucked.

Stat Block time!

Dori- Level 5 Mountain Dwarf Way of the Open Hand Monk

Str-18

Dex- 16

Con- 16

Int-11

Wis-10

Cha-12

Skills: Acrobatics +6, History +3, Insight +3, Persuasion +4

Dwalin-Level 9 Mountain Dwarf Battle Master Fighter

Str- 19

Dex- 10

Con- 16

Int- 12

Wis- 8

Cha- 16

Skills: Athletics +8, Intimidation +7, Perception +3, Survival +3

Bofur- Level 4 Hill Dwarf Battle Smith Articifer

Str- 12

Dex- 12

Con- 12

Int- 15

Wis- 11

Cha- 12

Skills: Arcana +4, Insight +2, Persuasion +3, Sleight of Hand +3

Dori...is one of those that I had no idea what to class as. I figured Monk would be a good enough fit since a monk can be a serene, somewhat finicky personality. That and I've read a lot of stories where the Ri family is supposed to have some sort of super strength. Her mental stats are lower/average of some of the other Dwarrow sheets since the whole “must be under black magic” debacle.

Dwalin is self explanatory. He's got the mental acuity for tactics, but sometimes falls short on reading the emotions of a room before opening his mouth.

Bofur was hard. He's from a family of miners, but he's a toy maker. Good thing Articifer exists.

I’ve also figured that most of thr spells can be written off using in-lore personality mechanics, or an item use.

Until next time, my readers! Read, comment, drop a kudos!

Chapter Text

SSD: Back to DK, I just had to get the plot bunny that was the Fíli/Gwyn story out of my head so I could continue this. Let's just say Mirkwood will get awkward in that story because I had a major crush on Orlando Bloom/Legolas at that stage of my life and it will be reflected in Gwyn. I also wanted to show how the same characters can be completely different when introduced to different stimuli: i.e a more methodical, older Gwyn versus...dive-head-first-into-everything-and-hope-for-the-best Gwyn. I'll post the remaining stat blocks of the Company at the end of the chapter. There are reasons why everyone has different levels and it all makes sense in my head.

Also, Gwyn is now locked as an Arcane Trickster. Fíli is an Eldritch Knight (Spell Blade). Kíli is looking to be a Gloomstalker or Horizonwalker. Choice is yours, my peeps.

Now let's finish this and get through the training montages!

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Chapter 5- No Pain, No Gain

It had taken a week for Gwyn’s feet to heal. Apparently, Óin had exhausted his magic capacity in healing those injured from the caravan. Being craft-wed to his duties as a healer entitled the old Dwarf to certain benefits granted by his faith in Mahal. At least, that's the explanation Gwyn got after seeing him use Cure Wounds on her in real time. It was amazing, awesome and Gwyn seriously wondered if she'd be able to do magic as well. She also dubbed him a Cleric, even if everyone just called him a devout healer. Yeah...she had to be in a D&D/Tolkein crossover, it just cemented her belief this was a coma dream more.

And it had to be, because Thorin was almost too perfect, except in one instance. For all that their contact had been limited lately (what with her recovery and him trying to train Fíli personally for his impending kingship on top of forging the weapons they'll need), their touches had been heated but chaste. The tension was killing her. Unfortunately, Dwarrow custom dictated that nothing “intimate” occur until they were officially wed. Apparently, it cements the bond between Ones and rumors stated that such a thing involved more than the thrum under her skin.

She finally got clued in that the gooiness she kept experiencing around Thorin was the bond connecting them and trying to find completion. She also found out that it could, for lack of better words, be weaponized to talk her fiancé into doing something she wanted. Like letting her walk on her own power. It just had the drawback of turning her into an insensate mess afterwards as penalty. It explained why Thorin had gone weak that first morning, he confessed to drawing on the bond to getting her to speak openly.

She still hasn't kissed him again, as punishment. Asserting herself is one thing, but she was going to let him know that she wasn't some doll he could coerce to his will. It was also the reason this tension between them was killing her.

THUNK! THUNK!

Gwyn watched as Dís examined the results of her latest attempt at dagger/knife throwing. Her arm was aching, but she hit the ring outside the bullseye on both hits.

“You're getting better. Again, do five in a row this time.”

The Princess, or rather, the King's Shadow, was dressed in dark leathers that looked Intimidating As Fuck. A dark shawl/cowl thing in blue was wrapped around the dam's neck and shoulders. The leather was thicker over her chest and abdomen, it was a suit made for mobility and the reawakened Rogue was a harsh taskmaster. She would put Gwyn through accuracy drills for an hour and a half, then it would go to quick draw drills while her arms were still shaking from the effort of the accuracy drills. A day after her feet were healed, Dís began putting the younger dam through stamina training to regain what strength she had lost while off her feet that week.

Dís did the drills right beside her, though. For some reason, her strength wasn't coming back, not that Gwyn could see at least. She felt it wrong to ask why, not when the Shadow seemed frustrated with her own lack of progress. Most days, she was barely able to pull the bowstring back on the recurve she was using, and the shots always went wide. Put a knife in her hand, and she'd hit the bullseye 10/10. Fíli got more than just his eyes from her.

When they weren't training, Gwyn was given language primers to go over. Khuzdul basics. It was nothing like the bit of Spanish she knew. It was more emphatic on consonants, kind of like German, but the syntaxes were completely different. It was going to take her YEARS to reach any sort of fluency. Unless Comprehend Languages was a spell here, too. Something to ask Gandalf. Either way, it looked like she was locked in as a Rogue.

Fwip. Fwip. Fwip. Thud. THUNK!

Gwyn winced as Dís’ face darkened at the three misses and then cooled at the bullseye.

“I hit the mark?”

“For once. Again.” She then threw her own set like she was a ninja in Naruto.

Fwip. Thunk. THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

The Shadow missed once, but hit three bullseyes in rapid succession on different targets. The second hit grazed the outer edge of the bullseye, but was just outside it. Dís scoffed. “Still rusty.”

Gwyn was just a smidge terrified if that's what she considered rusty. A small part was relieved that she had the dam's support in her relationship with Thorin. Remembering her first encounter with the boys and how Fíli was able to distract her, something told her this female could have easily become her enemy if her One ended up being him.

She should probably let Thorin apologize properly, her mind was going weird places without him to anchor her.

Thunk. Fwip. Fwip. Thunk. THUNK!

Well...it's an improvement. Four more months of this to go...

...

...

Gwyn hugged the much taller form of her cousin Gisal tightly. Around her legs, Gisal's daughters, Elaina and Alys, clung to her. In her world, she had gotten Alys hooked onto art at an early age and was closer to her despite only seeing her thrice in the girl's life. Here, they regarded her as an Aunt, their mother’s sister. It was a relationship she had craved on Earth, but couldn't have due to living states away from the rest of her family.

Gisal had hair the color of treebark rather than bronze, but her eyes were a pure green. She was 6’3” and towered over Gwyn. Considering she felt like a Dwarf on Earth in comparison, being called a half of one here was a mite reassuring. Thorin, however, was surlier than normal as he was an entire foot shorter.

Gisal smoothed Gwyn’s hair back, tucking her courtship braid behind her ear. “I can't believe you're leaving us. When Lloyd said he was arranging a marriage for you, I thought it would be to Owen, he was always sweet on you even if you didn't give him the time of day.” She smiled sadly, Owen had been the casualty that day the caravan arrived.

Gwyn felt her fiancé's irritation and swiftly changed the topic. “Good thing he didn't, he was horrible in the negotiations with Thorin. And since I had no idea what he was planning, I wouldn't have been able to save him from doing something stupid.” She smirked at Lloyd, standing off to the side.

Lloyd colored, embarrassed that he had been caught so flat-footed during those talks. “My baby cousin went from not paying attention to men to throwing herself at a King. Anyone would sympathize with me for the shock.”

“Not like it wasn't reciprocated.” Gwyn gave Thorin a tender look before turning focus back to her cousins. “You be safe, you hear? The Rangers say the roads are clear of goblins and orcs for the time being and a patrol will be going with you until you reach the Lûne Fork.”

Lloyd walked over and hugged her, pressing a kiss to her hair. “We will. Let us know when the wedding is and we'll make our way back. We need to leave now, though, before the year's snowfall gets heavier.” He leant back, holding her gaze, searching. “You've changed so much in just three weeks...I barely recognize you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “All good changes, I hope?” She still wondered what had happened to the Gwyn from Arda, because she KNEW Gandalf had pulled her straight from her world. Hopefully, that Gwyn was living a good life.

Lloyd smiled. “All the best. You should feel proud of the woman you're becoming.” He stepped away and mounted a waiting horse. “Elaina, Alys, say goodbye to Aunt Gwyn and get in the cart.”

Elaina regretfully peeled away, going to her mother that was just showing signs of pregnancy. It amazed Gwyn that she knew the child about to be born, but she hadn't yet because of Arda's social structure. Hope they would be happy with a third girl. Alys, though, refused to budge. The nine year old stuck to her like glue. Gwyn didn't have the heart to pry her off. She dropped a hand to the girl's dark brown hair and gently stroked it.

“Hey, don't be like that. It'll feel like no time has gone by at all.” Gwyn cooed.

“I don’ wan’ you to go, Aunt Gwyn! Who's gonna teach me about colors and patterns and numbers!” Alys hiccupped and sniffled.

Thorin stepped up and placed his hand over Gwyn’s on the child's head. “Child, you will see your Aunt again. Take this time to learn without her. When you return here, you can show her everything you learned from your own experience.”

“I can come back?” Big, wet green eyes cranked to look up at Thorin.

Thorin felt flashacks from when his own nephews were this age. “Aye. Who else would attend your Aunt for our wedding?”

Alys finally pried herself from Gwyn's thighs only to throw herself at Thorin's waist. “Thank you, Uncle Thorin.”

Thorin pat the girl on the head, a warm, rare smile on his face. “You are welcome. Now go to your mother.”

Alys nodded and ran off. The three got into the empty cart being driven by Gisal's husband, Elis. As the caravan left, Gwyn felt a crippling grief, as if some part of her was being taken away. Thorin, in turn, held her to him, nuzzling her cheek as he pulled her down to cry into his shoulder.

“Ishgêmruk, amrâlimê, but you will see them again.” He cradled her head carefully.

Gwyn sniffled, much like her younger cousin. “I know, but it isn't making it hurt any less.” Especially since she had no guarantee that the quest would finish the way she knew it. Thorin had already said they wouldn't marry until after Erebor was back under Durin control.

Three more months until the wheels of fate turned once more...

....

....

Gwyn hid her face in her hand, dropping the bow and turning away as a slurry of angry Khuzdul assaulted the air. She tried to sneak away, but a look from Dís stopped that.

“Ishgemrûk, Kíli!” She missed. Badly. Apparently mentioning she had tried using a bow in her youth was a bad idea, because Dís had the bright idea to train her in that as well. It went poorly.

Poor Kíli held his behind, at a neighboring range. Thankfully they were using blunted arrows, or Gwyn would have needed to pull a Princess Fiona. What was worse was the humor in Dís’ eyes.

Kíli looked at the angle from where he was, to the target Gwyn was trying to shoot, then to his mother. “Keep that thing out of her hands, amad! That's more lethal than her daggers!” He was wondering how she could miss so spectacularly, but his ass hurt! He hobbled away to find a snow patch to sit in. It might take the sting off.

Dís couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. She hadn't seen anything like that since Fíli had tried shooting a bow as a pebble. Gwyn just groaned in embarrassment.

“Shazara, Dís! Lu'a'rahk amzamî.” (Shut up, Dís! No need for rudeness!)

“Your Khuzdul is improving, namad'dli. But it was ishgêmuk, not ishgemûk.” A month after giving her the language primers, Dís had enforced that she only speak Khuzdul or stay silent. Nothing sets someone straight more than having to dodge a knife every time there's a slip into Westron. Gwyn still stumbled in her pronunciations, like now, but it was better. “Now pick up that bow and try again.”

“If I end up shoo-” Gwyn froze as a knife whizzed past her nose on the way down.

“Khuzdul, namad'dli.”

”Inbarathag!” Gwyn cursed, but picked up the bow. “Ni e abduk Kíli agin, ayazî.” (I shoot Kíli again, it's on you.)

“Za'akyulab. Ibdikî!” (I will live with that. Now, shoot!)

It took a moment for Gwyn to recall the conjugation, but she drew the bowstring back after taking the stance Dís showed her. Taking a breath and holding it, she took her shot.

Thwip. It was barely on the target, but it wasn't in another Dwarf's ass this time.

“Oh, NOW you hit the target, irak'amad!” Kíli groused from his spot in a snow drift. Gwyn had grown used to the boys calling her Aunt. It was mostly teasing, but she could tell they welcomed her into the family.

Gwyn just stuck her tongue out at him, not knowing the words in Khuzdul to respond. Hopefully, her restrictions will be lifted by the time they leave next month. After this bow lesson is hand-to-hand where she'll end up on her ass...like usual. Dís might still be lacking in physical strength, but she was very dexterous for a Dwarf. Almost like she had Elf reflexes. Very similar to Kíli in that regard.

The past three months she had stayed with the Durins had gone by so fast. Her belief she was in a coma dream shattered when she experienced her first period in this world. No sane person would dream up every agonizing detail and medieval ways of taking care of it were...messy...to say the least. She ended up desensitized to blood faster than she had pus in nursing school, and that was traumatizing enough. That was also the week she finally forgave Thorin and allowed him to comfort her during the worst of the pain. Poor Dwarf had turned bright crimson when she finally told him what was wrong.

They hadn't had much of a chance to spend time together, what with all the preparations. She'd usually be too tired from her training and he would be exhausted from trying to speed smith enough weapons for their trip and to sell. He did surprise her with a well crafted suit of leather armor, made from a stag Kíli had hunted for dinner one night. Gwyn didn't know how he did it, but Thorin had gotten the pelt dyed a deep green she absolutely adored. There was also some thin plates of metal bolted to the leathers for more protection. It was amazing and Gwyn had given him their first truly passionate kiss for it. Fíli and Kíli had needed to separate them before it went too far, much to their embarrassment and the boys’ amusement.

Fíli was now primarily running the day-to-day for the city, only getting the afternoon off for training after lunch. He surprised everyone one evening when, while sparring with Dwalin, he went to parry an attack and an invisible shield sprang up between them, diverting Dwalin’s axe to the side in a wide arc. Eyes wide, he tried apologizing to the guard Captain, only to be laughed off and have a meaty hand clap on his shoulder.

“It's a gift! Not ev'ryone takin’ our path unlocks what ye did. Ye'll need to go to the Archives, they'll set ye up with manuals ta learn. Yer a Spell Blade now, lad.”

Gwyn was so jealous. When she asked Dís about the Archives, which took a while because DAMN Khuzdul, Dís explained that the manuals Dwalin was referring to were written in Khuzdul Cirth. To Gwyn’s dismay, she had zero fluency in the written language, the symbols all looked the same to her. She felt that, while her skills were advancing, she was missing out on something vital. It also felt like Dís was trying to steer her onto what she called the Path of the Mastermind. It didn't feel right to her.

Now, a month and a half after Fíli unlocked his Spell Knight skills, he gave her reason to call him her favorite nephew. He sat next to her in the den, before Thorin had returned from the forge, and deposited a scroll in her lap. Gwyn looked at him in curiosity and unrolled the scroll. She blinked at the script, then read it. And read it again, shooting a look of shock at Fíli.

“Is this...?”

“It isn't much, but I noticed you were curious about magic. It's just a small prank spell, but I thought it would be a good start.” He had bags under his eyes from the long days he was going through, yet did this for her.

“Fíli, you are officially my favorite nephew.” Prestidigitation. If she was reading this spell right, he gave her Prestidigitation. One of the most versatile cantrips a spellcaster could have in D&D, or in Arda, apparently. And he had translated it for her from Khuzdul Cirth into Khuzdul Westron for her. Still Khuzdul, but it fit with what she could understand without learning a whole new alphabet on top of everything..

Gwyn was going to learn magic and NOTHING was going to stop her from it.

“That better not be Westron I'm hearing from you, Gwyn!” Dís called from the kitchen.

Gwyn grimaced. “Lu’, namad’dli!” She briefly brought her forehead to Fíli's, making the boy blush. “Ikhmênruk, irak'ashat.” (My wholehearted thanks, nephew)

He gave her a shy smile back. “Adumzi, irak'amad. I'll let you study that. Let me know if you have any success?” (Your welcome, Aunt)

Gwyn nodded eagerly. “E za.” (I will) She went to retrieve her language primers so she could understand the spell better.

She was able to translate it well enough, but some of the terminology stumped her. She had no idea how to go about “recognizing her magic pool” or whatever. How could she cast a spell, when she didn't know the theory of using magic. She groaned, took out a charcoal stick and paper, and began doing what she did best: theorizing magic systems.

As someone with an overactive imagination, she had developed seven ways magic could be run. One was similar to what she called Nasu-magic: the magic of the spell caster vs the magic of the world, where the caster had to convert the magic of the world into their own source of magic internally before using it. A.k.a, the slowest and clunkiest form of magic. Another way was through x-kinesis, basically everyone is a psychic of some level and able to harness the kinetic energy wavelengths of the elements. There was the Tales method, similar to the Nasu-magic, but different in that the caster didn't have their own pool of magic to draw from and instead relied on the help of ambient “spirits” to cast their spells. “Junction” type, that she pulled from another video game, where the caster again has no innate ability for magic, but instead partners with a greater being in a symbiotic relationship. Warlocks would fall under that category, except that the partnership is usually to their detriment. There's the Core theory from Harry Potter, where those able to use magic are born with a set pool they can use that grows stronger as they use it. A “magic muscle”, as it were.

Gwyn paused her writing, flexing the hand cramp building up as she glanced over her notes. She wasn't finished, but it was a start. The spell stated that there was a pool of magic inside the user. Judging by that, she could rule out her Psionic theory. Tales theory was also out, as was the Junction theory for the same reason that the caster didn't have their own magic. So, that left Nasu-verse or HP-verse mechanics.

