Star-Crossed

Chapter 7

“He’s over it, still has a nasty knot on the back of his head though.” Thorin picked up her boots from under the bed and helped her into them as she strapped her belt around her waist. He handed her a knife and then stood. “The brothers want us to meet them in the arena. In ten minutes.”

“What for?”

“They didn’t say.” A small smile crept to her lips, and then she nodded.

“Let us go then.” She trotted down the hall, Thorin close behind. The two kept perfect time with one another. Taking the stairs as quick as they could, they had to dodge several dwarves and nearly trampled one of the guardsmen. The companions reached the main level with two minutes to spare. Gasping for breath, Thorin looked at Beuren, her chest was heaving with the intake of air. She smirked and looked down at the stone path that lead to Dale, half way down the path, another trail snaked down to the arena, it was merely sand and dirt.

“We can do it.” Thorin breathed.

“It’s pretty far.” Beuren smirked. “A four minute trip at a sprint.”

“Then we run like the whips of our masters are behind us.” Thorin took her hand and pulled her behind him. They ran hand in hand the whole way, their foot fall echoed slightly in the quiet valley. They burst through the doors, making the trip in two minutes and ten second, yes, they had counted.

They bent over at the waist, laughing while they were attempting to catch their breath. The two stood, looking at the brothers, accompanied by Thror and Thrain. Dwalin and Balin hid smiles, looking at their hands. They glanced at their hands, still entwined in one another’s.  They looked up at each other, waiting for the other to let go. Thror cleared his throat, then both let go and looked at the king. Thorin couldn’t help but observe the light shade of pink that had painted Beuren’s cheek bones, and how fair it made her look, how innocent, lovely. He shook the thought away and looked up at his father and grandfather.

The tone of the meeting was serious. But the hidden emotions the two best friends felt was everything but serious. They were ecstatic. They had been asked to join the men of arms, in a battle, in three days’ time. They would be fighting alongside the dwarves of the Iron Hills. A large army of Orcs had gotten too close to their borders for comfort. Their leader had declared war the night before and was readying his army. They would march, fight, and kill, hopefully winning and living to see another day. They would leave that night, and get to their destination in three days with rest.

That afternoon was spent bidding good byes to loved ones and sharpening swords, axes, and knives. Thorin sat in Balin’s study, his armored female companion across from him. She sat on the table, right leg swinging softly over the edge. Her left knee was bent, foot on the arm of the chair next to her. Over her left knee a rag hung, she picked it up and dipped a corner into a small jar next to her. She ran the paste along her ashy brown maple bow. It was polish; the smallest bit of polish could make the bow glow with beauty. The beautiful design etched into the wood had been filled with melted silver, Thorin had done it himself, it was a gift for her birthday several years back. She treasured it, more than any other weapon she owned.

Her eyes studied every detail of the bow, checking the string, admiring, and gently running her hands along the edge, taking in its curve. While she studied the curve of her bow, Thorin had his eyes on other curves. She was so unlike the Elves, not only physically, but mentally. She had an odd mind. A beautifully dark mind is what Thorin’s mother had told him. Beuren smiled, her green eyes never leaving her bow.

“You are staring, master dwarf.” His eyes flicked up to hers. Gently she set her bow aside, slowly sliding off the table. She wore much different attire than was usual for her. A pair of cropped pants sat low on her hips, her boots stood to mid-calf with fur around the tops, her brown shirt was cropped under her fitted leather breast plate, which was cut short, stopping just below her diaphragm. Her right arm was covered to the elbow by a pauldron, her left forearm was covered with a vambrace, a leather glove without fingers on the same hand. Her quiver was strapped to her back, a sword sat on her left hip, and axe on her right, several knives were strapped to her thigh. It was only then that Thorin noticed the tattoos along the inside of her left thigh.

“Forgive me, my lady.”

“My lady? I am not some queen, Thorin of Durin.” He stood now, stepping closer to her.

“There is still time.”

“Time for what?” She asked, stepping yet closer to Thorin.

“For you to become a queen.” Thorin said, inching ever closer.

“And who would want me as their queen? Surely not anyone from these lands.”

“I could name a few.”

“Name away.” She breathed. They were so close, closer than they had expected. Thorin opened his mouth to speak when the door opened.

“We are leaving.” Dwalin announced, pausing and looking at the two, smirking then closing the door again. Beuren and Thorin hadn’t taken their eyes off one another’s. With a small mischievous smile she leaned closer, as did Thorin. The young prince let his eyes close, then, feeling a soft breeze, heard the door open and close. Upon opening his eyes, he found he was alone. Clenching his jaw, he smiled a bit then left through the door. Dwalin stood waiting for him; Balin and Beuren had already left.

“Well laddie, did you do it?”

“What?”

“Kiss her of course!”

“No.” Thorin smiled a bit, looking at the ground.

Balin was snapping at Beuren for not pulling her hair back in a braid. He had taken her ponytail out and was quickly braiding it before the rest of the army could see her. She sighed her annoyance, trying to push his hands away. He pulled her head back by her hair, forcing her to rest her head back on his shoulder. He looked at her, sternly.

“Did you do it?”

“Ok, I can explain, the paint wasn’t fully my fault…”

“What are you talking about lassie?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Thorin. Did you kiss Thorin?”

“No.” Balin had a disappointed look on his face. “Why?”

“You are good for him, lassie. Very good for him.”

“How is that?” Balin allowed her back her head. She looked back at her advisor.

“You keep him steady. As a prince, he needs steady. You are also quite patient, with him at least.” Her cheeks heated, she looked down to avoid him seeing.

“People get the wrong idea when they see us.”

“Some people. All the people I’ve spoken to hope that you two succeed. They want to see someone from the humbler part of our nation with Thorin, it would be good for him, they say.” She lowered her eyes, hanging her head. Balin lifted her chin. “Hey, lass, don’t be so upset. Why do you think yourself unworthy?”

“He is a prince. I am a shield maiden of Dale. There is hardly any worth in me as it is, pairing the two of us would make him look bad, it would make the line of Durin look bad. It would break the line, I am of elven and human blood, not of dwarf, and not of royal or wealthy blood.”

“He does not care about your blood, your wealth, or your status. Thorin is not like his father or his grandfather. You should at least give it a chance. When you are ready.” He left her side. “But remember lass, he can’t wait forever.” He winked and started down the hall.