Bearded

Chapter 2

A week later Gudrun stood outside the workshop. The road passing from the main gates to the throne room was an ideal spot, but the crowds pressed close. Her dark brown coils had been oiled with fragrant balm, with the one white streak highlighting the pattern and her beard was also braided in an intricate pattern which showcased the skill of her hands. She tugged at the bodice she wore, uncomfortable in borrowed clothing. It's not as if he is even going to see me in this crowd. Foolish.

At the head of the procession was the king. Either side of him were carried the ceremonial chests of gold, open and with coins spilling over to display the wealth of Erebor. It was not just children who were scrambling on the ground to pick up the odd coin that tumbled free. Behind the king walked his queen, and council and bringing up the rear were the remaining 'Heroes of Erebor'. Bombur was carried on a litter and flanked by Bifur and Bofur; Nori, Dori and Dwalin walked together with heavy steps; Space was left for those who should also have processed in honour. Balin, Oin and Ori, lost in Khazad-dûm. King Thorin and princes Fili and Kili lost so long ago. The Hobbit was probably dead by now. Gloin walked in front, just behind the king and next to his son. Something about his rigid posture suggested he was sullen with displeasure. And next to Gimli walked an Elf.

An Elf.

As the procession approached, there were the usual happy shouts and cheers; 'Khazâd!' came the cries. But as the procession passed, it left an unnatural wave of silence. Next to Gudrun someone spat on the ground. Gudrun hardly had time to look at Gimli. Her eyes swept over him; he was looking thin in the face. His eyes were locked forward as were Gloin's. Next to Gimli walked an Elf. A real Elf. Gudrun's heart was pounding. She had seen Elves in the recent battle. Dark haired Elves, mostly. This one had golden hair, like that of the Elvenking. What the fuck was an Elf doing here? Two ceremonial guards flanked them. Not a usual part of such a procession. They would normally stay in the back. "Why is there an Elf here?" It was no longer just her thoughts asking that question. It was a murmur rippling through the crowd.

Instead of pressing forward with the crowd after the procession passed them, she took Trug's hand. "Let's go." They ran through the back door of the workshop and through the connecting pathways that led to the great audience chamber, laughing as they went. They found a space on one of the upper balconies. They were so far away that looking down the king and those around him looked like little badgers, milling about. She could not hear what was said, but it sounded like the usual official droning. The Elf stood forward and bowed to the King Under the Mountain. Now there was something you didn't see every day.

Back in Trug's rooms that evening Gudrun used a piece of charcoal to line her dark eyes. She had bathed and annointed herself with scented oils and perfumes and the fragrance hung in a cloud around her. She wore the bodice again, together with a dark blue skirt. She knew Gimli would be wearing his Durin Blue. Underneath the long skirts she wore her comfortable work boots.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get you an invitation too."

"That's fine. You rub shoulders with the nobs."

Gudrun was thinking of rubbing more than shoulders tonight.

The Kingdom had given out many whole oxen for roasting in street parties. Naturally, the entire kingdom could not feast together in the main feasting halls, but the message was that rejoicing was to be had by all, and who were they to say no to free casks of ale and meat. Those who had been closer to the speeches had said Sauron, who was apparently the cause of all the trouble, was now dead. And somehow a Hobbit had killed him or something. The tale she later heard was that one of the Hobbits went with only his esquire into the Cursed Lands and fought with the Dark Lord all by himself, and set fire to his Tower. Hobbits were valiant creatures, truly.

Gudrun's uncle had fought in the Battle of Five Armies, and ever since, he could no longer stand to be in large crowds. As was his custom on feast days, he was staying at home quietly with his wife. Having come from the Iron Hills with King Dáin as a general, Uncle always received such invitations out of courtesy. He never accepted so it was customary to only send him an invitation for one, as it was known he would not attend. Gudrun clutched the parchment in her hands. It was crumpled by the time she showed it to the guards, but she was waved in without a second look. A steward raised an eyebrow at the name on her invitation but simply directed her to a table in a corner. She was late, and the official toasts and speeches were over. Gudrun did not know anyone here so focused on enjoying the food and drink, and by the time the tables had been cleared away for dancing she was one of the first to lead those she was sitting with in an energetic mining dance.

Throughout the evening she had been casting surreptitious glances towards the high table. All were animated but Gimli seemed to sparkle. He would turn to speak to the Elf, but he seemed to be the only one talking to him. She and Gimli had not been as completely estranged as she had suggested to Trug. They sometimes crossed paths, and had a friendly word for each other, but realistically Gudrun knew she was no more than an acquaintance. She tried to catch his eye, but she was too far away.

As the dancing began, the Elf stayed seated, next to Bombur and Gimli took his place on the dancefloor. It was common knowledge that a spell had been cast on Bombur when passing through Mirkwood which had caused him to lose his memory. He had also been in the Elvenking's dungeons. No wonder he was turned away from the Elf and speaking only to his neighbour on the other side.

Gimli danced with the fervour of one hoping to forget. His tankard was in his hand but nary a drop was spilled. The Elf did not get up to dance even once. If they weren't such cold creatures, she would almost say he looked frightened. As it was a feast partly in his honour Gimli did not leave early, but at the point where the lamps burned low and the room began to thin out Gimli put his hand on the Elf's back and gently led him towards the back exit. He actually touched the Elf!

Gudrun surged forward and pushed through the crowd. Her sturdy boots aided her passage, stepping on soft formal slippers and she caught up to Gimli as he rounded the corner past the exit.

The light of recognition filled his eyes. "Gudrun!"

It would be best to just ignore the Elf who looked-, well how could one tell how an Elf looked on those expressionless faces?

She decided not to beat around the anvil. The discussion she needed to have was for a private setting. "Gimli, I have braided below for you," she murmured close to his ear.

For a split second he looked taken aback, then he reached for her hand. "We have had good times, lass, but no longer." And with that he walked away, leaving her standing in the murk of the unlit passage.

Notes:

The Enchanted River rose in the Mountains of Mirkwood, and flowed northwards in a great loop to meet the Forest River under the canopy of the trees of Mirkwood. Its water was black, and carried a curse that gave the river its name - any person coming into contact with its enchanted water immediately fell into a long, deep sleep. (Tolkiengateway.net)

In 'The Hobbit' Bombur fell into this then slept for six days. When he awoke he could not remember any of the journey before.

I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!