So focused she was on her theories, she didn't hear Thorin come up behind her or feel the bond under skin hum in contentment. The King looked at his One, engrossed as she was in what she was doing and, not liking the way her brow was furrowed, strolled over and unceremoniously lifted her from the armchair. Gwyn yelped, but held firmly to the spell scroll and her notes. Thorin settled into the armchair beneath her and tucked her against him.

“What has your focus, amrâlimê? Did the paper insult you?” He brushed his thumb over her forehead, smoothing the crinkle out.

Gwyn threw her legs over the arm of the chair, her papers in her lap and then wrapped her arms around her fiancé. She swatted his shoulder. “Makharkûnae! Mazam!”(You frightened me! Brute!) She grinned then kissed his cheek.

Thorin chuckled. “Dís still has you on restricted speech, does she?” Gwyn’s responding scowl was answer enough, causing him to laugh once more. “You've made excellent progress in just three months, so you can't deny her method is working.”

Gwyn was quiet, remembering the words she needed. “E lu a'râkhu azafrkhi...” (I need not like it...) She put her mouth to his ear, whispering. “But I'd still like to speak my original language on occasion.”

Thorin hummed, the vibrations straight to Gwyn’s core as he caressed her side. “Rûrîkzin  mâmrazi asale.” (Your secret is kept with me.) It didn't take much for him to nudge her head up and press a kiss to her throat.

Gwyn’s breath hitched, her grip on his shoulder tightening minutely. “Thorin...”

Thorin pulled back, looking into her now hooded gaze. “Madurthmi buhzin.” (I have missed your company.) And he had, he was well ahead of schedule for his production quota, but it came at the cost of having to spend less time with his family. They only had another month before they would set out to sell their excess weapons and meet with Tharkûn in the Shire. The letter had been delivered at the smithy that morning. They were to meet in late April.

That was a matter for another day. Right now, his One deserved his full attention and he would give it. He pulled her tight to him, tucking her head down so he could kiss her properly. Gwyn made a small sound in the back of her throat as they met in a clash of lips, tongue, and nipping teeth. Thorin once again went for her throat, fisting the fabric of her tunic. The Earthlander’s hands combed through his dark hair, tugging gently but firmly as he nipped a spot right under her jaw that made her see stars.

Then, once again, Gwyn was unceremoniously lifted from her comfortable spot. She was set unsteadily on her feet by an amused Kíli. “I get home late and this is what I find? What would the courtiers say about their King not following tradition?” He gave an impish grin.

Gwyn gave him a rude gesture and ruffled his hair, much to Kíli's indignation. “Mammadami, irak'ashat burgul.” ( I was comfortable, bratty nephew)

“A little too comfortable, eh, Uncle?” He sent a shit-eating grin at Thorin, who very uncomfortably had to readjust himself. He then gave an insulted look at Gwyn. “’Burgul?’ How am I the bratty one?”

Gwyn smirked and waved the spell scroll at him. “Khama Fíli makhajmmi azrâd.” (Because Fíli gave me magic.)

Kíli sulked. “You could have asked me.” He puffed up. “I don't need to study silly scrolls.”

“Since when?” Thorin sent his nephew a stern look.

The boy balked. “Err...well.. a couple years now? It isn't much, but I'm getting the hang of some things.”

Fíli entered the den and plopped on the floor in front of the fireplace, hair hanging wetly. He looked up at his kin. “Welcome home, uncle, you're early tonight.”

“Production is going well. I should meet my standard quota by the end of the week. Has Nori informed those joining us?”

Fíli nodded. “Aye. As we thought, only those that felt the Call that day wish to join our quest. Masters Óin and Glóin have also expressed interest in joining. We will need a healer and while Master Glóin practices law, he is a son of Master Gróin and has knowledge of healing.”

Thorin nodded. “Reasonable enough requests. Balin did put in the contract that each member of the company would receive a portion of treasure in compensation?”

“Aye, one sixteenth of a percent. Considering the stories you told, it's more than reasonable. Nori's sister complained at first, but relented when I explained that the treasure would mostly be going toward rebuilding the area in and around Erebor, as well as a decent portion coming back to Ered Luin as a reserve fund.”

A part of Thorin was not pleased. “The Ri Clan are joining? All of them? Ori is still below her age of majority.”

Kíli shrugged. “She's not much younger than me and I'm going.” .

Another thing Thorin was unhappy about. But Kíli was right in that he didn't have as extensive an education needed to truly operate Ered Luin while the rest of his kin were gone. And with Nori and Dís both going on the journey, it would have been easy for someone to assassinate him and stage a coup while they were gone. Kíli’s safety, ironically, was best assured on a possibly suicidal quest. All the same, Balin and Thorin had agreed on a Steward until Fíli returned for his coronation after the Mountain was reclaimed.

Fíli was quick to add on, “She wishes to chronicle our journey as her Masterwork project. Ori does have a small amount of magic capability, so won't be too burdensome.”

“I'm more worried about the elder. Dori is getting to the age where a matchmaker is necessary and there's few enough dams as it is.”

Gwyn decided to screw her restrictions, she couldn't speak her mind fast enough while trying to remember the right tenses and words. “But can't it work to our benefit? With Dís, me, Ori and Dori, that will be four dams in the group. We have spare weapons that we'll sell along the way, so it would be easy to pass off as a family of traveling merchants.”

Dís entered the room and threw a wet dishrag at Gwyn. Her hand automatically came up and caught it on reflex before flinging it back. Pride shown in Dís’ gaze. “Finally! NOW you may speak Westron. What is all this about now?”

Gwyn stared at her, gobsmacked. “Wait, seriously? I just needed to catch your knives and throw them back at you?”

“Without conscious thougate, yes. What, you thought this was just language lessons? I was teaching you situational awareness. Now, why are we saying we're traveling merchants?”

“The Ri Clan will be joining us on the journey to Erebor, amad.” Kíli explained. “Ori and Dori are joining Nori.”

“Ori is just 75, why would they allow it?” Dís was concerned.

“Masterwork project.”

“I see...in that case, a traveling merchant family would be an ideal cover. Good thinking, Gwyn.”

Gwyn figured that it would make sense to have the lie they used in canon be more based in fact. A mixed company lends credence to it being true. Perhaps a starting line wanting to branch out from the main company?

“We will need to explain the Hobbit in our company.” Thorin reminded. “We might be able to get away with the fact we're a cluster of family groups, but the Hobbit will be an outsider.”

Kíli proposed the solution. “What if we said he was Ori or Dori's intended? I mean, it'll depend on how old he is, but that would work, right?”

Fíli nodded. “Good idea. We could say it was part of a trade agreement for wares from the Shire.”

Gwyn’s experience in this different version of Arda taught her one thing: expect the unexpected. “What if the Hobbit Tharkûn has recruited is a female?” Even their way of addressing the old Wizard had rubbed off on her.

That brought a pause, the boys sharing a look before shrugging. “I guess Fee or I could play the part then. Or one of the Urs, they're supposed to be going, right?”

Fíli nodded. “Aye, but not Bombur, he's married. Bofur'd be best, he's the youngest of the Urs. Bifur...can only speak Khuzdul, so I'm afraid he'd be out.”

That had initially stumped Gwyn. She didn't understand why, if magic was more widespread than she had thought, Bifur would still walk around with an orc axe in his skull. It was a lot simpler a reason than she thought. Óin might be a healer, but Mahal wasn't. A few scrapes and cuts? Not a problem. A broken bone? Set it, cast several small spells over a week and you're healed. Brain injury? Outside his jurisdiction and too delicate to mess with willy nilly. Of course, she hasn't met the Urs yet. At least her months of being forced to use only Khuzdul will let her empathize with Bifur's predicament.

“If all is settled, I came out to say that dinner is ready.” Dís headed back to the kitchen.

One more month, then they'll be leaving for the Shire. So much had already changed, Thorin never went to Bree while coming back from searching for his father. Dís was joining the Company, that was a MAJOR change to the timeline. Fíli was no longer going to be heir for the King Under the Mountain. Another major change was that they never told the other Great Clans about the plan to take back Erebor. Gwyn felt anxiety creep up and grasp her lungs, paralyzing her. So much could go wrong right now.

She hoped Tharkûn wouldn't be too mad at her for going so far off script.

...

...

The Company was just a day out from the meeting point Tharkún had instructed them to be at and Gwyn was amazed with the scenery.

The rolling hills of the Shire were just as shown in the movies. And the smials! She was seeing actual smials! And Hobbits! Their feet were HUGE! Easily twice the size of her own. They were also, on average, a head shorter than the Dwarrow.

The road had been relatively easy. Working with the Rangers to clear the roads of goblin nests and orc camps had managed to drum up some good rapport with the Menfolk of the area, enough to where the Dwarrow could get fair prices for their wares and purchasing supplies. If Glóin’s look of amazement at the prices they were paying were anything to go by, the Dwarrow must have been suffering from severely unfair price gouging. It made the businesswoman in Gwyn flare up in agitation. Together with the savings Thorin had, the sales of their excess weapons and Dori's tailoring, plus a pinch from Glóin, the Company had more than enough funds to last the journey. Provided everything went smoothly.

Gwyn was relieved to see Thorin so relaxed from the assuredness that things were going well. They had made more off of his weapons than anticipated and it set him in a good mood. She trotted her pony up to him and bumped his shoulder.

“You're looking happy.” Her eyes roved his form, taking in the familiar apparel. Everyone was dressed just as how they had appeared during the first Hobbit movie, at least by Gwyn’s recollection. Some things were beginning to get hazy, but she wrote it off as the passing of time. It HAD been several months since she last saw the movies even before being pulled into Arda.

Thorin reached over and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. He didn't know how he would have done this without her, they certainly wouldn't have been as well off as they were. He appreciated her form. The hard months of training Dís put her through had trimmed off some of the softness around her middle, but she still had her curves. The leather armor he had commission was taken back before the journey so it could be taken in to fit her new figure. Over top of the armor was a grey cloak made from a wolf pelt to keep out the spring chill. Littered underneath were various belts and holsters for a multitude of knives. Upon gifting them to her, she had demanded to know if there was a way to enchant them to return after their intended use.

Fíli and Dís had seized the idea and scoured the Archives for any records of such. Dís had returned triumphantly and it took Thorin several weeks to learn how to inscribe the runes properly. He was no mage, but he would trust no one else to do such work on the Eve of their quest. He had sent plenty of prayers to Mahal that the runes would work as intended and was relieved that they did. At least now his family would always be armed. Fíli had gone the extra mile to figure out a way to return the knives to their sheath instead of the wielder's hand. They had tried to do the same with Kíli's arrowheads, but weren't able to reliably etch the runes small enough. As such, he only had 5 arrows that had survived the attempts and worked properly. It was better than they could hope for.

“I am. I have been blessed to have my family join me while we go to reclaim our home, and I am most blessed that you walked into our lives. Dís hasn't been so alive and active since her One left. Fíli unlocked his potential as a Spell Blade. Both the boys are acting more responsible than I've ever known them. You have have brought so much good with you...even if I fully intend to hit that old fool for leaving you on the road all those months ago.” They shared an amused grin. “I believe we have a real chance at pulling this off, and I have no idea how I could thank you. The rest of our lives won't be enough.”

Thorin was still able to turn her into Gwyn-goo with just a few well spoken words. “Guess we'll just have to follow each other to the next life so you can keep thanking me there, too.” She knew they believed in reincarnation, at least among the Seven Fathers of the Dwarrow. All the Durins actually named Durin were believed to be the original Longbeard reincarnated.

The King huffed a laugh and pressed another kiss to her hand. "Aye, that I would need to do. Come, we're an hour outside of Michel Delwing, we can get rooms at an inn and continue to Hobbiton tomorrow. We should arrive in time for supper, just as Tharkû wants.”

They set the ponies to a light trot, the rest of their company following behind. Tomorrow would be the true start of their journey.

....

....

Coming from Buckland, a Hobbit with a green cloak draped over them looked up to the sky. A thin hand pressed against the trunk of a tree. Spring green eyes closed, a faint aura enveloping the figure before quickly dissipating.

“Oh dear, it seems i am quite late in returning.” A light voice spoke. A passing deer knelt before the Hobbit. “Ah, thank you. You are most kind. I will ensure your safe return in gratitude.” The Hobbit swept a leg over the deer's back and it gracefully stood back up. “To Bag End, if you please, in Hobbiton.”

The deer set off at a gallop, startling several other Hobbits on the road as they swiftly dove out of the deer's way.

“BAGGINS!”

“My apologies, but I am quite late!”

------

SSD: Finally! We can start the actual Hobbit timeline! And we see a glimpse of the Hobbit of the hour! Next chapter, I will have from Bilbo's POV. As a fair warning, this isn't our Canon!Bilbo. Canon has officially been shot dead. Now, we have the sheets for Bombur, Balin, and Glóin

Bombur: Level 3 Hill Dwarf Cavalier Fighter

Str: 15

Dex: 10

Con: 16

Int: 9

Wis: 15

Cha: 8

Skills: Animal Handling +4, Insight +4, Persuasion +1, Survival +4

Balin: Level 9 Mountain Dwarf Alchemist Articifer

Str: 17

Dex:14

Con: 16

Int: 18

Wis: 18

Cha: 12

Skills: Arcana +8, History +8, Perception +8, Persuasion +5

Glóin: Level 6 Oath of the Ancients Paladin

Str: 16

Dex: 12

Con: 10

Int: 14

Wis: 11

Cha: 8

Skills: Insight +3, Intimidation +2, Persuasion +2, Religion +4

Bilbo's sheet will be next chapter, but I think I got all the Company. If I missed one, let me know.

Read, comment, drop a kudos! Hope you enjoyed.

Chapter Text

SSD: We are now in the Hobbit movies! Three cheers! But first, a brief look at our non-canon Bilbo Baggins.

-------

Chapter 6: The Baggins of Green

“Have you heard about the Bagginses?”

Please, not Bilbo too! I’ll do anything, please!

“Poor Belladonna, losing Bungo and their son.”

My poor child. This is not the Fate woven for you.

“Fell Winter hit all of us hard, some harder than others.”

Please...please save him. Oh Yavanna, please...

“Rumor has it Belladonna has lost her head. Have you seen the fauntling she carries around? Poor dear insists it's Bilbo.”

I can save him. But she will no longer be yours, she will be mine. Do you accept?

“Poor woman, the faunt is clearly a lass. Bilbo was only just a tween, she probably couldn't take the loss of both of them”

She? No. If it means Bilbo will live...then I accept. Thank you...thank you so much...

Eyes the color of new growth slid open, staring blankly at the concave, wood-paneled ceiling of her bedroom. Copper-gold curls splayed over the Hobbit's pillow in a wide fan. The lass wore a men's sleeping shirt, unbuttoned to just the top of her chest. Thick pink scars traced a pathway across her neck and down into the pinstripe shirt. Several other raised scars made a semi-circle around the lass’ left shoulder.

“It would be that dream again.” Heaving to a sitting position, Bilbo Baggins looked out her window to the pink light of dawn. Her curls slid down to mid back, longer than most Hobbit women keep their hair. “Well, My Lady, I should start preparations for my guests, shouldn't I?” To the observant eye, it would have appeared Bilbo was talking to the potted plant on the window sill. A soft touch to a green leaf let a glow briefly surround her hand. “Oh dear, that is quite a lot of guests. I'll need to go to market, my pantry stores may not be enough for sixteen. Thank you for the warning, My Lady.” The ivy leaf pulsed and settled, appearing normal once more.

Bilbo went about her morning ablutions, dressed in a decent blouse and a sensible pair of trousers and went to her pantry. Rooting around, she found a bag of corn and shucked it, then scraped the kernels into a wooden bowl. She picked up the bowl and left Bag End. Curled in front of her smial was the deer that carried her home the day before, making excellent time for her to prepare for her incoming guests. She placed the bowl of corn in front of the deer and stroked her neck..

“Here you are, sweetheart, sorry I didn't give you any food last night, that was poor hosting on my part. Papa would have been most cross with me.” The deer eagerly devoured the offered food and headbutted the lass. Bilbo laughed. “Yes, yes, you are quite welcome. Now...” She pressed her forehead to the deer's muzzle and glowed a pale green. “May the Green Mother guide you safely back to your home, free of hunters and predators.” She kissed the doe's snout and the graceful creature left.

Bilbo stood up and went back inside to prepare her own breakfast. The market, sadly, didn't open until after second breakfast, but she should be able to take the time to harvest some produce from her garden. Oh, but her guests will want more than just her vegetarian faire...a grimace of distaste crossed her button face. She would need to pick up...meat...oh, the rumors that will abound with how much she'll need. Bilbo felt mildly sick.

It was unfortunate, but ever since the Fell Winter, she had become intolerant of meat. She understood perfectly well that it was natural to eat other creatures, but whenever she tried, she became horribly ill. A side effect of the process that saved her life, her mother had said.

Well, never let it be said she was a poor host. She was a Baggins of Bag End and will meet her guests’ expectations despite her own discomfort.

After a meal of fried tomatoes and cheese on toast, Bilbo went into her garden. She closed her eyes, breathed in, and on her exhale extended her senses. Ah, there, the potatoes were ripened enough to serve a good dinner tonight. Several onions were ready for harvest, as were the lettuce, carrots and cucumbers...a shame she would be unable to properly pickle the cucumbers, but they will do nice in some salads. Spade and claw in hand, Bilbo went to work digging out the ripe vegetables.

The lass brought in her harvest, rinsed off the dirt, and said a prayer to Yavanna over them before storing the food in the pantry. A quick apple made up her second breakfast and after grabbing a money pouch from the study and her cloak, she was off to the market. On her way down the road,, she walked straight passed a Big Folk dressed in drab grey robes and a pointy hat. An oddity, but not her concern. Now, about how much meat should she get...?

