Once Upon A Contract

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 28: 𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖐𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

The problem with travelling with Dwalin was that he knew all of Thorin's tricks. He knew all of Thorin's mannerisms and reactions, he knew Thorin better than most everyone, which meant when Thorin stumbled back into the room he shared with the boys, Dwalin immediately gave him a look.

"Don't." Thorin vaguely threatened, his hand shaking slightly as he pointed towards Dwalin. Mahal only knew what the dwarf had picked up.

Of course, Dwalin didn't listen. (If they had been in Erebor, that might have been an issue. But they had been little more than pebbles when the mountain burned. Dwalin could no more take him seriously then Thorin could look at Balin and see anything more than a task master and tutor, rolled into one.) "You look like you took an awl to the eye and an axe to the head for good measure."

Thorin sent a rude gesture towards the guardsman but couldn't help cast a glance toward the rock pile that was his nephews.

Dwalin followed his gaze with a snort. "They're out. They've been out since they attempted to regale the Valley with a rendition of Zurka's Hymn. With the fiddle I might add."

Thorin paused, gaze stuck on the way Kili's elbow was digging into his brother's back. Fili would not be happy when he awoke. Then he registered what Dwalin had said. "How would that even work?" He wondered, the hymn rolling out in a soft hum as he tried to transition the drums to a fiddle of all things.

"I don't know, but they managed it." Dwalin chuckled. "Half wish you had stuck around to see it. Scandalised half the elves and made the Men howl with laughter. They ended up falling off the tables in a dead sleep just before the final refrain. Bofur helped 'em keep tune with that little flute Bifur made."

"Let's see if we can get them to reproduce it sober." Thorin was more than a little curious about how his nephews had managed that feat. Zurka's Hymn was a worker's melody, it wasn't particularly difficult but it was a series of beats that did not keep time with the typical striker songs. To play it felt a bit like tripping midway through a step, it was a constant stumble, but the tune was invaluable for the jobs it was called to help time.

"What did the hobbit say?" Dwalin asked after the silence stretched out between them.

For all that Thorin knew the question was coming, he found he didn't have an answer. How was Thorin to explain this? How was he to take half remembered legends and dozens of warnings provided in his youth, and lay them against the hobbit?

( Those creatures will trick you and mislead you, my dear. They will hunt and hurt and laugh all the while. )

How could those stories be about the creature that had sat in the garden?

(" The dwarf you claim will fall to greed, what do you know of him? Uhm? Do you know how he gained his deed name?" The hobbit had snapped to the elf nearly four times his size. He had been furious and bristling and Thorin could do little but stand in the shadows and watch.)

Thorin sank down into one of the seats at the table a few yards from the bed. He had to hand it to the treeshaggers, he resented the need for their hospitality, but Thorin knew the dignitaries' rooms when he saw them. The elves were allowing them to plot in their home.

(It did not bode well.)

"I know that look."

"Don't." Thorin snapped, hand dragging down his face as he leaned forward and braced his arms against his knees. "Dwalin."

The ornery bastard gave a snort of laughter and Thorin could feel a nerve in his jaw twitch.

Here was the thing, Thorin was past his prime. He wasn't old, he still had roughly a century before someone could begin to call him a boulder. But he was starting to see more grey hairs in his braids and a life of tinkering and travelling had left its mark. His knuckles ached and his palms were scarred. His knees hadn't been right in years.