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Previously, on Fili's wedding day, Thorin offers him his parents' beads, which are adorned with flowers.
"My parents met on a terrace on the south side of the mountain, a trade meeting between their fathers. They first spoke on that terrace before a field of wildflowers, and each made marriage beads with the motif, recalling that day, all unawares.”
Thorin touched the beads in Fili’s palm. “Your Miss Baggins is a gardener and a lover of green and growing things. I thought these appropriate, until you can make your own. But keep them, regardless, as my gift to you.”
“Uncle,” Fili said, his voice thick. “Do you not want to keep them for your own One?”
He smiled, a mixture of sadness and hope. “She’d do better with gold, I think, not so much mithril.”
Fili nearly dropped the beads in shock. “You’ve met your One?”
His uncle shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve not shared this with anyone,” he said, voice low and rather shy.
“She’s from the Iron Hills, a scholar or scribe, and I felt her as I entered Dain’s hall to speak with him. She was there, recording our meeting. I frightened her, in my anger at Dain’s rejection, I had kept my temper as I left the hall, but once in my rooms, I threw a small stool, shattering it. And then I heard a noise. I turned, and she was there in the doorway, her eyes wide with fear. She had followed to speak with me.” Uncle bent his head in shame, stirring the beads in his hand with one finger.
“She said she wouldn’t come with me, she was no use on the quest, that she had known that when she came to speak with me. And now, she feared my temper. She said she could see I was filled with ambition and revenge, not just the care of my people and reclaiming my home, and until I regained what I had lost, there would be no room for her in my heart.”
“Uncle…”
He held up a hand, stilling Fili’s protests. “She is right. I would be no fine husband for her on this quest, my thoughts bent on Erebor and the dragon. And I would fear for her every second if she were with us. She is as soft as your Bella was, Fili, perhaps even softer, for Bella at least has known work in her garden, keeps her home, and cooks for herself. She said to come for her when I had room in my heart for love, and then she left. I did not see her again.”
What’s her name?”
Thorin huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know. She never said, and if she did not want to give it...but when I was offered food for my journey the next morning, I found this in the bag.” He put the beads back in their little pouch and drew out another. It was a silver brooch set with sapphires, a large, vibrant moonstone in the center, with a cunning catch to reveal a locket, and inside the locket was a coil of bright, pale hair.
“She has mithril hair, even brighter than Dori’s, and wavy, and blue eyes. Blue as the finest sapphire. I think of her as Nûlukhul, cool, fair and remote from me.
“You will find her again.”
“It is my wish and my hope,” he said, sighing. “And she was right to send me away and wait. She gave me much to think on.” He took a deep breath and shook off his sadness. "This day is for you."
~~~
As Bella walks down the stairs to their wedding ceremony, Fili notices Bella is wearing that brooch, and Thorin primly says, "Your mother was not here to loan her best."
~~~
We start the scene in progress because we do not know when the muse shall add more. Imagine Dain was updating him, as he recovers, and they were relaxing as best they could in the exhausting task of getting Erebor livable and everyone inside quickly. Thorin trying his best to obey his physician's orders, really. Honestly. He is.
~~~~
He tells Dain about his One and shows him the brooch, and Dain is delighted and also howls with the kind of hysterical relief you do when Something Bad Was Avoided Like The Gold SIckness Sticking or Thorin Oakensheld's Death.
"Well." Dain paused eyes lighting with glee, "I'd say I have the most organized chief scribe I've ever had the pleasure to have in my royal household. Elegant, level-headed, and perhaps explains why she shoved this into my hand and said to show no one but you." He digs underneath his shirt and brings out a pouch.
"She was in a right strop for days after you left, then smoothed out to her regular self." he gives Thorin a fierce look.
"Lad, I am not lying when I say we could not have reached you faster without her. She handed me a sheet of everything we needed to give t' the quartermaster the moment we got the raven. Like she'd had it ready. Wonder if this has anything to do with that." He bounces the pouch. It's small.
Thorin is gobsmacked, and Dain matches his surprise. This all, now that they think about it, is very unusual. They open the pouch.
It's a lovely bead in the square style that indicates a great victory, It's not Durin's colors at all, except for some tiny sapphires. Radiant moonstones on the sides.
They stare at it. Thorin explains it matches the colors of a brooch she gave him, and only the royal Durin crest on one side and Thorin's personal sigil is any indication it's for Thorin himself. The last gift was silver, but this is white gold instead which means some rise in her estimation of him.
"Am...am I being courted? Or...congratulated with.." Thorin puzzles at it, touching the lovely thing gently, "Her colors, but this time in white gold instead of silver. " He pokes at the moonstone again, and looks up at Dain, "She hoped. When I was done. That we could. That I would...I don't even know her name."
Dain claps Thorin on the shoulder, a touch of apology in his eyes, "Well, she'd met you, hadn't she? Took your measure and your temper, from what I hear. Practical lass. Knew to wait. "
Thorin gulps, rasps, almost plaintive. "I don't know what this is."