The Big Folk that Bilbo had written off as not her concern stopped at the gate of Bag End. A look of perplexion crossed his face, bushy brows furrowed in concentration. There was a lingering magic in the air here, one that radiated tender goodness. Gandalf had only felt this in one other place, but such a thing was impossible. Rhadagast was half a continent away, after all. Peering into the home, it appeared no one was home at the moment. Gandalf would return in a couple hours, the Hobbit was probably on a stroll like most Hobbits tend to do.

...

...

“Still holing up in Bag End, “cousin”?” A nasally, snobbish voice interrupted Bilbo's thoughts as she opened her gate, arms laden with her purchases.

Bilbo tamped down the instinctive curl of her lips. Even when they had been tweens, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had been an obnoxious one. When she turned and saw the contempt in Lobelia's gaze increase, she clearly hadn't hid her own distaste very well. “Good morning, Lobelia. A fine day, no?” Hopefully this would end quickly, she was expecting a delivery of more meats.

The Hobbit woman gave a haughty sniff. “Instead of dirtying the reputation of perfectly respectable Hobbits, you should hand over Bag End to a proper Hobbit family. Hobbiton doesn't need the likes of, of...wild women! Riding a deer as if it were a pony, utterly ridiculous.”

Ah, so that's what it was about this time. Lobelia had been one of the most vocal against her identity. Regardless of the fact she bore the wolves’ scars left behind from the Fell Winter, there were many Hobbits that disputed her being Bilbo, child of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins. But then, despite the presence of the Sisterhood of the Green Lady, an order of lasses and gentlehobbits fully devoted to Yavanna above all else, many of the “civilized” Hobbits had forgotten much of their origins. It was mostly the Tooks and Brandybucks that still practiced the Old Ways. The Tooks were also, paradoxically, the largest Clan of Hobbits, carrying the title of Thain among them and, as such, technically the rulers of the whole Shire, but they were also the most ostracized for their love of adventure. Nevermind being the ones to have ruling say in matters, but the Tooks were the primary protectors of the Shire, working in tandem with the Rangers.

Sad to say, Bilbo had been one of the naysayers against her mother's Clan until he died. She vowed to not make the mistake of underestimating the Tooks again, for it was the Old Ways that had saved her life.

Before responding to her Most Vile Cousin, Bilbo caught sight of a glowing leaf of ivy clinging to her fence post and brushed her hand against it, hearing her Lady's voice.

[You will not return, dear heart.]

The moment was brief, hardly noticeable and the dark haired Hobbit before her didn't catch the exchange. But it told Bilbo what she needed to know. Turning solemn green eyes to Lobelia, she decided that, fine, in this she was correct. But by the Lady, she would NOT see the Sackville-Bagginses in the home of her parents. Not when every word they spoke belittled the sacrifice her parents made to keep her alive.

Her gaze cooled, reassured by the brief presence of her Lady. “Truth be told, my Calling has been nudging me further and further from the Shire. I've yet to finalize anything, but I already have a suitable inheritor in mind and will speak with Grandfather in the morrow. If you do not mind, I am expecting guests for supper and would like to get started. Good day, Lobelia.” Bilbo turned on her heel and continued into her home, ignoring Lobelia’s gaping mug.

She heard a shrill, “You are no PROPER Baggins, imposter!” followed by a “harrumph”. Finally, the harpy was gone.

That out of the way, Bilbo set about getting several roasts cooking. A Hobbit’s pride is their kitchen and this was easily one of the best kitchens in the Shire. It was the size of three of her pantries (and a Hobbit-pantry is already fairly large), sporting two ovens, a stove, an island counter, and a stone slab stove. A door lead to an area of her yard where there were three fire pits set up for smoking meat. She was out of practice when it came to cooking meat, but she was a Hobbit. A good kitchen is their pride, a warm hearth is their joy, and excellent food is their love.

It would be a meal fit for a king. Guiltily, venison was one of the meats she was cooking. She just hoped it wasn't one last night's steed knew. Venison, pork, two chickens, a turkey, there was even a cut of beef pectorals that she was able to snag from the butcher. All on top of the side dishes she planned. Roasted and m-

Knock. Knock.

Bilbo paused and washed her hands, drying them as she went to the door. Peering out, she was surprised it was the Big Folk she had seen earlier in the day. She swung the door open and looked up at the tall, tall Man.

“Good day, can I help you?”

The elderly Man appeared confused. Oh dear, Bilbo hoped he wasn't one of those “wandering minds” that happened at after a certain age. Blue eyes the color of the sky looked her over from head to hairy toe.

“Pardon me, I appear to have the wrong address. Is this not Bag End, home of Belladonna Took?”

A former acquaintance of her mother's? This became curious. “It was. Belladonna Baggins passed seven years ago. I'm Master of the Estate now, was there something you needed?” Bother, she had looked forward so often as a child to being Master Baggins, not understanding the meaning behind it, that it still slipped at times when it should be Mistress.

A bushy brow raised. “You are certainly not what I had expected, “Master Baggins”. Forgive me, that was perhaps too forward.”

A niggling irritation was beginning to build in Bilbo. Her delivery had still not arrived and she needed to check on the beef. “Perhaps it was. But Master Baggins I am after the death of my parents. I mean no offense, but I am quite busy today and would appreciate if you stated your business.”

“Merely coming to visit an old friend and offer them an adventure.” Were his eyes twinkling? How queer. No matter, she would be leaving after tomorrow, provided her Lady's advice was correct (and she was yet to be wrong).

“Well, I am afraid this Hobbit is already preoccupied. You might have better luck finding a fellow adventurer in Tuckburough or Bree. If you do not mind, I have much on my plate.” She went to close the door, but the Man placed his staff in the door. Rude. Bilbo glared up at him, no longer feeling hospitable.

“I will admit, you are not the Bilbo Baggins I was expecting, nor the one I last have memories of as you watched my fireworks.”

Fireworks rang a bell. Bilbo's eyes lit up in recognition and she tuned her senses to him, feeling the magic under the old Maia's skin. Gandalf jolted in surprise from the touch of magic. That was certainly NOT part of his expectations.

“Gandalf? Gandalf the Grey? It's no wonder I didn't recognize you! I must have been, oh...ten or so last I saw you at Grandfather's birthday party. Please, come in. You will have to pardon, but I am expecting company later this eve. Quite a lot of guests, to be honest. I still have much to bake and prepare and am so far behind. We can talk while I cook.” She ushered the Wizard to a larger chair that would fit him. “Would you like some tea? Oh, bother, I missed elevensies and lunch.” Bilbo cursed on catching the time on the mantelpiece.

Bewildered, Gandalf took her up on the offer of tea. “You are expecting company?”

Bilbo managed to balance mixing up a batter with prepping a pot of tea. “Oh yes, sixteen guests, by my sources.”

“You sound certain it is sixteen?”

Bilbo set the pot to boil and continued mixing the cookie dough. Sweets were one of the few things made with eggs that she could enjoy and didn't make her sick. Her last batch of cinnamon pecan biscuits was just about gone and she rather enjoyed those. “Indeed. And that they will be hungry. I'm afraid that's all I know.” She grabbed her tea strainer, setting aside the bowl of batter, and went about making the tea.

The faint scent of roses drifted into Gandalf's nose and he inhaled the sweet scent. “Ah, than you. I'm surprised you are even aware of the Company when I was going to inform you of them today. A Company of Dwarves will be coming to procure something necessary for their journey.”

Bilbo, occupied with being Arda's Most Multitasking Chef, just nodded. “I see, I see. Must be something important indeed.”

“Oh yes, they need an expert to retrieve something that was stolen from them.”

Pots and pans and spoons banged together as she whipped up a multitude of dishes and treats in a frenzy. “Oh, how awful. I hope they are able to retrieve it.”

Gandalf nodded. “Yes, I remember a certain rambunctious scamp that stole a pack of my fireworks and set them off in the Big Tent before anyone suspected him. I was hoping that Hobbit would be willing to lend aid to the Company.”

The scraping of a whisk stilled as Bilbo finally realized just what she was getting hedged into. She looked over her island counter, eyes narrowed on the old Man. “Now you see here, I am a child of the Green Lady. I am no thief or, or, counter-burglar. No, if they require my help, I will go, but it is by my Lady's will I am going.” She accidentally flung batter at him, swinging the whisk around to emphasize her point, but she didn't care.

Gandalf's gaze regarded her solemly, searchingly. He then caught sight of the scars just peeking out from the long neck of her blouse. “I had wondered...you appear much younger than a Hobbit of 50 should. Might I ask what happened?”

Bilbo went back to baking, going silent. “Forgive me, but I do not like to discuss it, not many Hobbits do. It was a dark time for the Shire. I respectfully request that you do not ask again.”

Gandalf nodded, realizing that this was a delicate subject. “I understand. If it brings you comfort, you will not be the only female on the journey. There is another young woman, much like yourself, that will accompany us East.”

Bilbo eased at the knowledge. It wouldn't have bothered her either way, but she had realized as a tween lad that he simply wasn't attracted to lasses. Neither had he been particularly drawn to Hobbit lads either, and it hadn't changed when he became she. But it did ease her mind that she would have a companion of her persuasion on the journey and not just a bunch of men.. Men she had no idea of what they looked like or their character, but her Lady was guiding her towards them and she would trust that.

She hoped everything was ready in time. Seven hours wasn't enough for this preparation.

....

....

With Gandalf's help, Bilbo had been able to move the dining table into the hallway and slot in the extra leafs to extend it. It was heaped with food of all sorts. A smaller table was pushed to the back wall of what should be the dining room and was laden with an assortment of desserts. A brief flex of her power kept the food piping hot until her guest's could arri-

knock. knock. knock.

Speak of the wraith. Bilbo brushed her hands into a towel, straightened her clothes, ensured her hair was secured in its tail, and opened the door. She blinked, almost craving her neck back to look at the tall Dwarf. She briefly marveled at the tattoos on his bald head before he introduced himself with a curt bow.

“Dwalin, son of Fundin, at yer service. This the place?”

A shorter, wider, older Dwarf edged Dwalin to the side. “Tharkûn said a green door on top of the largest hill. Oh, dear me. Balin, son of Fundin, at your service.” He bowed more graciously than his brother(?).

Bilbo returned their bow, a curtsey not appropriate when she was still in trousers. “Bilbo, child of Belladonna and Bungo, at yours. Please come inside, supper is in the hall. A keg of ale has been set up in the den so it doesn't interfere in your meal. Oh, please leave your boots and cloaks here.”

Balin appeared pleased while Dwalin seemed to be a bit of a grump. They entered and when they laid eyes on the spread, their expressions shifted to surprise.

“Oh my...”

“Mahal halwâ...lass, this might be too much.”

The Dwarves removed the aforementioned articles, slightly sheepish and humbled at the lass’ kindness.

“Please, help yourselves. Gandalf assured me you would be hungry.” Bilbo smiled pleasantly, gleeful that her efforts were appreciated.

As she situated the pair of brothers, the bell was rung this time. Bilbo excused herself to answer the door. She saw the dark haired young Dwarf first, though some of his facial features made her think more of the Elves from her mother's stories. His eyes were a very dark, hazel green that could be mistaken for brown if natural mischief didn't lighten them. Beside him was-

Green Lady's mercy, her magic was singing. The Dwarf beside the younger appeared her physical age with long, wheat colored hair. Two plaits were braided on each side of his hair, oddly lopsided on the left, as if there was supposed to be a third there. His mustache also was braided and he had a trimmed beard. His eyes were blue, like the trim of her mother's West Farthing pottery. His smile was just a bit crooked, a similar but lesser glint of mischief as his companion in his eyes.

“Fíli...”

“and Kíli.”

“”At your service.””

The right one, Kíli spoke next. “Are you Mister Boggins? You certainly don't look like a “mister”.” A grin softened words that might have offended.

Bilbo resolutely ignored the magic in her veins tugging her towards the blond. “I certainly am not, Master Kíli. Refreshments are in the den and dinner is served in the hall. Please leave your cloaks and boots in the foyer so we can prevent any tripping.” She helped them from their cloaks and hung them up, trying not to linger with Fíli’s dark blue one.

Fíli lightly placed his hand on her elbow, a bit informal, but not inappropriate. But it was doing funny things to her heart that she'd rather ignore at the moment. “Might you have a place we can leave our weapons? There are more of us coming and if we all eat while armed, even your hall will not be large enough to host us. We did not wish to overwhelm you by arriving all at once.” He gave her a warm smile that made her stomach flip.

An unfamiliar heat flushed her head and nodded. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I believe I can find a place. My father's study is further in. I don't use it much, so your weapons should be safe there.”

Fíli nodded his head, a curious look in his eye that was washed away when he eyed the table of food in amazement. A quick glance of the room and that amazed expression turned on Bilbo. Oh, bother and confound it, why was she so drawn to him?! “You did all this on your own? At the least, allow us to clean up when we are done, it is only fair after all the trouble you have gone through on our behalf.” He winked at her then and Bilbo could swear her heart stopped. “If it tastes as good as it smells, I might need to ask for your hand.” He then left to join his fellows.

The potted plant beside her, normally a summer plant, burst into full bloom, releasing the scent of Chrysanthemums throughout the smial, much to Bilbo's mortification. She looked at the red flowers, then back to where Fíli had gone further down the hall. Her embarrassment ratcheted up when she saw curious blue eyes staring at the new plant in puzzlement.

A chuckle interrupted her thoughts and Bilbo glared up at the Wizard. “Not a word! Anything, and you won't receive a drop of Brandybuck Red.”

Gandalf raised a hand in placation and went to join the Dwarves at the table.

The bell rang again and Bilbo once again schooled herself into the perfect hostess. She squeaked as, this time, eight Dwarves all tumbled into her foyer. “Oh, green gardens, are you alright?”

A very young looking Dwarf popped up from the pile, being pushed up by one with bright silver hair. Another with star shaped hair managed to wiggle out from the pile and helped the younger one up. The young Dwarf had bowl-cut bangs and hair folded into a tuck that resembled a bowl-cut as well. An odd styling choice, but no odder than the Star-do. Those three appeared...different...to the other Dwarves, but no matter. Bilbo went about gathering their cloaks, ignoring the one with an axe in his skull(!), and instructed them on where to place their boots and weapons.

The silver haired Dwarf approached, smiling kindly. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mistress Baggins. Dori, daughter of Kori, at your service.”

Did h-she say daughter? The presence of the beard confused Bilbo, but on looking closer, she could see the marks of feminity on her. “I do apologize if I am staring. I just...”

Dori laughed it off. “It's alright, Mistress, many of the other folk do the same. Don't understand that we dams have beards like our men.”

Bilbo nodded and spotted Gandalf coming over, the Wizard seeming to be counting the Dwarves.

“And Dori makes twelve. We are missing some.” A look of worry crossed his face.

A Dwarf with a floppy hat, Bofur (if she recalled the rapid introductions correctly), came by with a plate full of food. That may have been the last of the chicken...she should have gotten another one. “Aye, they're squaring up at the inn so our supplies are good. Shouldna be far behind.” He waved a chicken leg at Bilbo and she tried not to be ill on reflex. “Thanks for this, better’n me brother's.” He walked off while taking a bite.

Three knocks sounded on the door, demanding Bilbo's attention. The rowdiness of the Dwarves quieted, a hush falling over the rambunctious lot. Bilbo opened the door an peered out.

The trio cut a striking image in front of her. There was a Manfolk woman between two dark-haired Dwarves. Knowing what to look for now, Bilbo could see the one on the right was actually a woman as well, just a bit taller than Bilbo herself but almost twice as wide. She wore a dark furred cloak, with an equally dark blue shawl wrapped underneath it. Leather armor, dark as night and studded in steel like stars clung to her form. A veritable latticework of belts and holsters showed her weapons of choice, along with a gracefully curving bow on her back. Her hair was half up and half down, braids hanging from the bun on the back of her head. She shared the same piercing blue eyes as the other Dwarf and-

Oh. OH. She looked again at the Woman and the Dwarf, registering that they were holding hands. Her thoughts turned to Fíli and she felt a kernel of mortification, hoping they didn't understand what flowers mean to Hobbits and would ignore the Chrysanthemums by the door.

The couple were no less impressive than the female Dwarf, the male being the most imposing of the three.

“Dís, daughter of Thráin, at your service.”

The Woman bowed in the same way as the Dwarves did, not surprising since it seemed she was married to one. “Gwyneth, daughter of Shoshanna. A pleasure, Mistress Baggins.” How odd, Gwyneth seemed to be dismayed at the sight of her.

“Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór.” Without so much as a “by your leave”, the three entered her smial. Thorin ran a critical eye over her, making Bilbo feel somewhat uncomfortable. His sons were much more well mannered...must have been their mother's doing. “Tell me, Mistress Baggins, what is your preferred weapon? Axe or sword?” Why the nerve...

A look of irritation fell over Gwyn’s face, her hand coming up...

Thwap!

“What did I tell you about manners in a Hobbit’s home?” Her hand stayed on the top of Thorin’s head where it had landlook Dead silence covered the hall.

Her husband gave her a scathing look, before Dís snorted. “You should have known your Intimidation tactic wouldn't have worked in this way, brother.”

Thorin’s sons shared a smirk and laugh between them. Bilbo blinked as the presumed leader seemed more or less resigned.

“Forgive me, that was out of line after you have invited my Company into your home. Shall we attempt this conversation again after we have eaten?”

By all rights, she should throw him out. But his wife seemed able to reel in his foolishness, so she would allow him to stay. “That will be acceptable. You may leave your cloaks and boots here, weapons are down the hall in the study. It may be a squeeze past the table.”

