Saving Durin {Hobbit/Thorin}

Chapter 54: Ferudian and Kerudian? More like, death at Thorin's hands

Chapter 54:

Ferudian and Kerudian? More like, death at Thorin's hands.

It takes nearly an hour for me and Tauriel to decide on the format of the invitations, and I cannot help but complain at just how long it will take for us to write all five hundred invitations. But before I can further groan in agony at the prospect, Ori rushes into the library, taking a quick seat near me. I look curiously at him, but the expression on Tauriel's face tells me that his presence is planned. Nonetheless, I am even more confused.

"Well we better start. I might just be two-hundred by the time we're done," I address Tauriel, grabbing a single piece of parchment to begin my task. However, the elf's hand stops me as I turn to face her. The look of confusion on my face mirrors onto hers, though she also looks incredulous at the prospect of doing all this work.

"You can't surely believe this is your duty? No, Ori here will be printing the invites. We have more important things to accomplish," Tauriel tells me, prompting me to send the young dwarfling a worried and pitying look. Ori does not look scared at this notion, but seems to have done this a multiplicity of times before. And thus, I follow Tauriel away from the paper mess, back into the corridors, as I send Ori a quick prayer of thanks and guidance. Let the Valar be with that wee dwarf as he conquers the mess.

We continue through the tunnels, discussing further plans on the invites. The five-hundred written invites will be sent out to the vast lands of Middle Earth, inviting both royalty and common folk alike to the wedding and coronation. I see it as an olive-branch of sorts: an invitation to alliances and future friendships. On the other hand, oral invites will be given to the people of Erebor, and I take this duty upon myself to complete. If I am to be queen over these people, I want to show them that I truly care about their presence in the Lonely Mountain.

Passing into the next hallway, I almost run into Bofur. I quickly dodge the contact, Bofur laughing at my startled face as I then run into Tauriel; I cannot seem to win today. The joyous look on the hatted dwarf soon turns to one of humour, a smirk like Kili's falling over his features. If I have come to know anything, this look always has to do with Thorin and myself, and it should foster fear in my heart.

'What? Why are you giving me that look?" I demand from him, pulling away from Tauriel's side and stepping closer to Bofur. My threatening address towards him does nothing to scare him, but he just chuckles at either my attempt to be frightening or the situation he knows of. It's hard to evoke fear in creatures when you are hobbit sized, this I have learned.

"I was supposed to design your throne, but Thorin denied the need for such craftings. Apparently, our king enjoys having you on his lap," Bofur informs me, sending me into rage. I growl at him, pushing past Tauriel as I rush towards the entrance hall, where Tauriel said Thorin is. As much as I enjoy sitting on Thorin's lap, a throne for myself is much more comfortable and surely less embarrassing. Who does he think he is, denying me this right?

My rushed footsteps echo through the small corridors, slowing down as I enter the entrance hall where everything of importance seems to happen. I step out into the uniquely bright room, as the doors to the kingdom are left open during the day. To my right and left, congregated dwarves await rooms, still wearing their travel clothes and holding their possessions in hand. Gloin and Oin seem to be in charge of filling the rooms of Erebor, and I can't help but wonder who appointed the grumpiest dwarf and nearly-deaf dwarf to this job. Seeing Thorin, however, removes me from these thoughts.