They nod at it. It is odd. Not quite a courting bead, not quite a victory bead. But clearly for him alone.
Dain shakes him gently, "Lad, I'd say it's a puzzle she'd like you to figure out."
The expression on Thorin's face makes Dain laugh with his whole body until Thorin is beginning to get a little insulted.
"Oh lad, oh lad, a merry chase is just what you need with this king nonsense. Trust me."
"Hmmm," Thorin ponders until Dain clucks his tongue at his thick-headed cousin.
"Your Majesty, if you don't send her back a puzzle worthy of making my chief scribe just as curious as you are right at this moment, I'll give you such a thump. In public. Loudly."
Thorin stares at his cousin blankly, then rumbles, a slight smile on his face. "Fair." Then hands it to Dain to set it in his hair, as is allowed by family members. Dain pins the brooch as close over Thorin's heart. Thorin looks up, startled.
"I promise to do .......
Dain grins at him, looking decades and wars younger, working on a tiny braid that will lie properly in front as if it were a courting gift. No matter the oddity, Thorin's One has made some sort of declaration.
And Dain will release her gladly like a father - not a king - would a daughter, by his placement of her brooch. That is how highly Dain esteems Thorin's One. As far as Dain is concerned Courting has begun.
"Oh, I know you'll chase the lass back, but how?
"It would help to know more about your chief scribe."
"T'would, wouldn't it?" Dain gives him a long, piercing look, "Aye that would be."
Thorin already can feel the mischief building under Dain's skin, asks dryly, "Like the name of your chief scribe."
"Aye," Dain says merrily, fulfilling Thorin's dread as he secures the braid. "It would help, wouldn't it?" And stomps off whistling.
Thorin fumes from his sickbed, shifts, and is about to gingerly get out when Bella arrives with a tray.
"I will call Oin," she says flatly, so completely through scolding Thorin's trying to sneak out. It's timed perfectly somehow, just as the pain of his instinctive, impulsive movements hit Thorin.
He'd skipped a dose to talk to Dain as clear-headed as possible.
As he grumbles back into bed realizing that was a very stupid idea to get out of bed, another idea begins to form. They get him sorted out and Bella knowingly hands him one of Oin's pain tinctures and arches a brow until he drinks it, then hands him a sip of tea to rinse the taste out of his mouth.
"Bella," he rasps, regretting his rashness and takes a clearer breath as the tincture dulls the edges of his pain. "Bella."
She silently hands him another, brow up again. Of course, she knew he'd skipped a dose to be clear-headed for Dain.
Now obedient to that brow, he takes it; Bella's displeasure is somehow as powerful as his sister's. She would and had called Oín and Gandalf and the Elf. Thorin takes his tincture, takes his swig of tea.
The pain recedes enough for him to blurt, "Bella, I need your help."
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for your promise to The Company again," she says, eyes utterly serious.
Strenuously not rolling his eyes, Thorin pledges to follow instructions in order to heal what should have been a mortal wound. She makes him do it again until she believes it. He complies obediently only because of a swell of affection and irritation that reminds him she is not only Company, Bella is the future of family. (And almost as terrifying as Dís.)
After, watching her bustle merrily out, Thorin settles back into his bed, his energy truly flagging, smiling from the memories of Belladonna Baggins' tales during their travels. They revealed an intricate Hobbit society seemingly built on gossip, food, parties, and apparently nicked teaspoons. He's grateful he remembered.
He's sent a Hobbit to gossip, The Hobbit that freed them and saved him even when he'd done her great wrong. Saved them so many ways.
Good as a second Spymaster for Nori who has enough to do, with the mountain littered with strangers, even with trusted Company eyes out there.
And then Thorin realizes he should probably tell his Spymaster he has an unofficial second.
Fili will be so proud when he wakes.
Thorin dozes, thinking of Bella speaking quietly and tenderly to her unconscious husband, as she helps Oín just a canvas flap away in the next tent, feeds him, tends to him, moves his limbs, all between acting as Crown Princess, seemingly in as many negotiations for help and provisions as his Senechal.
Thorin wonders if anyone has told her such care from their One, such devoted proximity to their One has called many a warrior from the pull of the stone....that her habit to curl against his heart at night...
...or if Hobbits could point the way home...and did knowing he had a bond to Nûlukhul..did knowing his One was waiting for Thorin give him the strength somehow...he knew the stone was calling him, that the sleep pulling him might be his last....."The Eagles." Hope as his eyes were fading...and rejected the stone.
He'd given up hope of finding his One, pushed even the idea from his... maybe Oín would...
He can feel the light weight of her gift over his heart...silver warmed by his..
Thorin Oakenshield falls into dreams of the moon, cool and bright, shining through shifting clouds, mithril hair, and sapphire eyes looking at him without fear.
Nûlukhul.