Sansûkh (Bagginshield & Gigolas)

Chapter Nineteen

Thorin awoke the next morning to a knock upon his door. He stretched, and to his mild surprise his body moved easily and without the lingering dull weight of exhaustion. In fact, he felt far better than he had for weeks. Perhaps there was something to his family's insistence he sleep more than three hours per night.

"Come in."

"Thorin?" It was Fíli, sticking his head around the door. "Everyone's assembling in the Chamber in half an hour. Erebor and Fellowship details this morning."

"Ah." Thorin brushed the hair that had come loose in the night back over the crown of his head, and then sat up. "And are you scheduled, namadul?"

"Yes, at Erebor," Fíli said. His nephew looked quite excited. "Kíli's green as emeralds: he's not scheduled until tomorrow."

Thorin smiled and swung his legs off his pallet, scratching idly at his stomach. "He'll survive, I'm sure."

"Interesting choice of words," said Fíli dryly.

"Hah." Thorin took up a tunic and pulled it over the sleep-pants he wore, before turning back to Fíli. "Do you look forward to seeing your mother, then?"

"Dad's going with me." Fíli leaned against the doorjamb. "Your hair looks a mess. Do you even own a comb?"

"Some of us do not care for fanciful and impractical braids, my unday," Thorin said haughtily. Fíli grinned.

"Sure, that's the reason. Well, I'll see you down at breakfast."

"Thank you, Fíli."

Fíli's grin broadened, and he nodded, before he softly closed the door behind him.

Turning to his polished brass mirror (it had primroses and honeysuckle embossed around the edges, a piece of work that Thorin was rather proud of) he had to concede that perhaps Fíli had a point. His hair was nearly as mad as Bifur's. Picking up his comb, he sighed and began to attack the whole thick, unruly mass of it, cursing loudly when it snagged.

Most of his family were at the table when Thorin arrived, though Kíli was not present, and neither was Thráin. Fíli lifted an amused eyebrow at Thorin's neat queue. "I see you managed to wrestle it into submission."

Thorin growled, and tousled Fíli's golden hair in revenge. Fíli beat him off with a noise of outrage, and Frerin choked out a laugh around a mouthful of broth.

"You look better today," Hrera said approvingly. "Good. Eat."

Thorin debated saying something, but in the end decided against it and held his tongue. His tyrannical grandmother would only find another way to say, 'I told you so'. He took his seat and ignored the eager stares and the whispers that rose from every other Dwarrow in the Hall. "Where is Kíli?"

"Sleeping in," snorted Fíli. "He said that since he's not needed this morning, he's going to stay in bed as long as possible. I think he's trying to find out if it's possible for Dwarrows to hibernate."

Thorin grunted, and then he looked up at his mother. "Adad?"

"Oh, Mahal only knows," she said, shaking her head. "He tore from our quarters this morning. I think he has finally figured out how to fix the greaves he has been moaning about for the last fortnight."

It was with a jolt of surprise that Thorin realized he hadn't even known that his father was smithing a new suit of armor. He truly had been neglecting them. "Would he welcome another set of eyes?"

"Are you kidding?" Frerin said. "He brought them to Narvi to look at them."

Thorin's breath caught, and he coughed for a moment. "Narvi?" he said incredulously when he was able to speak. "And what did she say?"