Bilbo gathered and hung the trio's cloaks, she was confused at hearing Fíli’s voice call for “Aunt” and “Uncle”, so...perhaps he was Dís’ son and Kíli's cousin? Kíli did bear more of a resemblance to Thorin and had green eyes like Gwyneth. She turned to finally grab some supper for herself. Her gaze softened at seeing Thorin take out a chair for his wife and scoot her in before sitting beside her at the head of the table. Perhaps he wasn't ALL that bad...

Across the room, Gandalf watched the proceedings with a frown furrowed his brow. He had not counted on Dís’ presence on the journey. And his diplomat seemed particularly friendly with the Durins...things were going differently from what was planned. Although, her handling of the King-in-exile showed she had gotten a grasp of Dwarven Politics. Even if he was surprised at how effective she was at curbing Thorin’s usually sharp tongue.

...

...

After the Dwarves had eaten, and cleaned up at Fíli’s urging, the group settled around the table. Thorin looked up at Gandalf and spoke.

“Why did you have us come here, Tharkûn?”

“Your Company is aware of the risks in this quest?”

“Aye, to the last Dwarf. We are committed to this path.”

Gandalf nodded and from his robe withdrew a roll of parchment. With a degree of reverence, he handed it to Thorin. “I came across this.”

Thorin rolled it out and inhaled sharply. Bilbo peered over, catching sight of a map with a solitary mountain and a red ink image of a dragon. “The Lonely Mountain?”

“Our home...” Dís whispered in awe.

The young lady Dwarf gasped in surprise and delight. “Moon runes! I've only read about them!”

“Indeed, young Ori. Only a small number of people in the world are able to read these. I, unfortunately, am not one of them.” Gandalf confirmed.

Bilbo had a feeling the old Wizard was telling the truth on that. “Wouldn't there be Elves that can read it?”

Oh dear, the room seemed to grow cold. Bilbo had heard about tensions between Dwarves and Elves, but this was worse than imgained. Gwyneth seemed to be neutral on the matter. And judging by the way her left eye was starting to twitch, there was about to be another example of a wife's power over her husband...

A saccharine smile spread on the Woman’s lips, her voice honeyed. “Amrulê...what have ELSE have we discussed?” Gandalf's eyebrows shot up at the address, shock written on his face.

Thorin’s jaw clenched, eyes darkening, but he seemed firm in his hatred. “I will not rely on the aid of Elves to restore my home.”

“I thought we agreed it was only in regards to Elves from the Greenwood?” Gwyneth tried to press.

“And those of Lórien.”

Gwyneth’s expression was still dissatisfied. Thorin took her hand in his and gently squeezed. “We will find an alternative. We can go north to Fornost, there may be records of how to decipher the runes there.”

Gandalf also appeared to be displeased by Thorin’s stubbornness. It would seem only an act from the Valar would convince the hard headed Dwarf to accept help from Rivendell. He muttered darkly about the stubbornness of Dwarves.

Balin (the next oldest looking Dwarf, at least, Bilbo thought so) brought up his thoughts. “We cannae forget that the main entrance is sealed, it was destroying when the Beast entered the Mountain.”

“You would be correct, Master Balin, if I did not also have this.” Gandalf produced a thick, heavy iron key with a diamond shaped handle.

Fíli seemed particularly excited. “If there's a key, then there's a door, another way in!” Oh bless, he just reminded Bilbo of an excitable puppy.

Fíli received a fond rebuke from Dís (who is his mother after all, apparently). “Settle down. We still have Smaug to deal with. Between Kíli, Nori, Gwyn and I, we have a decent scouting party. After some training, I believe Mistress Baggins will be able to join us in that number. She is slight, like an Elf, but small enough to go where we would be unable to.”

Bilbo blinked. “Pardon? I’m not a burglar or, or whatever it is that Gandalf promised you I'd be. I will join to help because My Lady wills it and it will be for the best. But thieving is beyond my capabilities.”

It was the Woman who seemed most sympathetic. “It isn't so bad. And Dís is a good instructor. She trained me inside of five months and I never thought i'd be at the level I am now. The truth is, only a Hobbit would be able to sneak past Smaug because your race's scent is unknown to him. As a Hobbit, surely you can understand our desire to go home?”

This Woman...was too familiar. It was true, she understood what it was like to long for home. She felt it often when she wandered to the Old Forest for the occasional tea with Master Tom (a good friend of her Lady's). Only ones that follow the Old Ways anymore knew the true Calling of Home. Hers drew...hers drew...her brow crinkled in confusion. How very odd...her Calling had gone silent. She had never heard of such a thing. Even so, Bilbo would need more information before agreeing to aid in...burglary of all things.

“I will need to know more, what is Smaug?” It sounded familiar, rang a few bells, but nothing came to mind.

“Think a furnace with wings.” Bofur cheerily piped up.

That didn't sound pleasant and...oh dear Yavanna, no. “You want me to sneak past a dragon?” She suddenly felt faint. Her Lady said she wouldn't return...surely she wouldn't...die...on this quest, right?

She'll draw up a will tonight and drop it off in Tuckburough with Grandfather on the way out in the morning. That's all there was to it. She'll will everything to Cousin Drogo, he at least, never questioned her claims. Her Took blood definitely came back stronger after his death.

“Is there a, waiver or, or contract that I need sign for this quest?” She must have lost her mind.

“Aye, lass. Are ye sure you wish to join?” Balin reminded her of her Granfather. It was thoughtful of him, bit her path had been sealed that one night in the Darkest Winter.

“I am certain. If you do not mind going a few hours out of your way so I may set affairs in order before my departure, I will join you in regaining your Home.”

“There is one other matter.” Thorin spoke, a look going from his son and nephew and back to her. “No one is to know the true reason for our journey. For that reason, we are posing as a traveling merchant family. To explain your presence among us, being a Hobbit and clearly not our kin, you will need to agree to pose as the betrothed of one of our number. Fíli and Kíli already agreed to accept the role when we discussed this possibility before arriving.”

The tips of Fíli’s ears turned red and Bilbo felt mortified as she recalled his flirtatious behavior. Her gaze landed on Fíli, only to see him staring at her with a sheepish if hopeful look. Kíli waved from beside his cousin, winked at her, and subtly nodded his head to Fíli while flashing her a discreet thumbs up.

“Fíli.” Dear Green Gardens, she just squeaked. “I, if I am to make a choice I this matter, than I will choose Fíli.”

Dís and Thorin seemed slightly displeased, but Gwyneth gave her a sly, knowing grin. The Woman leaned over to her husband and whispered something in his ear. He scowled in response, saying something in a harsh language. Bilbo didn't see what happened, but Gwyneth did something that made Thorin concede.

“Very well. We will say that you are Fíli’s bet-”

“One slight problem. I need to visit my Grandfather on our way out tomorrow and suddenly claiming I am betrothed will be a Bad Idea.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Oh, how did she explain this? “My mother, before she died was Grandfather’s favored daughter. I inherited her title when she passed. My Grandfather is the Thain of the Shire, Gerontius Took.”

Confusion was written across most of the Dwarves’ faces, but blessed be to Ori.

The young dam looked surprised. “You're a Princess then?”

That got a reaction. Dís and Balin seemed more interested, Balin having a calculating look to his eyes. Thorin seemed minorly less disgruntled.

“Lass, would you be open to us discussing this with your Grandfather as a proper betrothal?” Balin's question was surprising. Was this common among Dwarves? “It would seem more convincing if we had proper documentation in order, just in case.”

Bilbo felt her senses pinging. He was telling the truth, but that wasn't all he wanted. “If you want to open trade with Grandfather, why did you not just say so?” Because that is the only other thing she could think that would interest a Dwarf merchant.

Thorin looked at his nephew. “Ered Luin is closer to here, any agreements will be for there. What would your decision be?” Isn't that an odd question to ask?

Fíli went to answer immediately, but a nudge from Kíli snapped his mouth shut and he thought about it. “Shire pipeweed is something we import frequently, and their land being farther south means they have better agriculture and access to certain raw materials that we have trouble producing. I would attempt to open agreements for cotton, livestock and pipeweed.”

Thorin, Balin and Dís nodded in approval. Thorin gave his nephew a proud smile. “A good answer. Just remember it in the talks tomorrow. As it is your hand the lass chose and with her status, this will be beneficial to your future rule.”

Bilbo felt tomorrow was going to be queerer than today. Yavanna guide and aid her, but was he seriously going to discuss a betrothal contract after only knowing her a night? And where they have barely conversed?

Dwarves were very unconventional courters...

------

SSD: No Misty Mountains Cold (sad face), but I did enjoy this dive into Bilbo's mentality. If things are vague, it is intentional. Bilbo will reveal what happened to make him who she is, but it won't be for a while. Just know that it will DRASTICALLY affect further canon more than Gwyn’s interactions have..

And yes, Bilbo's read the situation that Fíli and Kíli are cousins, not brothers, and Kíli is Thorin and Gwyn’s son XD That will be an awkward revelation I look forward to. Now, I should be asleep because I have four hours before work as I write this.
Bilbo Baggins: Level 5 Halfling Druid (Forest Circle)

Str: 6

Dex: 14

Con: 12

Int: 14

Wis:14

Cha: 10

Skills: Animal Handling +5, Nature +5, Perception +5, Survival +5

Bilbo has "Speak with Plants" as a cantrip, rather than a Level 3 spell, due to having a direct connection to Yavanna. You will receive no more spoilers than that!

Read, Review, and Kudos, plox!

Chapter Text

SSD: This will be a fun chapter...prepare to see Gandalf utterly flabbergasted and Done.

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Chapter 7: Off the Script

Gandalf Olórin Greyham was Not Amused. Outside of certain, key, events, nothing had gone the way he had anticipated for the past several months. Ever since he had followed his Lord and Lady's whispers, the first that he had heard from them in centuries, to travel the Between and go to the Other Side in search of a Lost One.

The Between was a finicky place, it was everywhere and everywhen yet was neither of those. The last time one not of the Maiar had attempted to venture past it, they had gotten trapped. Gandalf had been the One to rescue the man, John, and send him on his way back to the Other Side. Perhaps, that had been the first indication of something amiss, for that had also been the last time the Valar had spread their whispers to Arda and the song of the world began to dim.

Since then, several key pieces for Arda's continued future had gone “missing”, slipping into the Between. One such piece being lost sent Aulë into a panic, if Saruman's remembrance of the event could be trusted. He did not share what was lost to him, only that he felt his Patron's great sorrow. He feared that what was intended as a gift to his beloved creations would now be a curse.

It was the loss of this “piece”, immediately after Gandalf's rescue of Sir John, that seemed to make the Valar, dare he say, lose hope for Arda's future. After the whispered song ceased, the traces of magic that were once plentiful dwindled rapidly. Amongst the four races, only the Elves had still seemed to possess any magic and even that had evaporated at an alarming rate. And the Darkness lurking in Arda's shadows had taken notice. Gandalf noticed the signs of Evil's movement across the land once more..

He conferred with the White Council of what could be done. Elrond and Saruman had seemed resigned that the Evil would rise again, but the Lady Galadriel was quiet, contemplative. After a while, her light, too, seemed to dim.

“We can only do what we can to weather the coming storm. I fear magic will be of no aid in the new age.” Her aged voice cut through the silence of the Council.

Gandalf refused to believe that he would fail in his task, that it was a hopeless endeavor. He had seen what a world without magic had wrought when he delivered Sir John home. It was a dull, bleak and lifeless world that he could see sapped at the lives of those in it, draining them of their vibrancy until they were just as dull as the world. It was a cruel existence that he did not wish to befall on Arda. He stormed from the Council, ignoring their pleas that he return, and left. He knew what must be done, that they would argue it unwise.

He had set his plan in motion, tracking down the exiled Crown Prince of Erebor and talking him into taking back his home. He had heard the rumors of the survivors struggling on the opposite side of the continent, knew that they would wish to go home. He felt some remorse in prodding at the deep wounds, but Erebor was a key stronghold due to its location. If the Evil took control of it and allied with the dragon sleeping in its belly, Arda would surely be doomed.

Gandalf had just successfully planted the idea of a return to Erebor in Thorin’s mind when he sensed it, the first scent of magic on the wind that he had not felt in centuries. Gandalf followed the trail it made to a serene meadow with a mirror-smooth pond resting in the center. Reflected on the surface was the stars and moon in crystal clarity. Gandalf wept when he heard the Lady Varda's voice after so long.

[Find the Blessed Weaver on the Other Side, Olórin. She will bring together the pieces you seek. I will guide you best that I am able.]

The wind caressed his face in a gentle touch and Olórin wept once more at the feel of his Lord.

[With this, you shall See. Your Quest is not in vain.] Manwë's voice was a soothing rumble, like that of distant thunder, and filled Gandalf with hope once more.

It took time, but his Patrons had lead him directly to the perfect entry point to the Other Side. Gandalf brandished his staff and drew upon his power, glittering starlight pooling in front of him. A sweep of the wooden weapon brought the wave of light down, cutting the pond perfectly in two. The water curled up into an arch, the light bending and twisting into a spiral inside before utter darkness filled the gap. Only the glimmering fragments of Gandalf's power lit the darkness and he stepped forward without hesitation, bolstered by the faint presence of his Patrons.

He exited the Between on a white stone pier beside the ocean in the middle of the night. Strange lanterns lined the walkway at the top of a stone staircase that bracketed the seaside. A most curious design, this “sea wall”, but that was not his purpose here. His magic spent, he was only just able to craft a small illusion to hide his form, his robes turning into a threadbare gray suit that would fit in with the world. His beard was shortened and his hair tied back. A glance to a reflective surface showed that he appeared decent enough by this world's standards.

There was a faint trace of magic not his own here. It was very old, perhaps months old, it was surprising that this world hadn't devoured the trace completely. It felt similar to his Lady's, but at the same time held a tone of Eartheness he would have attributed to Lord Aulë or the Lady Yavanna. He followed the trace to a water garden, where it was heavier, but then the trail went cold. Since whoever it was he had been sent to find had stopped frequenting this area, Gandalf would need to wander this stone city.

He had the brief thought that Saruman would have had an easier time navigating this world, being Aulë's Maia.

It had taken Gandalf five days of wandering before he finally spotted who he believed he was searching for. It was mid-afternoon when he spotted the young Woman carting several brown boxes to a metal bin. Her short hair was the color of bronze, height a bit on the short side for the average Woman (from what he was used to), but taller than a Dwarf. Her build was much like a Dwarf’s as well.

But unlike the rest of those around her, he could See a crackling of green and white aura around her. It bristled and snapped at those near, even as she offered genuine smiles and greetings to those entering the store. He saw the way the same crackling energy seeped into those she spoke to, the recipients then offering her equally genuine cordiality. And yet, there was a yawning darkness, drawing in her power to itself, consuming it.

As much as Gandalf wished to wisk the young Woman away from the terrible fate that usually befell those of this world, the Wizard needed to be certain that she was the Blessed Weaver his Lady had spoken of. As such, he needed a reason to enter the store on legitimate purposes and subtly interrogate her. As luck would have it, some of this world's ruffians had attempted to rob him. After a slight altercation, he was left with a tidy sum of this world's currency. It would hopefully last him long enough to ascertain if this Woman was the Weaver.

In truth, he needn't have lingered as long as he had on the Other Side. He had confirmation after the second month of his stay when he caught a brief pulse of magic from Miss Gwyn that had removed a stubborn stain she was working on cleaning. Magic, true magic, did not exist on This Side, not anymore. The world had greedily consumed it and allowed more people to be birthed every year so it could continue to feed. Eventually, it would be crushed under its own hunger, but it would not take the soul of Miss Gwyn with it.

Gandalf took the time over the next weeks to build a rapport with the young Woman he would be saving. He found out that her family name was actually her mother's, an unusual occurrence among Menfolk, and that her full name, Gwyneth, meant Fair and Blessed in her father's tongue. That could not have been a more sure sign he had found the Weaver.

The world, however, must have sensed his intentions to bring her back to Arda for events began to turn dark for Miss Gwyn. Everyday Gandalf saw her now, she was becoming more worn down, her unusual green/gold eyes becoming more weary. Even more concerning was the way her aura shrank in on itself, no longer crackling and brushing against those she met. Instead it seemed to be searching, but for what eluded Gandalf's thoughts. No, he needed to return to Arda with her before this world consumed her and left naught but a husk behind.

With that in mind, Gandalf wove a spell into her, briefly connecting their magic. It would last no more than twelve hours, but it would pull her to Arda with him on his return.  

That night, an hour after midnight while the moon was highest in the sky, Gandalf returned to the pier he had entered from. He dispersed the illusion he wore and once more cast the spell to breach the Between. As he started it, he saw Gwyn’s body form beside him, armed with an odd blade in a cloth sheath. Unusual, but it reassured a part of him that she would be armed while in Arda. Crossing the threshold, Gwyn floating beside him, the world made one last attempt on her life, striking fear into Gandalf's heart.

His power was already being consumed by the Crossing, he had no way to defend her! Gwyn jolted with a pained groan, the green and white of her soul crackling as it was leeched away by a grasping tendril of shadow coming from the pier. It was then Gandalf witnessed something astonishing. From the Between came a glint of sharp blue, it cut like an arrow and pierced the shadow tendril. A metallic, groaning screech echoed in the night as Gwyn’s soul was released. With awe, Gandalf watched the green and white mesh to the blue light and Gwyn was pulled forward through the Crossing. He hurried after her, the pathway that he had used before shifting to something new, but then his vision went black.

Time was finicky in the Between. When Gandalf awoke, it was late autumn, when it should have been midsummer. To his further astonishment, he felt the touch of Aulë's presence upon Miss Gwyn and saw the connection in her soul was leading her towards the West. He did not know where they were, but he had a timetable to keep having lost four months more time than anticipated. Even more proof of the Valar's involvement was a parcel and horse waiting tied conveniently to a tree nearby.

He left after instructing Gwyn to follow the road, and following one of the more amusing conversations he has had in a while, he took the horse and rode for the south. Hopefully he had not missed his chance to meet with Thráin and, thus, miss his chance to secure the way into Erebor.

