||Chapter 4||
<|Third Age 2974|>
When Endor awakes the next morning, it feels as if a sledgehammer attacked her head in the middle of the night. Groans escape her lips as she attempts to merely open her eyes, fogginess swimming to-and-fro in her every thought and action. Rather than her quick mannerisms and tongue, she travels at a speed tenfold slower than typical. And thus, with her lazy movements, she cannot help awakening Dwalin who sits asleep in the chair next to her. Given his large drinking capacity as a dwarf, as well as his maturity, he feels none of the effects of the previous night, other than the chair's imposing of a cramp upon his back. This is what causes Dwalin to groan in harmony with the hobbit who finally manages to open her eyes.
"Master Dwalin, why-re you here?" she asks, grogginess clogging up her throat. She attempts to push herself higher into her bed, to very little success before Dwalin perches himself up to help her.
"To solve these problems. You drank far too much last night, lassie," he tells her, not coming across as criticizing or pitying, but blunt. Endor likes this about him, as she can relate to her lack of emotions on the usual occasion. It's just one of the things that makes her different than Bilbo.
But out of the corner of her eye, Endor sees the chair at the side of her bed, with squished pillows pushed into the linen fabric. Her brain may be foggier than normal, but her normal is pretty sharp. And thus, she finds herself confused as to why Dwalin spent the night here.
"You slept there," she murmurs, pointing lazily to the chair feet away before looking back at the gruff dwarf. "Do you care for me, Master Dwalin?"
The dwarf cannot help chuckling at her, seeing as she still is lost in her dreaminess. To anyone other than a dwarf, Endor would appear drunk, but the mountain-kin know better than this. With her pupils moving and her clear words, he can say she is simply tired, and not completely aware of her words.
"In no more than a friendly manner, but yes. You're different," Dwalin tells her, taking notice of her eyes following him suspiciously as he grabs a glass of water from the bedside table. Offering it out to her after taking a drink of it himself, she almost jumps with relief, guzzling the rest of it down. Dwalin huffs, knowing that he now has to get more water.
"And rightly so...and rightly so," Endor echos, swinging her legs over the bedside and placing her feet on the ground. Pushing upward, she takes a few seconds to reestablish her balance before grabbing the glass from Dwalin and heading out the door. This makes the dwarf like her even more, seeing as she does not treat any of them like servants.
Rushing out the door, Dwalin follows behind Endor's slow footsteps, making sure she does not have a nasty fall here in the stone corridors. They walk together into the kitchen, Endor noticing the missing Bombur she met last night. Dwalin reminisces on Bombur's square-dancing with Endor, a dance she was extraordinarily good at.
"Where can I find the water, Dwalin?" she asks, raising on her toes as if a better view will illuminate the source of the clear liquid. But Dwalin simply gestures for her to follow after him, as she realizes he is not one to talk on choice. If he can get away with silence, then Dwalin will always be silent.
He leads her into a room attached to the pantry, drawing a ladle of water from a large tub and pouring water into her cup. But just like before, she guzzles the liquid up quickly after blowing a few bubbles into the water, raising her glass for more. Dwalin almost huffs in irritation when they get to the fourth ladle of water, but she shakes her head and walks back to her room, smile on her face. Dwalin is surprised she is taking the drunkenness so well, given her immaturity. But if he were to guess, hobbits are large drinkers, and she is used to these repercussions.
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Endotherm {Thorin/Hobbit}
Fanfiction"The world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone When Durin woke and walked alone. He named the nameless hills and dells; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stooped and looked in M...
