Sansûkh (Bagginshield & Gigolas)

Chapter Four

Thorin finished his knife, and began work on a pair of boot-daggers. Just to thumb his nose at Dís, he embedded chips of emerald in the handles and engraved the patterns for 'honored family' along the blade. He could be decorative when he chose. He ended up gifting them to Fíli, and was therefore obliged to create a set for Kíli as well, lest he get deafened by complaints of favoritism.

And then, of course, Frerin wanted a set as well.

Nothing else changed in Mahal's Halls. Nothing ever changed in Mahal's Halls.

Thorin had been a very active Dwarf his whole life. He had very rarely been stationary, forever journeying or working or building or planning. Remaining in one place was proving difficult. He turned his hand to more and more projects, but very little kept him satisfied. As the years turned and the second anniversary of the Battle of Five Armies came and went, he began to forge the links for an entire hauberk of mail simply to give himself something to do that was not staring wistfully at the waters of Gimlîn-zâram, longing in vain for the colors of Middle-Earth.

Two years, and Erebor was becoming a hub of activity. His Company had risen to prominence, due to their great wealth and the reputation their Quest had given them. Ori was working to restore the histories that had been damaged by the dragon. His people had so little of their history left to them after wars, dragons, Balrogs and exile after exile that it was a blessing there was anything left at all. Dori had become a very powerful member of the Weaver's Guild, and was tireless in promoting Guild interests. Nori had set up a gambling den and tavern of some scandalous repute, and sat with his ears open each night, passing every tidbit of information to Balin.

Bofur was a great favorite amongst the few children of Esgaroth who had settled in Dale. He had begun a large venture, trying to establish the toy-markets of Dale that had once been the wonder of the North. Bifur worked beside him most of the week, but on all other occasions Bifur could be found with Ori. The young Dwarf was trying to help Bifur regain his words, but the process was very slow. Bifur's understanding of Ancient Khuzdul was now confused and he frequently used a completely unrelated word when he meant something totally different. He would then revert to Iglishmêk, but all too often he could not find the right signs. With Ori's help he had shown a little improvement, and Bofur and Bombur assisted when they had the time.

Bombur was king of the marketplace of Erebor. None could even come close. He sat at his shop and watched every sweet cake and meat pie and jam roly-poly walk off the shelves. Bilbo's larder that night in Bag End had certainly made an impression, and Thorin recognized several Hobbitish dishes alongside more traditional Dwarvish fare. Bombur's limp was no better, but his walking staff had become a sort of calling card amongst the other traders. He often had a string of linked sausages or a bag of sweets hanging from the end.

Óin was still being kept busy with the wounded of the battle. No Dwarf or Man was still in danger, but many had sustained complications. He had appropriated a room that Thorin vaguely remembered as being a guardsman's barracks, and had outfitted it as an infirmary. There he doctored and cared for those Dwarves whose families could not, and trained a small group of younger Dwarves in herb-lore and medicine with all the irritability and snappishness of a drillmaster.

Balin and Glóin could be seen at loggerheads most days. Dáin had approved one fourteenth of the treasure to go to Bard for the restoration of Dale and Esgaroth, and the new Master of Laketown was becoming rather demanding and grasping when it came to the selection of the gold and jewels. Glóin strenuously disagreed with using priceless heirlooms and historical artefacts centuries old as no more than currency in their trading with the Men and Elves. Balin shook his beard angrily and asked if Glóin would be the first to volunteer to eat them? Glóin would bellow that this wasn't a siege and it wasn't about the damned gold, this was about their heritage and traditions; would they give up their history and culture so readily? Balin would ask, cold as ice, if Glóin really thought that Balin of all Dwarves was not aware of the cultural significance of some of the items, Balin had watched much of it forged with his own two eyes, had known the makers himself, and hadn't Balin been at Azanulbizar for Mahal's sake? Glóin would bristle, his beard doubling in size (which was quite a sight) and snarl that Glóin had been at Azanulbizar as well, what had Azanulbizar to do with it? Balin would seethe, and Glóin would fume, and the next day they would do it again. Thorin watched this with a sinking sense of déjà-vu.