By a stroke of good fortune (or Divine Favor), Gandalf had managed to catch his old friend before he disappeared into the Wilds. He hardly recognized the Dwarven King for he more closely resembled a beast than a Dwarf. The blue eyes of his Line were practically feral, only enough reason left in them to bestow the map and key into the Wizard's custody. It saddened Gandalf to see such a once proud man brought so low that he ignored his living family in favor of chasing revenge for ghosts. The Wizard wondered if Thráin was even aware that he was a grandfather. Unfortunately, those lost to the grips of Dragon Sickness tended to stay lost unless something drastic happened to pull their mind free once more.

The rumors of Thráin’s appearance near Bree spread, yet there was no response from Ered Luin. Ordinarily, Thorin would have set out to investigate the rumors to ascertain their veracity, yet he had not done so. As his windows of opportunity began to narrow, Gandalf was forced to pen a letter to the prince detailing that he had uncovered new information and included a date and time to meet along with any who wished to join their venture.

The next thing to go awry was the son of Belladonna Took, who he had in mind of being their burglar. He remembered the scamp of a lad stealing fireworks from his cart and setting them off in the Big Tent before anyone had even noticed the fauntling was missing. Of course, they noticed the crying boy when he tried to put out the fire from said fireworks that had caught on his clothes. A moment he was sure the lad would bury from sheer embarrassment as Belladonna had frantically divested him of clothes to ensure his safety. Gandalf still chuckled at the scandalized faces from those in attendance.

Imagine his surprise to be greeted by a Hobbit lass with Belladonna’s eyes. For a moment, he had thought that Belladonna and Bungo had another child, but her hair was the same shade as young Bilbo's had been. Feeling the wholesome magic coming from her, though, Gandalf could feel the Lady Yavanna’s touch. The scars he caught a glimpse of past her blouse showed age, and presumed that this...change...was not a recent one. Bilbo should have been a grown Hobbit of 50, instead she barely looked of age.

It amused him greatly when he bore witness to Bilbo losing control of her magic when the young princes arrived. Fíli acted oddly more dashing than Gandalf recalled him being. The blooming Chrysanthemums, however, drew his brow into a furrow. If Gandalf recalled the Hobbits’ flower language correctly, those were a way to say “I love you”. A most peculiar reaction to a first meeting.

Gandalf had expected for the Dwarves to become quite rowdy until Thorin’s arrival, and Bofur confirmed he was running late. He found it odd how...considerately...they had staggered their arrival. The Wizard was concerned when he counted two (or was it three?) dams in their number. Dwarves were normally protective of their women as they were a scarcity. Why would Thorin allow two to join him?

He received his answer with the third and fourth items that were outside of his expectations. He had never thought to see Princess Dís in full armament again. He last recalled that she had set aside her weapons to focus on raising the young princes. Gandalf wondered what became of her partner, he could not recall a name associated with the boys' father.

Most certainly, though, Gandalf had not expected to see a much healthier Gwyn standing hand-in-hand with the surly Crown Prince. Upon seeing the softness in the normally scowling Dwarf's eyes, Gandalf realized that his eyes were the exact shade of blue as the light arrow that had rescued Gwyn’s soul before they crossed the Between. It floored him and the Wizard was left with his mouth agape.

He knew that Aulë had something “precious” lost to the Between, that Time worked differently there, could it have been the soul of Gwyn? Gandalf watched as she reeled in Thorin’s sharp tongue when they met Bilbo, recognizing the tinge of magic around her.

No wonder the other world wanted her so much, she had never belonged there to begin with. Gandalf wondered, had he still been able to see souls, would hers shine like a star now? He could sense it, now, among those in the Company. Half of them had small pools of magic, Fíli and Kíli surprisingly having the largest, Kíli edging out his brother by a fair margin. Even Thorin now possessed a portion of magic and he hadn't nine months previously!

“Wait, what do you mean by rule?” Bilbo's question broke through the Wizard's ruminations, absorbed as he was in the disbelief of so many casters coming together at once.

“Fíli is to be King of Ered Luin after we reclaim Erebor.” Thorin answered plainly.

“Oh. Oh, I see...”

Thwump.

That, of all things, was what caused the lass to reach her breaking point and pass out.

Gandalf mentally threw his hands in the air. Much as he may have anticipated the way their path would go, without peeking at the final result, much of that is likely useless by now. All because he saved one Woman’s soul from being devoured.

....

....

When Bilbo came to, it was to concerned river-blue eyes looming over her. The Dwarf's face came into focus next and the lass felt her face flame red from Fíli’s proximity. He must have moved when she fainted, because he had been sitting next to his uncle.

“Are you alright, Mistress Baggins?” He held a hand out to her and Bilbo gratefully accepted his help up. The touch of his skin to hers sent a warn thrum up her arm to settle in her chest.

“I may have had one too many surprises this eve, is all. Are you truly a prince?” She could see it, actually. He held himself in much the same as Uncle Isengrim did. She looked around at the other Dwarves, seeing them not reacting to the claim.

“Aye, I am. Hope that isn't off-putting.” Fíli gave her a light grin.

It was most unfair that he was able to set her heart fluttering like a hummingbird. “Oh no, not all. Though do all Dwarves propose after just meeting someone?” She had not meant to ask that, but it sent laughter throughout the Company.

Red dotted Fíli’s cheeks and his grin turned mischievous. “Only in special cases, although I may have broken the record. Isn't that right, Uncle?” He glanced over to Thorin.

The older Dwarf turned his gaze to his wife, a smirk on his face, before he looked back to his nephew. “Not until the papers are signed, you haven't.” Gwyneth turned red and swatted her husband’s shoulder.

“This isn't a competition, Thorin.” He gave a soft grunt.

“I was merely correcting the lad, danakhiblisê.” Beside the couple, Kíli caught Bilbo's eye and faked a gag.

“I am curious how this came about. I was under the impression most Dwarven courtships lasted several years before finalizing?” Gandalf spoke up, unable to resist his curiosity.

Thorin and Gwyneth shared a fond look. Gwyneth smiled wryly before looking at the Wizard.

“No thanks to you, I had to walk the entire day on the road barefoot. I was lucky enough to get to Thorin’s Gate and ran into Fíli and Kíli on their way home. They took me to their home where Dís welcomed me in, bloody feet and all, and Thorin got home later that night.”

Thorin’s thumb gently brushed over the back of his wife’s hand. They made Bilbo think of her parents... “I knew at once when I saw her. I saw her eyes and knew I would find home.”

“More like you insisted on sweeping me off my battered feet.”

Several of the Dwarves at the table were looking everywhere but at the couple, red faced. Bilbo wondered if such displays were inappropriate to their culture? They were perfectly respectable by Hobbit-standards, and it was chaste.

“You must have been together for quite a few years to be so comfortable. Kíli resembles you both very strongly.”

Many things happened at once after Bilbo's compliment.

Kíli's jaw dropped, Gwyneth’s eyes widened as her face turned an alarming red, Thorin flushed brilliantly as well. Fíli gave a snort from beside her as chuckles, then full on laughter erupted from the party. Dís was laughing the hardest, tears streaming from her eyes as she pounded the table. Gandalf practically choked on his tongue.

Did she say something wrong?

Dís wiped away her tears. “Thorin and Gwyn have only been engaged for five months. Fíli AND Kíli are my sons.”

Oh. OH. Oh bother, she had COMPLETELY misread the situation. Bilbo's cheeks flushed red. “I am so sorry. It had seemed-”

A teasing grin crossed Fíli’s lips. “Considering how juvenile Kíli can behave, I suppose he could pass for a pebble.”

A roll went flying through the air and smacked Fíli right in the forehead. The bread crumbled to pieces from the force it was thrown with and the impact. “You join me in that juvenile behavior, Fee!” Kíli was now standing, an insulted expression on his face.

Gwyneth (or was it Gwyn?) reached up and twisted his ear while yanking the Dwarf back to his chair. “Sit down, burgul. What have your amad and I told you about throwing food?”

“But we did the clean up!”

“The leftovers still needed to be put away, not used as ammunition. Which was supposed to be yours and Bofur's task.” A stern look was shot across the table to the hatted Dwarf.

Said Dwarf merely ignored the scathing glare, polishing off a piece of pie. “’m clebing u’” Bilbo felt a mild disgust. Most Dwarves seemed to lack simple manners such as not talking with their mouth full...

The Dwarf with the axe in his head made a series of gestures and grunts of their guttural language. Whatever he said caused the others to snicker and Bofur to choke on his pie, turning an alarming shade of red.

“Alright, Alright! We'll put it up! No need for violence, cousin...” Bofur hastily stood and began clearing away the plates with food.

A shove from Gwyneth got Kíli moving as well. Mischievous blue eyes locked with Bilbo once more. “Anywhere in particular you want us to store those? We can use it for breakfast in the morning.”

Bilbo snapped herself back into focus. “The far pantry, it's furthest under the hill and stays the coldest next to the cellar. I can add an extra preservation spell later.”

That seemed to catch Fíli’s interest. “You can use magic?” The prince guided Bilbo back to her chair and pushed her in.

Thorin looked over at the Hobbit lass and she felt somewhat unsettled. “We should continue our conversation, Mistress Baggins. We got off on the wrong foot. In all fairness, you are not what I was expecting when Tharkûn said he had found us a burglar. He had also implied that you were male. You claim that you are not a burglar, so what can you offer to my Company that would grant you a place here? Know that if we do accept you, we will be visiting your Grandfather for the formalities previously discussed.”

Ah, right. Her joining this Company would come with her betrothal to Fíli. She sent a glance at the blond, only to see him looking back at her with a shy smile. Would it be that bad? In the eyes of the Shire it would be legally binding, but she didn't know how that would hold to Dwarven laws. For reasons she couldn't fathom, Fíli seemed quite keen on following through with this plan.

“I, well...I do not like to fight, but I understand it's necessity. I cannot wield a sword or axe, as you phrased earlier, but I am quite versed in magic. My Lady is the Green Mother, Yavanna, and it is through her I can do what I do. I am capable of bringing the animals of the forest to me at a call as well as turning the plant life against miscreants. I do not know how that will aid you in your quest but-”

“You're hired.” Gwyneth burst out.

Thorin’s eye twitched minutely. “Gwyn...”

“Oh hush, you've heard the rumors. You intend to cut through the Greenwood. There's been rumors that it isn't the sane. Having Bilbo with us through there could be a boon.”

“The answer is no.”

Gwyneth leaned down to Thorin’s ear and, oh! That wasn't quite chaste. Bilbo averted her eyes when she caught the Woman’s hand going underneath the table. There was a “thump” and Thorin cursed as Gwyneth attempted...persuading...him to let Bilbo join.

“Just imagine the look on the Elven King's face if, with Bilbo's help, we end up fixing the problems in his forest that HE'S supposed to take care of?”

The Dwarven King looked VERY tempted at that. A vicious smirk crossed his face and he brought Gwyneth’s hand up to the table, lacing their fingers together. He regarded Bilbo again. “Would you be able to do what Gwyn says? Dark rumors say a sickness has spread through the Greenwood to the point it is now called Mirkwood.”

Bilbo needed to think on that. It was a forest, which would put it under her Ladyship's Domain...Bilbo nodded. “I see no reason I would be unable to. Not unless whatever is causing it is much stronger than My Lady.”

Thorin gave a regal nod. “Very well then. Welcome to the Company, Mistress Baggins.”

Bilbo could not help the bit of Took Impishness that came next. “I believe you may call me Bilbo, “Uncle”.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Thorin laughed, Dís, Gwyneth and the others following shortly behind. Beside her, Fíli chuckled then leaned in and kissed her cheek. Bilbo's eyes shot wide open in shock. The Dwarf prince winked at her and quickly looked away, cheeks tinged red as if he couldn't believe his own boldness.

Bilbo realized she was doomed. Somehow, someway, she was falling very hard and very fast for this charming prince that was soon-to-be a King. Oh, dear Green Mother...did that mean she was going to end up a Queen?! Grandfather was not going to let this go...

...

...

When Kíli came back from putting the food away to see his nadad kiss the Hobbit lass’ cheek, he knew exactly what was going on. Fíli and he had been inseparable since they were pebbles and it stayed that way as they got older. At least until Aunt Gwyn entered their lives.

Make no mistake, he loved her dearly. She brought a tenderness out from his uncle that Kíli had never known was there. She aided in some of their pranks when she could, unless they were truly out of hand. She helped Fíli when he came home with stacks of papers of laws he didn't understand and she broke it down for him (until Amad put her on Khuzdul-only restrictions. But then again, she still helped and it probably added to her rapid understanding of the language). Granted, Gwyn should be banned from all forms of archery (his rump still smarted sometimes), but he and Fíli were growing apart because of her influence.

Mentally, they were still as thick as ever, but Kíli would need to stay in Erebor with their amad until he was properly of age. Fíli would be returning after Uncle’s coronation to attend his own. Yes, he would accompany his brother back for that, but they would still need to part ways.

And now Fíli had found his One. Kíli didn't study much history since it often put him to sleep when Balin droned on about certain lineages, but he knew that finding a One was Rare. Or, it was supposed to be. He hadn't heard of a Dwarf finding their One while in Ered Luin until Aunt Gwyn stepped into their lives. Before that was supposed to be his amad, yet Adad was a subject that was Taboo in the Durin home. Fíli was now the third Durin in a hundred years to find his One.

Kíli wondered if he would find his as easily as his brother and Uncle?

Either way, it looked like he would be busy playing chaperone for his brother and future sister-in-law. Still, he was wondering something very important.

“So, where are we sleeping tonight?” He asked.

Bilbo jolted. “Oh dear, I was so busy this afternoon...I KNEW I was forgetting something! I'm such a poor host!” The lass fretted and Kíli felt a smidgen of guilt.

Fíli tried to calm the lass down. “It's alright, we can bunk down in the hall and den. We've had worse.”

Kíli felt like groaning. Bilbo puffed up angrily. “ “Had worse” is NOT how I will have my guests treated!” She poked Fíli I the chest to emphasize her point. Too bad his brother only seemed to be more amused by her reactions rather than trembling in terror. That might change as Amad trains her, though.

Bilbo left with a huff, muttering to herself as she bustled about and got the guest rooms ready. Kíli tried sneaking away, but he somehow got roped into helping her. How did he always end up in these situations?

It was quite late by the time they finished, Bilbo looking quite worn out. Kíli certainly didn't blame her, Master Dwalin could probably learn something from her because he was completely spent from the cleaning spree.

Bilbo took a moment to fix herself up before the rest of the Dwarves, but paused. A rhythmic humming was coming from the den.

“Far over the Misty Mountains Cold

To Dungeons deep...and caverns old.”

Kíli joined in, singing lowly. This lullaby was one that he had known his entire life, written for the Fall of Erebor. Every Dwarf in Ered Luin knew this song. He noticed Aunt Gwyn just hummed along and was relieved. He overheard her sing some ridiculous song about fireflies and it had been horribly off key.

After they finished, Bilbo cleared her throat. “You may need to double up, but there should be enough rooms for everyone.”

The Ri Clan grouped together, to no surprise, as did Bifur and Bofur. Bombur got his own room. Óin and Glóin took a room. Fíli and he would share, of course. Dís and Gwyn would share as well. Dwalin and Balin. That left Thorin and Tharkûn to take the last room available.

Kíli was amazed how big the Hobbit's home was. And saddened, it must pain her to live in such a large home alone. He and Fíli settled into the room and looked at the bed. They shared a look and drew up a fist each.

“Rock, paper, scissors!”

Rock for both. The brothers glared at each other and went again. Scissors to Rock. Kíli cheered and threw himself on the bed. Fíli scowled and shoved him. “You cheated!”

“Did not! Played just the way Aunt Gwyn showed!”

Fíli playfully jumped him and they wrestled for a bit over the bed, laughing as they tried poking at the other's ticklish spots. Kíli let out an “oomph” as his older brother successfully ousted him. He lay on the ground for a bit, catching his breath from laughing. Sitting up, Kíli got a faceful of his brother's tunic.

“Ugh, Fee!” He threw his vest at him in retaliation, lacing a small bit of magic over it.

“You actually wear this? When did you last wash?” Fíli’s nose crinkled in disgust and he tossed the clothing away.

Kíli just gave an evil grin. “The same time you did, nadad. Guess that means you smell just as bad. And you're stinking up your betrothed’s bedding.”

The youngest Durin relished at seeing his brother turn bright red. He never understood why so many Dwarrow were skittish about affection. He supposed it had to do with the fact most unions were made through Matchmakers rather than One's finding each other.

“Bilbo is not my betrothed.” He was sulking. “That conversation is tomorrow.”

“Guess you better pretty yourself up in the morning if you want to impress the Shire's King.” Kíli was not enjoying tormenting his brother, not at all.

“The Shire doesn't have a King, Kee. They have a Thain.”

Kíli grabbed the spare pillow and blanket, curling up on a plush rug. “It's close enough. You'll still have to charm your One's Grandfather to let you court her.”

Fíli looked at him in confusion. “What are you talking about? I mean, yes, Bilbo is attractive, but just because I find her company agreeable doesn't make her my One.”

He couldn't believe it. Uncle knew right away that Aunt Gwyn was his One. Mahal's hammer, he was RIGHT THERE when his brother and their host locked eyes and he saw the connection form! How could Fíli not tell? He stared, jaw slack. “Are. You. Blind?! Our good host barely took her eyes off you the entire night!”

Another pillow hit Kíli in the face, Fíli’s face bright red. “Good NIGHT, Kee.” Fee turned over, tugging a blanket around him. “...you know as well as I do that it's rare for a Dwarf to find their One. Irak'adad and Amad were lucky.”

“Aunt Gwyn’s the daughter of a dam that found her One. Maybe our lore is wrong. Besides, doesn't your bead have the same flowers on it that bloomed in the hallway?” And Kíli KNEW he had his brother at that.

