A Better Place - The Hobbit Fanfiction

Alternate Entry Thirty-Three - Deep Winter

{*Virtually all 'Elvish' in this chapter and the following chapters is utterly fabricated. I was too lazy try to look it up and translate sentences.}

"Did you buy any of that persimmon tea they had fresh in the market?"

I adjusted myself so I sat more comfortably across his lap, trying to figure out just where in the hat I was knitting I'd gone wrong. "No, I forgot. Why did we need persimmon tea?"

"Because I like persimmon tea." He was slouched in the large armchair with his heard resting against the back, relaxing after a day of whatever it was he did. He'd explained it to me before but for the life of me I couldn't remember. But he no longer worked as a stonemason now that Erebor was no longer in a state of All Hands on Deck. Bofur had gotten back into his previous occupation of carpentry years ago.

"Oh. I'll go get some then." I shifted and his arm dropped across my lap to effectively keep me in. "I thought you only liked it fresh?" I'd get it tomorrow. Most of the merchants would be home too by now anyway.

"Doesn't mean I can't like it dried." He shifted himself so his legs wouldn't go numb. "Best you can do in the winter."

"Indeed." I still hadn't sorted out what to get Gimli for Christmas either, and as it was my first Christmas as a married woman I speculated that I ought to get him something. I was considering a carved and glazed ceramic mug, one of those ones with the lids on them to keep the flies and flowers out in summer. He'd probably like the fact that its weight and solidity meant it could double as a weapon in bar fights, if ever he got into another one. Not that his fights weren't justified, and mostly between friends who, once alcohol was added, simply misunderstood each other and still went home laughing, the occasional black eyes notwithstanding.

The next morning, as I sat using Gimli's still-sleeping back for support, my brow creased down at the letter Thranduil had sent me. We didn't write quite as much as we used to, not that we'd ever been avid pen pals. I wasn't sure how to tell Gimli I was leaving again; I wasn't sure if our being married had changed the way I'd done it before, simply announcing my intention to depart.

Finally though Gimli rolled over to face me and ran one hand over my back, warming the skin he'd left cool without him pressed against it. "Reading fan mail?" he mumbled, not entirely awake yet.

"No," I said with a chuckle. "I've been invited to a winter celebration in Mirkwood. Afterward there's something I'm going to help Thranduil with."

This woke him, and he scowled up at me. "Still helping a king who can't help himself, eh?"

I sighed. "Gimli, have you seen Thranduil? People don't speak honestly with him, he's too intimidating to give bad news to. People speak openly with me, they've got no reason to be afraid I'll yell at them."

"Aye!" he agreed. "Because they're not afraid of you, a little scrap of a thing who could no more fight off angry humans than she could an overlarge hummingbird."

"Gimli there are always elves around watching me, making sure I don't get into anything I can't handle on my own. Have I ever come back to you in any lesser state than when I left?"

He lifted one bushy eyebrow at me.

I rolled my eyes. "Other than that time, and that was nobody's fault. Do you really think the elves would send me into any real danger?"

"Of course I do," he retorted. "Not all of them would be comfortable with it, but there's a certain king among them who doesn't like you nearly as much as you think he does."