Iron and Oak - Short Stories for Rainy Days

Watching Paint Dry

Author's Note - This story takes place after the events in Iron and Oak. 

Esja sat in a chair, watching the early winter rain chase down her window panes. No one was working today except Thorin. It was Durin's day, and most everyone had made the trip to Dale to celebrate. There were no bones to set or cuts to stitch, no children to teach or gossip to pass. She could hear the clang, clang, clang, hiss, coming from the little stable Thorin had completely rebuilt to accommodate his workshop and forge.

It had been three years since that fateful Durin's day on which Thorin had opened the last door into Lonely Mountain. Two and a half years, they had lived together here in Westhand. Two and a half years, she had listened to that clang, clang, clang, hiss. 

"I wonder why he doesn't hit it four times?" Esja wondered out loud as she snuggled deeper into the silkiness of her fox fur blanket.  

Thunder rumbled at her, and she said, "Don't you start! I've known he was a blacksmith for a few years now.  I don't expect any pity."

Esja picked up the letter from Balin and reread it. He was doing well and reported that all the company's remaining members also thrived, except Dwalin, who was suffering mightily under his new wife's hard rule.  

When she had read the letter to Thorin this morning at breakfast, she'd said, "Are you sure you don't want to let Dwalin in on our little secret? Give him someone to commiserate with?

"Do I seem to be suffering under your hand?" he'd asked seriously. 

She'd felt her face flushing and quickly hid behind the letter, continuing to read aloud as if she hadn't heard him. 

...she has refused to let him fight again and last week mounted Grasper and Reacher over the fireplace like some odd trophies of war!.... 

Esja could not contain her giggle at the idea of a dwarven woman dutifully dusting Dwalin's giant axes. At the same time, Thorin had raised an eyebrow and shook his head at the thought of those axes being retired.

Esja set the letter aside, and a niggling thought wandered across her mind again. 

Was he suffering?

He hardly said a word about his friends or the mountain, about Dis or anyone else. Truthfully, their life had settled into so much routine that lately, she had begun to wonder if it might be weighing on him. Sighing, she stood, padded barefoot out of the bedroom, pulled on her coat and boots, and grabbed two apples from the bowl on the table. She heard the steady clang, clang, clang, hiss as she walked through the rain to the stable.  

She stepped through the door and was hit by a wave of heat and the smell of fire and hot iron. He did not notice her come in as he was turned a bit aside, then the clanging began again. She watched him for a moment. He was stripped to the waist, hair pulled back, brow furrowed in concentration, his heavy hammer resting for a moment on the anvil as he examined the metal he worked to form. She turned toward the ponies in the stalls at the far end of the stable. 

"What? No treat for me?" he said. 

She jumped a little and looked back over her shoulder. He was still examining the metal piece resting on his anvil but with a slight smile on his face.  

"I wouldn't want to break your concentration," she said.  

"Wouldn't you?" 

Esja felt her cheeks flush again and walked to the stalls, "Durin! What is wrong with me?" she whispered to Mardie, offering her an apple.  

Pepper stamped impatiently, and Esja held an apple out to her as well.  

She petted the velvet noses of the horses, pulling her hand away just before Pepper tried to sample the deep fur around her coat cuff.