Fíli was silent. “You really think she might be my One?”

Kíli knew that Fíli wasn't the put together prince he put on in front of others. More often than not, he felt too much. He also weighed the opinions of others more heavily than his own. It was one of the reasons he adored Aunt Gwyn, he saw Fíli in her, especially when she had first arrived.

“I know it, Fee. And when you do give her your bead, it'll make everything come together.”

“Ikhmênruk, nadadith.”

“Adumzun, nadad. Lomil galikh.”

Kíli shuffled into the surprisingly comfortable rug and closed his eyes. He dreamed of one day finding his One...and fell asleep to visions of long crimson hair.

--------

SSD: A bit shorter than my last couple chapters, but we saw three different POVs this time. I love writing Bilbo, she's so fun and gets flustered so easily. And we see Kili being a little shit like the good, supportive little brother he is. Gwyn, also didn't do anything particularly dirty. She put her hand on Thorin’s knee and that was it. My Dwarrow are just very, very conscious of intimate contact right now and Thorin was surprised she took initiative like that. The did weaponize her proximity though.

There's a good deal of foreshadowing in this, and a couple questions may be answered. I tried to reconcile a few things we know from Canon to my own version of Lore. D&D mechanics can make things screwy since now spell slots=magic pool. But even then, it isn't accurate since lineage needed to be taken into account...

I wonder how many can guess who Dís' One is/was? I dropped a couple of hints. Have fun figuring it out!

Read, review and drop a kudos!

Chapter Text

SSD: Here we go with chapter 8!

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Chapter 8: Meeting the Tooks

Gwyn woke before the first touch of light graced the skies. First thing she did was spit out the mouthful of black hair and glared down at the space heater beside her. Dís had insisted they share the bed, that it “wasn't inappropriate since I am ensuring no overzealous behavior occurs between you and nadad.”

Right...

The way Dís clung to her certainly didn't read “appropriate” to Gwyn. no.

She had the distinct feeling this was what her body pillow suffered those lonely nights back on Earth. The only thing stopping Gwyn from waking up her future sister-in-law was the feel of wetness on her shirt (that better not be drool!) and a broken, stuttered mumble from the sleeping dam.

“ahmul’lu...dir...” A small hand fisted in the tunic Gwyn had worn to bed.

Gwyn sighed and stroked Dís’ hair, staring at the dark sky in the window. She hated waking so early when she didn't have to, a habit from her prior life. She'll likely be awake the rest of the day...maybe Thorin wouldn't mind her riding with him for an hour so she could nap? She took the time to ruminate on last night, since Dís would likely sleep for another hour.

Thar-Gandalf hadn't had the chance to corner her and talk to her, something she had figured would have happened last night. But before that, she had to wonder about the Hobbit that was Bilbo Baggins.

She fucking called it when she first met Dori, had it really been 5 months ago? She hoped her other predictions were wrong. For one, Elrond had his hands full with Elladan and Elrohir, she'd hate to see what a trio of rambunctious elflings could do to the always stoic Elrond if Arwen ended up Rule 63'd. Although the image of M!Arwen/Aragorn was rather...nope!

Gwyn was putting that life behind her. She had her own dark, handsome and broody significant other to think about in lewd and filthy ways. She couldn't act on it with Warden Dís on her case, and it would be months still before she could...provided everything goes to her plan. That was the key thing. They could reclaim Erebor, but she might not get the chance to enjoy married life before Azog fucks it all up.

She wanted to kill him at the first opportunity, she really did. But if Gwyn did that, things would Change way too much. With Azog still in charge, she at least had some idea of events to occur. She'd definitely kill the fucker that shoots her bratty nephew, though. The only thing he affected was whether her nephews lived in the battle. Or was it just Kíli that faced him? Gwyn was starting to forget...

She stared up at the paneled ceiling, going back to her previous thoughts. Bilbo was a girl, a victim of the Rule 63. She also looked younger than she had thought Bilbo should be, closer to Kíli’s teen than the near-middle aged she was supposed to be. And was a Druid, which was <i>awesome</i>. She could still feel the cackle that wanted to bubble up from the idea that spawned when she realized it.

A Druid with purification abilities would be a godsend in Mirkwood, what with the whole “Don't eat or drink anything you didn't bring in”. Bilbo would cover that entire portion since, if the Company doesn't leave the path, there's no reason for the Sylvan Elves to arrest them.

It was a difficult decision, but Gwyn had decided to say “fuck you” to the Misty Mountains. She'd read enough fanfics to know it would be a Bad Idea for them to go there with, not just one, but FIVE females in their number. Maybe after taking back Erebor, and teaming up with a bona-fide Balrog Slayer, they could mount an offense on Moria and secure the Ring from Gollum. She would need to get Gandalf on her side (not that hard) in order to convince Elrond and the other Elven leaders to help (infinitely harder), but the tragedy of Khazad-dûm wouldn't happen again.

Hell, Gandalf might get his ascension to the White title sooner.

Crap, was Saruman corrupted at this point? Or was he still salvageable? Gwyn wasn't sure if there were any hallmarks that alluded to either path. Did he have a Palantir at this point? How long had he been using it?

Gwyn’s thoughts continued cycling in the same spiral until there was a huff and a snort from her chest. The fledgling Rogue blinked and looked down to see Dís burrowing into her breasts. She tried to wriggle away, very uncomfortable with her sister-in-law’s sleep cuddles. Especially since the Dwarf she wanted to cuddle was down the hall. With some questionable gymnastics, Gwyn was able to wrangle herself out from Dís’ lax hold. She held in a sigh of relief, replaced herself with the feather pillow and slowly backed out of the room as Dís took to snuggling the pillow instead.

Exiting the room, Gwyn caught sight of a flickering light coming from the den. She looked in and shook her head with an amused smile at seeing the Dwarf seated in the plush armchair. The logs from last night's fire had burned down to embers and ash, just barely casting a glow to discern shapes and shadows but she felt the buzz under her skin thrum warmly to give away who was slumped in the chair. Thorin’s head lulled to the side, breathing in deep, rhythmic breaths, still fast asleep.

Gwyn padded quietly over the wooden floors and helped herself onto her fiancé’s lap. Thorin gave a quiet grunt and opened a bleary eye. His hand went to push her off, but Gwyn grabbed it and tucked it around her as she got comfortable.

“What are you doing?”

Gwyn tucked as much of herself as she could, grateful that Dís’ Spartan training methods had melted at least some of the flab off her, and rested her hand on Thorin’s shoulder. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, gaining a favorable hum that stirred the current under her skin. “Finding a different warmer, Dís was becoming a little too familiar. Weren't you sharing with Tharkûn?” Apparently the Dwarven moniker for the Wizard was her new name for him.

Thorin skimmed his hand along the side of her thigh and she had to suppress a shudder. Maybe she should have worn the leggings to bed? “He snores and I sleep lightly.” He brought his mouth up to Gwyn’s jaw and pressed a kiss there.

Her eyes fluttered close, head tilting to the side naturally. The thrum under her skin when near Thorin intensified. “Oh, the horror.” She wished she could see the way his eyes turned a deep navy during their heated times, but the low light didn't allow it. “Hopefully I won't disturb you later on then.”

Thorin snorted, the burst of air making Gwyn feel ticklish while his sleep-roughed voice sent something warm down to her libido. “I’ve heard you while at camp, your snoring is nothing compared to the Wizard's.” He made an appreciative noise as he lightly suckled the skin where her ear met her neck.

Gwyn tightened her grip on his shoulder as she sucked in a breath. She moved her hand to grasp at the base of the King's skull and tilted her head further back. “Thorin...”

Nothing distracted better than a hot Dwarf kissing away all troublesome thoughts of time manipulation and consequences. All thought flew out the proverbial window when Thorin’s hand slid up her tunic and caressed her skin. Gwyn arched into him, breath quickening as she tried keeping quiet. The bond sang and made everything feel more like being connected to a live wire.

Dís and the boys, unfortunately, were VERY good at being chaperones and keeping the couple apart. They had only been able to get away with hand holding and the chastest of kisses. Nothing like what was starting now.

She grasped him by the beard, drawing a choked moan from him before she crushed their mouths together. She rolled her hips to rock into the hardness she knew to be stirring beneath her. Their current position, her legs going across the arm of the chair, made it difficult for her to properly roll into her fiancé like she wanted. Thorin’s hand not stuffed under her shirt came up to hold her cheek in response. He pulled back and bit her lip.

“Sashaffatiya, amrâlimê, ra zamaslefthi.” (Continue moving as you are, my beloved, and we will require a bed.) Thorin rasped and Gwyn could feel the intensity of his gaze, sensed the way their connection coiled beneath her skin.

Gwyn returned his bite with one of her own, going for his ear instead. “Uzuznai lukna masraj.” (Too bad none are available)

The King actually growled beneath her and Gwyn felt heat flare between them. She allowed him to move her, his hands leaving their prior positions to turn her and force her knees to either side of his waist. He tugged her tunic down, the loose laces exposing the barest swell of her breast, and he pressed his mouth to the soft skin.

Gwyn much preferred this Dwarf’s clutches to the one that she had escaped from.

“Ahem. A little too cozy there, Auntie? Uncle?”

Gwyn, unfortunately, knew that voice and felt the mood come crashing down. Regrettably, Thorin pulled away, muttering dark curses under his breath that Gwyn didn't quite catch.

“Burgulith!” She sent a glare where she could make out Kíli's shape. Gwyn could feel the smug, irritating grin rolling off of the brat.

“Might I suggest you sort yourselves out? Amad will be waking soon to start breakfast for our host and Company.” Kíli left the den and there was a small clattering from the kitchen.

Gwyn huffed an agitated breath through her nose and attempted to extract herself from her new favorite perch. Thorin’s hands flexed and stopped her from moving, a stuttered groan escaping him.

“That is, perhaps not the wisest course of action, Gwyn.”

She felt a small thrill. This would have never happened in her prior life, not with the way her cousins hovered around her like she was a do-

Gwyn physically jolted, Thorin hissing beneath her from the action. That hadn't been what she was thinking...was it? She felt the scratch of a beard against her chin and Thorin was kissing her once more. The thought evaporated into smoke.

The King pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. “I will lift you and you can put your legs over the arm of the chair. You should be able to push off from there.”

Gwyn felt a smug grin tug her lips at the sound of his strained voice. When did she become so...naughty? “If you hurry, you might be the first one to the washroom and can get “sorted out” there.” His hand slid quickly from her hip to her rump, followed by a brief squeeze. Gwyn yelped in surprise.

“Mahinsikin!” Thorin breathed out in exasperation. Instead of his initial plan, he grunted and stood with Gwyn still in his arms.

Gwyn let her feet drop to the floor and stood under her own ability, if barely. She stroked his cheek, combing through his beard. “I better check to see if Dís left the pillow unmolested.”

She knew his eyes were trying to burn into her, his hand was still on her behind. “I will remember this and any other occurances of your mischief, danakhiblisê, and I will repay them on our wedding night.”

Gwyn leant in to where she thought his ear was to respond. “I look forward to it, just remember that I believe in fair play.” Should she, or shouldn't she...? Probably shouldn't, but she smoothed her hand down Thorin’s shirt, found where a nipple was and briefly pinched it. Thorin’s hips jerked into hers and Gwyn found herself lightly dancing away from his swears, a giggle bubbling from her mouth.

She didn't expect him to like it that much, something to keep in mind later. She also didn't expect Thorin to pin her by the front to the den wall, mouth to her neck and harshly grinding up into her from behind. Holy Maker, that felt amazing! Stars danced in her eyes and warmth pooled low in her belly. An actual moan left her, surprising Gwyn since she had never made that sound, even when “entertaining” herself.

“I am very certain that was the opposite of “fair play”, Gwyn.” Thorin hissed and pressed his lips to the back of her neck, sweeping her hair to the side. “Go make yourself presentable, and I shall do the same. We have business to conclude later.”

Gwyn was in no state to go anywhere when she had liquid heat between her thighs. But she had no choice when Thorin released her and she shakily clung to the wall for support. Turning, she caught sight of his frame leaving the den with a very...stiff...gait and she grinned wickedly. She was definitely going to have to try that again. One way or another, she was going to enjoy her Dwarf King before the Battle of the Five Armies. Courting restrictions be damned.

....

....

Thorin gently massaged his beard, soothing the tugged hairs. As much as he appreciated Gwyn’s enthusiasm, she still wasn't all that aware of the sensitivity of Dwarven hair. Their bond managed to dull the pain to bring pleasure to the forefront of the experience, but it still ached afterwards. Perhaps he should trim it, it was a fair deal longer now and with how fond his One was of going for his beard it might be for the best. Even if he would have to deal with Dís mocking him for his beard length again.. A small price to pay to prevent anything ruining his future liasons with Gwyn.

It hadn't taken Thorin all that long to “sort himself out”. Perhaps a bit longer than normal, but it helped that Gwyn had given him a lovely distraction from his nightmares that was sorely needed. It was the strangest vision, he was on a frozen lake and staring down at the Pale Filth that had murdered his brother and grandfather through a layer of ice just thick enough to hold him. Then there was a searing, burning pain in his chest and he heard Gwyn cry out in despair and grief.

Thoughts of that monster drove any feeling of lust from his blood. His dream was an impossibility because Azog died at Azanulbizar, he was certain of it. He would not have risked his entire line by coming out here had he still lived. He didn't recall ever standing on a frozen lake before, but it was surely an image he had conjured.

Thorin put the thought to rest and returned to the room he had initially shared with Tharkûn. He didn't know how the Hobbits had done it, but sound did not travel through the walls easily. He opended the door and grimaced at the Istari's snores. He may have exaggerated to Gwyn how awful they were, but it was enough to keep him awake. As he entered, he caught sight of Gwyn going into her room, closer to the den. Looking at it now, that was most certainly his tunic that she had taken. His preferred blue one, if he had to guess since it went missing just before they left.

Thorin shook his head in amusement at his fianceé's theft of his clothes. He went about the dark room, grateful for Dwarven Darkvision, and shrugged on the rest of his outerwear. He needed to give Fíli some advice before the lad tried brokering for Mistress Bilbo to join their party. It also brought to mind what Gwyn told him last night.

“She's his One, they can't stop staring at each other and blushing.”

Staring and blushing meant nothing. Gwyn seemed under the impression that finding a Dwarf’s One happened like their meeting. In old days, that may have been true, but ever since magic became harder to cast and utilize, the frequency of Dwarrow finding that holy connection became near nonexistent. Much as he despised the khurb-takhrabmî zars-tamanâl that abandoned his sister and nephews, he was still Dís’ One and it was a miracle (curse) that he and Dís had met. Gwyn and he also being Ones was nothing short of a direct blessing from Mahal to Durin's line. They were the first match found in eighty years, at least in Ered Luin. For Fíli to find his One so close to Thorin finding his? It was entirely unlikely. He did not want to give his nephew false hope.

Exiting the room, Thorin could hear a louder clatter from the kitchen and guessed that his sister was awake and warming up the leftovers for breakfast. That meant Fíli was awake, he usually helped Dís with the food. He made his way through the Hobbit home (Gwyn had called it a snail or something on the way in, but that didn't sound right) and to where the kitchen was. Sure enough, Dís was by the stove, firing it up with skillets of food placed on top. Fíli was at the counter, preparing the leftovers into smaller, packable rations.

“Fíli.” The lad looked up when his uncle called. “A word, if you would?” Thorin headed to the den. He steadfastly did not look at the armchair he had slept in.

Thorin’s former heir entered. “You wanted to see me, Uncle?”

The King clapped a hand to his nephew’s shoulder. “Are you sure this is the path you want to take?” He still had his doubts about Gwyn’s observations due to his own knowledge. “We talked about this as a ruse, but Mistress Baggins’ position here changed that. You will be brokering for her hand and position in the Company. You will be engaged.” Marriage was absolute to Dwarrow, even in the event of a partner's death.

A swell of pride and sorrow filled Thorin when his oldest nephew nodded in resolution. “I am certain.” His cheeks flushed and the lad’s voice lowered. “Kíli believes she is my One. His eyesight is better than any Dwarf's, so I trust him on this.” Nervous blue eyes locked onto his uncle’s stunned visage.

Kíli believed that Fíli had found his One? He knew the lad hadn't had a chance to speak to Gwyn last night, not with their host running him around the home to clean up the spare rooms. The most they had spoken was at dinner and nothing conveying possibilities of Ones had crossed the table.

Once could be a mistake, but for the observation to be made by a second party deserved the idea of being looked into. “You trust him on this, but what do you believe, Fíli?”

The lad put a hand to his pocket and Thorin realized that he had brought his courtship bead with him on this journey. The bead he pulled out wasn't metal like most others, instead it was made from a deep, black wood Thorin had never seen. To his shock, though, there was a flower etched into the bead and lined with ruby dust to give it a deep red color. Parts of the flower had yellow citrine crushed and painted into it to brighten the flower to be more lifelike. He glanced in the direction of the entryway, recalling the flowers that had been there when he entered last night. This...certainly lent credence to Gwyn and Kíli's beliefs.

“When Kee and I came in, there was an empty pot. After our conversation with Mistress Baggins and going to speak with Master Dwalin, I turned back and caught sight of those flowers suddenly blooming. I think it's a sign, Uncle. When you presented Aunt Gwyn as your One, she made a speech of us needing to look and treat the other races with the respect that we want to be treated with. Aunt Gwyn is half-Man, my One is a Hobbit...I think Mahal sent Gwyn to us for that purpose. Kíli’s One might even be an Elf so the Line of Durin can be a bridge to all the races of Arda.” The steel of determination in the lad's eyes along with the glimmering of hope made Thorin choke down his automatic hatred for anything Elven.

Like hell would Thorin accept an Elf to marry his nephew...except Fíli made an odd sense. Durin's Line was seen as the leader of all Dwarrow, if all the heirs of the current main line were seen to have Ones from outside their race, it had to be a sign of something greater.

