Sansûkh (Bagginshield & Gigolas)

Chapter Eighteen

The noise was deafening. The forge was crammed to the gills with Dwarrows, all shouting and growling and gesticulating. It was hot and steamy, what with so many bodies in the room. Hrera seemed quite put out, and she pursed her lips in disapproval at some of the language used.

At the forge door, yet more Dwarrows tried to crane around the bodies of Fíli, Kíli, Frerin and Óin, their curious eyes alighting on Thorin and fixing there.

It was disconcerting, to say the least. Thorin was no stranger to being the center of attention, but now it was entirely different. Now he was not their King. His mother had of course mentioned that Frerin's mad dash through the Halls had set every tongue to waggling about the Quest and Gimli and Thorin's vigil. Yet he hadn't seen any evidence of the gossip during his enforced rest. Now – now he could see it. It was overwhelmingly obvious.

Thrór held up his hands, and the squabbling, gossiping Dwarrows settled down (but not before Bifur headbutted Nori quite hard). "All right," said Thrór wearily. "That's quite enough of that. Let's get to it, shall we?"

Thorin ignored the eyes that flickered to him as he stood and took the place at his grandfather's right. The surge of déjà vu was nearly overwhelming. How many years had he stood at his grandfather's right, little more than a pride-filled child, watching him settle dispute after dispute?

"Just a moment!" called Fíli, strain evident in his voice. "Wait up a moment, will you?"

"What is it now?"

"I can't get the damned door closed, is what!" he snapped back, and Thrór pinched the bridge of his nose and made an exasperated sound between his teeth.

"Right," said Nori flatly, and he turned and began to walk slowly for the door, opening one side of his coat as he did so and reaching within with his free hand. Every curious face in the doorway blanched at what they saw (Thorin idly wondered which weapon it was this time, the hook-pointed knives or the throwing darts) and Fíli was able to slam the door shut as they backed off.

"Thanks," he said, puffing. Beside him, Frerin groaned and leaned heavily against the door.

Nori closed his jerkin, and grinned broadly. "My distinct pleasure."

"Maybe now we can begin?" Thorin said, and he glanced at his father, who nodded back firmly.

"What's this all about, laddie?" Balin said, leaning forward and tipping his head.

Thorin took a breath. "It has... it has come to my attention that we are not approaching this problem in the most efficient way."

Óin choked, and then he began to chuckle helplessly. Thorin sent him a dark and dangerous look, but the healer was too far gone in mirth and could only wave a hand weakly for Thorin to continue.

"I cannot maintain my present state," Thorin said bluntly, irritated. "Events are moving swiftly, and if we are to assist Middle Earth in any way from this eternal place, we must be more coordinated."

"Ah," Balin said, and he leaned back, his face thoughtful. Then he squinted at Thorin. "Has this anything to do with all the rumors?"

"What do the rumors say?" Thorin countered.

Balin smiled. "That you watch the Fellowship day and night. That Gimli son of Glóin has reached out his hand in friendship to a traitor's son, and an Elf besides. That you fainted in the starlight of Gimlîn-zâram."

His grandfather's hand landed comfortingly on his shoulder, and Thorin steeled his jaw. "All true."

The room erupted into shouting again, and Thorin stepped forward, his eyes flashing. "Shazara!" he snarled, and the assembled Dwarrows settled once more with anger written across their faces.