“Then I will wish you all the best, my nephew.” Thorin squeezed his nephew's shoulder and released him.

A small blessing that Kíli was still underage, he wouldn't have a courting bead to show proof that his One was an Elf, if that did indeed occur. He would be required to wait the three years until his majority for the Rite. Knowing this improved Thorin’s mood immensely.

“Ikhmênruk, irak'adad.” Fíli gave a soft smile of gratitude.

“Adamzun, now let's go see what your amad is up to.”

They left back to the kitchen where Fíli immediately began helping once more, relieving Gwyn who had replaced him.

.....

.....

Fíli could feel his nerves getting to him and reached up to tug at the collar of his tunic. He had worn the best one he had packed, a Durin blue with white thread embroidered at the neck and sleeve edges in the geometric design most Dwarrow prefer. They left immediately after breakfast since it would be a six-hour ride to the Great Smials, at least according to Mistress Baggins. Fíli believed she underestimated how soon they would arrive since they were riding, not walking.

No, he saw the sign saying “Tuckburough” and felt his nerves come in full force. He was about to meet the Shire's equivalent of a king. For his favored granddaughter's hand. And they had only met the night prior. Mahal's hammer and Forge, it would take a miracle for anyone sane to even consider agreeing to this! He also had to think up things that he would be able to offer up in exchange. Hobbits didn't seem to focus on gold or riches like Dwarrow, so he was at a loss until further discussion with the Thain.

A bunch of the smaller creatures peered up at the procession of Dwarrow and one Hobbit lass. Fíli rode just behind his mother, aunt and uncle, as they were following Mistress Baggins’ lead. He had wanted to ride beside his future betrothed but etiquette demanded he ride behind due to rank. Kíli rode beside him with Masters Balin and Dwalin behind them. He thought it was the Ri Clan next, but could be wrong on that, or it was Óin and Glóin.

There were so many pebbles among the townsfolk! Fíli could hardly count them all! Well, he didn't know what Hobbits called their children, but there were so many more than in Ered Luin, and this town was smaller than the mountain city. There were maybe twenty pebbles in the entirety of the settlement and only four were lucky enough to have a sibling. There was easily twice that number as they rode to the grandest smial of the town.

Waiting at the gate of the smial was an older looking Hobbit, perhaps older than Uncle or the equivalent of his uncle’s age. He forgot for a moment that Hobbits aged faster than Dwarrow. He had curly golden hair streaked with grey and eyes a darker shade of green than Mistress Baggins’. There were also similar facial features that likened him to be her kin, most prominently the slant of the nose and eyebrows.

The Hobbit walked over and helped Mistress Baggins off the pony. “Look at you, niece, you seem to be following your mother's footsteps after all. I couldn't believe when rumors came in about the Green Baggins riding with a troop of warriors. Come in and you can explain to Father why you brought a Company of Dwarves to our doorstep.”

The rest of the Company dismounted and the anxiety in Fíli fluttered anew. He needed to remember everything Master Balin and Uncle had taught him, because even if they supported this, he was on his own. He needed to act as the future King of Ered Luin. Fíli’s hands shook and he took a moment to brush his pony's mane to calm himself. Kíli walked up to him and nudged him gently.

“Easy there, nadad. Take a breath...” Fíli did so, held it, and released in a big sigh. “Don't think of it as a deal for Ered Luin. This is for your One! These old crags have hardly even seen a genuine, Mahal-made match. Remember how they tried to rebuke Uncle and Auntie’s relationship? And don't forget the harridans that tried to seduce Uncle and she found out.”

Fíli huffed a laugh, his nerves easing. He remembered. It was about a week after the Dewrder Caravan left and immediately following the incident where Aunt Gwyn had shot Kíli. Lady Hilda had worn a daring gown with a deep neckline and bothered Uncle at his forge. She was soundly rebuffed, but the attempt had made its way to Gwyn’s ears (bets were on Nori being responsible). One day, Lady Hilda had been passing the training yard where several Dwarrow were practicing archery. Gwyn just so happened to be among that number, despite several protestations. Fíli wished he had seen it himself. Kíli had told him, with glee, that Gwyn had aimed at the target, then turned just so and fired the arrow right through Lady Hilda's long beard! The Lady had clasped it in the front instead of braiding it into her hair like most noble dams did. The arrow cut through the hair above the clasp, giving the Lady a good trim. She had shrieked in indignity while Gwyn put on a rather unconvincing innocent act.

“Oh, ishgêmuk!” If it hadn't been for the wicked smirk and mirth in her eyes, Kíli said he would have believed her.

The memory eased his fears. If even his uncle had to deal with naysayers butting in to matters not their concern, then his situation was no different.

“Thanks, Kee. I needed that.”

Kíli flashed him a grin and a thumbs up. “Let's go charm a grandfather, shall we?”

“Agreed.” With a final, steadying breath, Fíli squared his shoulders, raised his head proudly, and entered the smial like the King he would be.

....

....

Bilbo was a complete nervous wreck when Uncle Isengrim met her at the front gate. Green Mother’s mercy! She still didn't understand what possessed her to even agree to this insanity! What would they think of her after hearing Fíli’s proposal? She will acknowledg that he had some Hobbitish sensibilities with his skill in the kitchen. Not to the level of a proper Hobbit, but enough potential to participate in proper courting customs.

She brushed her hand against one of the indoor plants and relaxed as her Lady's calming presence ran through her, tinged with amusement. Her Lady would be entertained by her flustered behavior, wouldn't she? Not all had already been married for eons.

The Druid clung to her Lady's reassurance like a security blanket, allowing the brief moment to relax her. Yavanna approved of this course of action, she could feel the plants around her singing in joy. There was also the fact her magic was trying to pull her attention to the blond prince she knew to be behind her.

“You must have quite the tale. I'm not well-versed in the Old Ways, but I can tell your magic has shifted. You know where your Call leads?” Uncle Isengrim, unfortunately, always was rather perceptive.

Bilbo shook her head. “It's the oddest thing, it went quiet sometime last night.”

Isengrim gave her the oddest look, as if he knew what she was talking about, but couldn't bring himself to believe it. “Most peculiar, indeed. Father might know more. Although...” He sniffed cautiously. “Why do you smell of Chrysanthemums? There's still a couple months before those are in season.”

Bilbo's cheeks heated, recalling how she had lost control of her gift like an untrained fauntling. And that Red Chrysanthemumswere what had bloomed, of all things! “Just your imagination, Uncle.”

Her mother's eldest brother just looked at her skeptically. “I sincerely doubt that. Which of them gifted them?”

Bilbo was officially mortified to be having this discussion with her uncle when they'll need to rehash this with Grandfather. “Might we save this for talk with Grandfather?”

Isengrim’s eyes steeled and he whirled to face the Company of Dwarves. Fire danced in his eyes and he didn't stop to consider that Grandfather’s study was just a few feet away...

“Which of you...has proposed courtship with my Favored Niece?” Isengrim’s tone was colder than the winds of the Fell Winter.

Bilbo turned as well and could see that the sudden change in demeanor threw many of the Dwarves for a loop, several even taking a step back. She caught sight of Fíli’s jaw clenching, head raising higher as he stepped forward. “I have, Master Took. I would speak with your Thain so I might gain permission and open talks of trade with my people.”

Isengrim gave the blond prince a once over and seemed to relax. “Is that so? What is your name, Master Dwarf?” His gaze still tried to pierce into him, and Bilbo winced. Fíli had his work cut out for him on this, but better Uncle Isengrim than Grandfather.

“I am Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thráin, Prince of Ered Luin.” Fíli bowed and kept his gaze on the older Hobbit.

Isengrim scoffed. “Well then, “Prince”, you may plead your case to my Father. He might hear you out.” He turned sharply on his heel and padded the few feet to the door. He knocked sharply. “Visitors, Father, Bilbo is with them.”

A muffled, “What are you waiting for, lad, let her in!” came through the wood and Isengrim opened the door. The study was more of a conference room than a study. Old Gerontius Took sat at the large round table with papers scattered about him and a scribe by his side.

Grandfather had not changed since her last visit two months ago. His hair was a string white and he looked ancient as ever. But he was 120 years old, so it could be forgiven. Bilbo entered first and walked over to her Grandfather, kissing his cheek.

Gerontius’ eyes narrowed on his favored granddaughter and turned to the Dwarves shuffling in behind Isengrim. He dismissed the oldest ones and focused on the youngsters. “Which of you three proposed to my granddaughter?”

As if it wasn't obvious enough that Isengrim took after the Old Took in most things, except for spawning a brood of children. Bilbo was just wondering HOW they could discern the Chrysanthemum so easily? It's not exactly an overpowering scent.

Thorin gave an encouraging look to his nephew and nodded for him to answer. Fíli bowed to Gerontius. “Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thráin, Prince of Ered Luin, Thain Gerontius. I am the one who seeks courtship with your granddaughter.”

“For what reason, Prince Fíli?” An ancient craftiness formed in the old Hobbit’s eyes as he surveyed the young man. He seemed earnest, at the least.

Fíli swallowed and answered. “I do not come to you with this in mind lightly, marriage is sacred to us Dwarrow. We will not seek another partner even should our mate die.”

Gerontius did not seem impressed. “Pretty words, lad, but get to the point. Why seek the hand of my Bilbo?”

Fíli seemed thrown off kilter by Grandfather’s matter of fact attitude. “I, that is, Ered Luin would like open trade with the Shire directly?”

Oh dear, he was floundering, wasn't he? At this rate, Grandfather was sure to say-

“If that is all, my answer is no, you may not court my Bilbo.”

As feared.

Steel entered Fíli’s eyes at that and he removed something from his pocket. He strode to the table and set it on the table, holding it in place with a single finger. Bilbo gasped in surprise, recognizing the intricate decoration on the black sphere. A red Chrysanthemum, exactly the shade as what had bloomed in her entry way, but how?

Gerontius looked at the object in confusion, spotting the lovingly detailed flower even with his old eyes. “What is that?”

“My courtship bead, it was gifted to me by a ritual secret and sacred to my people, one every Dwarf goes through on our coming of age. I was given this two years ago and told it would lead me to my One. Until yesterday, I had never seen a flower bear this likeness in my life, yet it bloomed in front of me last night while in Mistress Baggins’ home.” He leveled a serious gaze at the ancient Hobbit. “I would court Mistress Baggins in the belief that she the match set for me by Mahal and I would learn of who she is.”

Bilbo could see Balin shake his head and cover his eyes with a groan. Glóin also appeared to grimace. Kíli and Gwyn were positively beaming, while Thorin and Dís looked on in approval and pride. Still...her face was completely flushed red at the declaration. It was far more bold than what Asterion Underhill had attempted at her “coming of age”. She had, of course, rebuffed the lad, but it had still caused a stir. And for Fíli to claim that they were matched by one of the Valar?

Actually, she could see it. Her Lady's words that she would not return to the Shire could be divined as her going to stay in Ered Luin with Fíli.

“What do you have to say on the matter, my dear?” Grandfather’s voice jolted Bilbo from her thoughts and looked away from the bead.

“I...I would like to accept.” How hasn't she burst into flame by now? “I felt a draw in my magic pulling me towards Prince Fíli since our meeting last night and would like to learn more of it. The Green Mother whispers that my fate is outside the Shire and I believe this is what She means.”

Gerontius regarded his granddaughter with a searching look. He glanced between her and the determined lad at the other end of the table, his kin beside him. He saw that most were aggravated with the lad's claim of Bilbo being his One, but those closest to him seemed supportive and proud. They, at least, believed his claim. Old Took didn't know Dwarf culture, but he supposed their One was similar to the Hobbits’ own Call of Home. After all, Home is where the Heart is, and a good kitchen.

The Old Took let out a large sigh, feeling every 120 of his years. “Very well, my dear, if this is your choice. Now then, Rhuben, draw up a contract for us. I suppose now we haggle.” Glee danced in his eyes. “Tell me, Prince Fíli, are you familiar with Hobbit courtship customs?”

Bilbo felt dread pool in her stomach, but was surprised when Fíli nodded.

“My Aunt had an interest in your flower language and had several books about the matter. I don't recall everything in them, but I believe there was a section on courtship.” His cheeks and eartips pinked. “I brought them with me for some light reading.”

Bilbo doubted that it was for him and more for his Uncle if the way Thorin shot a glance at his own betrothed was anything to go by.

“Then you know to present a bouquet with the appropriate message?”

Fíli gave a self-deprecating smile. “I am afraid that I have no sense for greenery unless it is a jewel or stone. But I can offer this flower.” He removed the bead from the table and walked around until he was in front of Bilbo. He then knelt so she was the one looking down at him. “This isn't the way Dwarrow propose, but I have heard it is how Menfolk do. This bead encompasses half of my soul, I would gift to you in faith I might earn half of yours in return. Might I place my braid in your hair and court you?”

How could she refuse when faced with such sincerity? “It is sudden, but I hope to come to know you while we journey together. I accept your courtship.” A thought occurred to her. “You do know you're allowed to call me by name, don't you?”

His smile turned crooked and impish. “But, my lady, you gave my uncle permission to address you by name, not the rest of us.” He stood and hesitantly took her small hand in his much larger one. Once more, that odd thrum buzzed pleasantly under her skin, like her magic but not. “I know this is unconventional, but I do want to know more about you, Bilbo.”

Ah, that's the reason he didn't call her by name. Bilbo felt her knees go weak with the way her name rolled off his tongue. “W-well, will you do your braid or not?”

The Dwarves in the room turned crimson, vehement denials and outrage coming from them.. Dís whistled sharply and brought them to order while Thorin roared a word in their language.

Gwyn provided the answer for the outburst. “Sorry about them, but bestowing the bead is done in private. Hair is an important part of Dwarrow culture, it's inappropriate for anyone not your partner or immediate family to touch it.”

Dís picked up from there. “It is also done in private as the stimulation from the braiding can be...distracting. A chaperone will be at the door to interrupt before anything more might occur.” She aimed the last comment to Gerontius who let out a laugh.

“I've caught more than my share of frolicking tweens, no matter what those stuffy “proper Hobbits” would have you believe. We don't have so many faunts running around for no reason.” He winked, making Bilbo flush in horror. He then glared at Fíli. “Make no mistake, lad, Prince or no, my Bilbo better not be expecting on your wedding day, understood?”

Fíli seemed unaffected by the stern look and threat. “I understand. I will treat Bilbo with all the respect she deserves as my betrothed and future Queen.”

Gerontius nodded. “Good lad. Now you wanted to discuss trade agreements. Is that with you as well?”

“I will be taking over for my uncle when we return from our visit to the Iron Hills. He has entrusted me with all matters of state.”

“Very well, very well, have a seat, all of you. No need to stay standing while we get to the boring matters of politics.” The ancient Hobbit laughed in a jolly manner.

Bilbo sighed in relief. At least the hard part of the process was over. Hopefully this won't take long and they can be on their way.

-----

SSD: Another chapter done! And we got a bit of sexy time this chapter. I find it ironic that Kíli would normally be the one to let them go for it, but it's twice now that he's interrupted them. And I've rolled each time on how far Thorin and Gwyn get, and who interrupts them. I also rolled on the POVs, it just progressed in this order. I'll mostly be alternating between Gwyn/Thorin/Dís/Fíli/Kíli/Bilbo, but I'll throw in one of the others if I double roll on a scene change.

So much foreshadowing in this chapter! I look forward to the theories that I will neither confirm nor deny.

Read, comment, drop a kudos!

Chapter Text

SSD: Been a while since I wrote for this. You all can expect about 4-5 chapters of DK per chapter of BU, mostly so I don't spoil anything before meaning to. I am also working on a third version for Gwyn in Middle Earth that will be...different...from these two works. Just know that, like Gilgamesh, none of the Gwyns would get along if they met each other. Very much a Gil vs Archer vs Caster scenario. Or rather Articuno vs Zapdos vs Moltres type of deal. Anyway, we now get to the Journey actually begin! Maybe we'll get to the Trolls, maybe we won't. We'll see.

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Chapter 9: Idling Down Memory Lane, the Journey Begins

The “non-Royal” members of the Company, minus Dwalin and Balin, left their leaders to do their politicking. Wasn't any concern of theirs and it was good for Fíli to gain some practical experience in the field. If an item or two happened to catch Nori's eye and set old habits into play, well...they could hardly be blamed that the Tooks had interesting knickknacks.

Nori prided theirself on their ability to be stealthy, lighter on their feet more than any other Dwarf (aside from Lady Dís, that dam was practically an Elf). Their hands were also quick and able to pinch just about anything from anyone (again, except for the Lady Dís). So for them to have been stopped on the way out from the Hobbit hole by one of the hairy footed creatures, palm held up expectantly, was a blow to their pride. Especially by one so young!

How?

HOW did he spot them?

Nori leveled a raised, almost curious eyebrow at the young Hobbit. He was a wee thing barely past Nori's knee, with curly gold hair and light green eyes. The spy had to wonder if all Hobbits had green eyes, or if it was a Took thing? Regardless, they kept their expression neutral.

“C'n I help yeh, lad?”

“Can you put back my uncle’s candlestick?” The lad tilted his head, eyes wide as he stared up at Nori.

“...” Nori was 100% set on denying everything, their pride was at stake. But...that damn pebble...the look he gave them clawed up instincts that Nori had thought squashed long ago. Unfortunately, it was enough that, reluctantly, the spy slipped the said candlestick (scrollwork on it looked Elvish, but it was genuine silver) from their sleeve and into the lad's hand. “Good eye. Yeh migh’ ‘ave a talent wort’ ‘oning t’ere. Wasyer name, lad?”

“Pa'din Took. Why'dya take it, Miss?” Huh, lad was missing his front teeth. Wait...

...

Nori was officially going to kidnap this little Hobbit and make him their apprentice. Not many could tell their natural sex and this little lad did it at a glance. They glanced around quickly and landed on the disapproving look of their older sister.

“No, Nori,” came the expected reproach.

“It wouldna be ‘til aft’r we come ‘ack!” The tightwad! Couldn't she see the potential this pebble had?!

“He has a family, I don't want to explain why you decided to stuff him in the saddlebags on the way out. End of story.” Her hands went on her hips, brows furrowed down in the sternest glare their dear sister could muster...

Dori brought up a very good point. Stuffing the lad in the saddlebags was a terrible idea, but maybe if they tucked him into a bedroll and threw a cloak over him? Lad might be stealthy enough to pull it off...

It's better that Dori not catch on that Nori was plotting a kidnapping. As soon as they finish up with claiming Erebor and come through on the return for Prince Fíli’s coronation, Nori was going to take this little pebble as their apprentice.

There was a soft tug on the spy's sleeve and they glanced down at the gray eyes of Ori. “Do I have to worry about becoming an aunt?” The question was quiet, a good thing with Dori clearly within earshot.

A smirk tugged at Nori's lips. “Not yet, Ori, not yet.” But soon. Anyone capable of catching a master Rouge in action needed to be honed like the rare gem they were.

The door to the Hobbit hole opened up, revealing the rest of their group. Judging by the dazed, pleased expression on the Prince's face and the pride coming from the elder Durins, Fíli's negotiations must have gone rather well. The Hobbit lass exited beside them, seeming to be in shock and holding a closed fist to her chest tightly. The ancient Hobbit hobbled out with them, supporting his weight on a finely crafted walking stick.

Fíli turned and offered the Thain a shallow bow. “I'll send a message to the steward regarding our agreement. The Master of the Blacksmith Guild will send a suitable member to fill your needs and we will also extend the invitation to our culinary masters.”

Gerontius seemed pleased. “We Hobbits are simple folk in the end, no matter what grief we've given you today. But we also know our quality and cuisine. Such basic needs are trivial to arrange. You take care of my Bilbo and things will be ready when you return, Prince Fíli.”

The King's Shadow radiated pride, Nori was surprised that Dís hadn't started bawling from the motherly affection she exuded. Although, seeing Thorin and even Gwyn sharing in that pride, it would have been a sappy, weepy event. Kíli was bouncing on the balls of his feet, happy but ready to move on.

Pa'din (Nori would investigate this later, lad probably couldn't pronounce his full name correctly just yet) had already scampered off with the candlestick, spooked by the swarm of big people. Nori hadn't even noticed him leave! Yes...he will do just fine as their apprentice.

.....

....

As the Company saddled up on their ponies once more, Dís couldn't help but feel proud of her eldest. She didn't know when it happened, but her little boy had transformed into someone ready to wear a crown. That he was able to move someone who had borne resentment against him at the start to agree to amicable terms of trade...yes, Dís was exceedingly proud of her gamzbunith.

She swung up into the saddle and fondly watched her boys trade a quick joke between them. Kíli had also grown immensely in the time that Gwyn had entered their lives. Despite her early doubts regarding her brother's One, she couldn't deny that she had been nothing but a positive impact on the Durin Family. The King's Shadow had never seen her brother so relaxed, not since before Frerin's death. No, not since before they had to flee Erebor.

Frerin's death was still hard on her. He was meant to be Thorin’s right hand while she served as the left. At least he had Dwalin to serve in the capacity Frerin was supposed to. So, Dís would stand aside and let Nori take her place. The spy and the guard had the necessary teamwork to work together seamlessly, and trading her spot beside Thorin would allow her to continue watching over Fíli until Kíli was trained enough to take over.

Her youngest wasn't a Rogue, no matter that he had the skillset for it. He might have been a Trickster, otherwise, but his ability to cast magic without learning the spells? Fíli may have inherited his looks from the boys’ father, but Kíli took after him much more as far as talents.

The Company moved out, Bilbo bidding her grandfather goodbye while Dís kept to her thoughts.

She had dreamt of her One again, the unending pain in her heart weighing heavier today than it had in some time. It was, regrettably, one of the downsides to her brother and Gwyn finding each other. It brought memories of her own One to the fore, and that he had left his family.

Dís hadn't been much older than Fíli when they had met. It was a meeting that, by all rights, probably shouldn't have happened since, at the time, Dís was supposed to have been Shadowing her brother while he met with a foreign dignitary. Instead, the young Rogue had snuck away to spy on the dignitary's companions. Her One had been among them, and it was like she had been punched in the gut when she laid eyes on the gleaming wheat-like hair. Her heart had quickened when he turned and she locked on to his pale, honey colored eyes.

She then felt dread and Knew. A thrum had pulsed beneath her skin, almost in time to her heart, and Dis Knew that the being she witnessed was her One. And her One was the last creature on this world that her brother would ever allow for her to court.

After the suffering of their people and the lack of aid, there was no way, even if Mahal himself had come down to decree it, that Thorin would ever allow her to court an Elf. Stifling a sob, and repressing the thought of the bead burning in her pocket, Dís had run away as quietly as she could.

Later that day, when Dís had shed her leathers and donned the mask of a displaced princess, she came across the Elf again and froze. She had stared up into his honey-eyes, the Elf towered over her by two feet.

“So, you are the one that was spying earlier. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Oddly enough, he wasn't angry about being spied upon, more amused than anything. But Dís hadn't cared then. She had wanted to run away before he or anyone else could realize that they were a Match. It also wasn't heard of. Dams were rare enough among their kind. Any Dwarrow-bloods were usually sired by a male Dwarf. Dams were kept to their own kind. Why would Mahal try to weaken his children more by pairing their Princess with a random Elf ?

“What would it matter to you if I had?”

She had been coy then, stupid and young and unable to fully resist the lulling hum of the Mudtelboss. It still surprised her how well Thorin was able to hold himself back from Gwyn, even with the girl trying to take certain...liberties...with her brother. It made her question on if dams were just more susceptible to the bond's effects than men.

“It would matter in that I wish to know the name of the one who seems to draw my Fëa into them. Would you share that?”

Dís could still remember the way his honey eyes gleamed in curiosity, head tilting like a curious cat. Her mouth had answered of its own accord.

“Dís, daughter of Thráin, son of Thrór. Might I ask for yours in return?”

His eyes had clouded over, closing, then he kneeled in front her and placed his hand over his heart.

“I am Haldir, Marchwarden of Lórien. I am most pleased to have met you, my gwedhnauth.”

“Amad? Path is this way.” Kíli gently nudged Dís from her thoughts and guided her back on the right path.

Dís blinked, the haze of old memories lifting. “Oh, so it is.”

“Everything alright?” Kíli's eyes were unique to him, dark green that reflected brown in the shadows. So unlike either her or his father. But he took after his adad so much, his cheekbones and smile especially.

She had spent so many decades hurting from Haldir's choice to leave, choosing his duty over his family, how much pain did her boys suffer in not even knowing their sire? For Mahal's sake, she can't remember even uttering his name in their presence.

Maybe...

Maybe it was time she told them everything. That they were Half-Elven, no matter that they took more after her blood. When the Company settled for camp tonight, she would break her silence. Perhaps, then, the pain in her heart could find solace.

“Just some heavy thoughts and old wounds, dashatê. I was absorbed in my own mind.” Dís gently kneed her mare to keep pace with the others.

A few of the Dwarrow sent her concerned looks, but mostly kept to their own conversations. Good. Dís wasn't about to spill her thoughts needlessly.

Kíli's pony trotted up alongside hers. “Pretty weighty to keep you distracted, amad. Anything we should worry about?”

Dís smiled at her youngest. “No, Kíli, not at the moment. We still have a few hours ahead of us, why don't we play a game?”

Her boy grinned. “I Spy?”

“Of course.”

After all, it was the best way to test his observation skills.

....

....

Dwalin despised ponies. He hated the smell. He loathed riding them. And his hatred was mutual. The gelding underneath him, the Guard would swear, kept shooting him baleful looks of ire and kept trying to stray off the path. The skittish thing got spooked by a branch cracking off trail and if it hadn't been for Dwalin’s considerable strength, it likely would have bolted into what counted as wilderness in this quiet corner of the world while bucking him off.

Considering they were to be traveling through a vast swath of rolling hills and farmland until the Company reaches Buckland in 3-4 days, “wilderness” was the last thing the Shire could be considered. Seeing so many soft-looking folk made Dwalin's skin crawl. He wanted to shake the smaller creatures and ask where their sense was. How could they allow themselves to be so...weak?

Snort.

Dwalin turned his head to glare at the Thief. “Somethin’ funny to ya?”

Nori suppressed a grin, shaking their head. “Yeh ‘avin’ a bit o’ trouble t'ere?”

Thorin’s Right Hand scowled at the Left. “Laugh it up, thief. Soddin’ stupid beasts...don’ know right sense.”

The star-haired dwarf's eyes glittered with unscheduled tears of amusement. “P'etty sure t'ey're smarta ‘n yeh, gau'dsman.”

Dwalin’s scowl deepened. “Yeh can drop the accent, Nori. None o’ yer contacts are aroun’ ta hear it.”

He received an eye roll. “Subtle, yeh oaf. Migh'na be ‘roun’ but yeh nev'r know. Bes’ ta keep up.”

“N I'm surprised yeh didnae knick anythin’ from our ‘ost.” The guard shot back with a suspicious eye.

Nori's grin came out in full force, eyes glinting in mischief as they held their arms out and gave themselves a pat down. “What're yeh goin’ do? Strip meh?”

Dwalin gave the spy a stern glare and whirled to face the front. Nori cackled as the back of the dwarf's head turned bright red. The guard captain muttered several low curses under his breath.

“Nori! Don't make me bring out the switch!” Dori called out from further behind, always able to tell when her sibling is up to mischief.

“’S all in good fun, spoil spor’.” Nori quietly snickered and held back to ride with their siblings.

Dwalin wasn't the sharpest tool in the drawer, but he was aware of Nori's...circumstances. Even if they were only brought to his notice when the thief had turned over to be a spy (knowing that the troublemaker he had hunted for over forty years was physically a dam had been a major shock), they should still have the wherewithal to watch what they say. The two had been...Dwalin didn't know what to call it outside of “circling”...each other for several decades now.

Nori's little jest didn't help his mental health when Dwalin was more than certain that they were his One. Yes. The guard was under the full belief that the spy was his destined Match from Mahal...and he was too much of a coward to go through with it. When he first had the realization, he hadn't wanted to admit it. Denied it with every fiber of his being. Ones just didn't exist anymore, was his thought process, especially after having to see the aftermath of when Dís’ Elf left her with the boys on some sort of mission.

The only thing that having a One brought was pain.

He believed it for a long time, and it was reaffirmed from seeing Matchmade pairs working well together. If Dwalin wanted to marry (Mahal forbid), he knew where to go.

Then along came Lady Gwyn. Thorin’s One. And Dwalin had never  seen his King bend to anyone as he did for her advice (except for her advice on Elves. Any Dwarf knows an Elf can't be trusted, but she'll learn). To find out they had only known each other for less than a day yet were acting as if they had been acquainted for years was...disorienting. He had kept his mouth shut and followed the directive of his King because that was his job.

Dís claiming she would take back the mantle of King's Shadow had sent a minor thrill of panic through him. What would that mean for Nori? They would stay in Ered Luin while Dwalin was half the world away in Erebor? His own thoughts shocked and confused him, because of his denials. Yet...he didn't want to be that far from Nori. They were Guard and Thief, Thorin’s Right and Left hands. It didn't feel right for one to stay and the other not.

In that moment, Dwalin’s mind had flashed to the adventurine bead locked in a drawer at his home. The thought paralyzed him more than the possibility of being half a world away from Nori. It was when he realized that he had known his One all along. From that moment, he kept feeling a faint thrum under his skin whenever he was in the same vicinity as the spy (or, perhaps it had always been there and he was only noticing it now?) Regardless, Dwalin spent the months leading up to their expedition blocking the idea from his mind. Ones didn't just crop up like mineral deposits, they were rare. He was probably just excited to be going back to Erebor (and that Nori would be by his side. No, dangerous thoughts!)

Except...

Ones were  cropping up with frequency, relatively speaking. Thorin and Gwyn started it, but before they left Ered Luin, three ( three!)  couples came forward to say they had found their One. He didn't know if the Royal Family were aware, as he had heard it from Nori, who was just as shocked, but that was more Ones united than in the past century. And for even Fíli to be saying he found his One? What was going on?

The stupid beast beneath him tried to buck Dwalin off. Again. The Dwarf abandoned his thoughts to jerk the reins and bring the gelding back under his control while muttering darkly. The day will come when someone will invent...SOMETHING...better than having to travel by infernal horses!

....

....

Bilbo rode between her fiancé and his brother, taking in the scenery. Fiancé. That was a word she hadn't imagined using. She still held the bead Fíli had given her tightly in her hand. Cradling it carefully to her chest, Bilbo couldn't resist examining it again.

The grain of the wood was so smooth, perfectly sanded with a clear veneer that let the deep black shine. She had never seen wood of such a color occur naturally, but holding it gave her a sense of serenity. Coupled with the lulling presence of her fiancé, Bilbo could almost pretend that she was curled up with a book in a warm patch of sunlight. Maybe a rabbit or squirrel in her lap. The chrysanthemums were beautifully detailed. Darker crushed garnet made shadows that individualized each petal and flower, along with the citrine highlights. Most of the flowers were made from crushed rubies. At least, from Fíli’s explanation of it. He also told her the meanings of each gem as, much like flowers were to Hobbits, gems were to Dwarves. Dwarrow.

Garnet symbolized passionate devotion, vitality and stamina. Bilbo hadn't been the only one blushing with THAT definition. She supposed it was a fair assessment, though. She was devoted to her Lady, and she was supposed to be 50 by now, so stamina and vitality were apt descriptors for her. Next came ruby, a stone of protection that symbolized an open heart and a symbol of friendship. Citrine was...citrine meant...Bilbo bit back a yawn. Bother, she forgot what citrine stood for.

The hobbit's head bobbed as a wave of fatigue came over her. Between her hasty sprint from her monthly  meeting with the Sisterhood, her early morning shopping, preparing a feast for sixteen guests, preparing rooms for those guests, the early morning start, AND becoming engaged in the span of 48 hours left the daughter of Belladonna feeling very worn out. A wide yawn escaped her before she could hide it.

Alarmed pressed against Bil bo's back, steadying her flagging form. “You alright there, Bilbo?” The Hobbit blearily made out the voice as belonging to her fiancé.

“I am afraid, Master Fíli, that I've not had much opportunity to rest the past few days.” Another yawn escaped her. Goodness, how was she even upright on her pony?

Concern weighed heavily in the prince's gaze before clearing with a nod. “Right then.” He reached in front of Bilbo, took the reins from her hands and tied them around the knob on his saddle. Bilbo stared at him blankly, what was he-

The Hobbit lass yelped as she was then scooped from the back of her pony to sit side-saddle in front of Fíli, her small form tucked up against his chest. Fíli beamed down at her. “Go ahead and get some rest. You gave us a wonderful feast and made us welcome in your home. I understand that must have beven a tiresome undertaking.” He winked down at her and Bilbo felt her cheeks flush with heat. “It's a small price to pay to be your pillow in return, but you won’t have to worry about falling off.”

Bilbo...didn't know how to take that. It was very thoughtful. And kind. And sweet. Oh, her mind was certainly thinking very unruly thoughts without her say so! With as much grace as she could muster, Bilbo decided to go along with it. She was already on his pony. “Thank you...”

Bilbo leaned her head into his shoulder and tried to curl up more snugly. If the prince providing her support let out a slightly strangled gasp, she had no notice of it. Her last thought was to tuck the precious bead in her hand back into her breast pocket before taking a well deserved nap.

....

....

Dori was very much exasperated with this whole charade. The only other one in this entire “caravan” with any amount of sense was Bifur, and it was hard enough parsing out the the Old Khuzdul he used with the Neo mixed in. Dori also knew her sibling was still plotting something  regarding the Hobbit lad from earlier. She'd shave her beard if, somewhere in the future, she found Nori secreting off with the boy in a rucksack.

None of the couples in their group were behaving appropriately by Dwarrow standards. For Mahal's sake, Fíli and his new fianceé were openly cuddling ! It was entirely unseemly! Let's not forget the positively indecent proximity their King and future Queen were keeping. They were the ones that should have been upholding the standards of their people the most and instead the royal family seemed to be flaunting their personal affairs!

Her ears prickled as she heard a quiet giggle from behind her. A slight shift in her saddle let the silver haired dam catch sight of Ori giggling behind her hand as Bifur's cousin (Bofur? Or was this one Bombur?) made a silly face and whipped his head quickly from side-to-side, causing him to be slapped by the tail ends of his hat. A soft pink tinge graced her baby sister's cheeks and Dori despaired. Even perfect and sweet Ori wasn't safe from this, this...this infestation of impropriety!

She needed a cup of tea. Hopefully Bifur would join her so they could commiserate together on the foolishness of their companions.

-----

SSD: Yeah. So, uhh...anyone else see the reveal coming? I didn't, but Dís just decided to and be miserable and remember things and...yeah. I'm not sorry. I just think that for as long a time as Arda has existed, I find it very strange that there would only have been, what is it, two? Half-Elves, ever? I mean, I get the whole immortal vs mortal thing would be a major factor against it, but come on!

And if anyone has advice on Nori's accent, or Dwalin’s, I would appreciate it! Just keep in mind that Nori is exaggerating their accent for their profession, so if it seems too strong, it's probably intentional on their part. And yes, Dori is a major fusspot. And stickler against any form of PDA. She agreed to come on the quest, not chaperone a bunch of hormonal idiots.

No Trolls this time, but probably nextmonthly And possibly an allusion to the other two paths Gwyn could have taken. We'll see. Though I hope going into the minds of some of the other Dwarrow was enlightening. 

Review and drop a kudos if you enjoyed!