Words Like Wind ᚠ Thorin Oakenshield

twєntч-twσ: α ѕαcrífícє rєwαrdєd

But words are wind.

OÍN and Dwalin stood next to the grey wizard watching as the fairy sparred with Kili and Fili. She spun and raised the wooden staff above her head, blocking Kili's parry before turning back to Fili and sidestepping his swipe at her side. Despite the fiercely competitive atmosphere of the exercise, they were all laughing. Gandalf chuckled at the sight and exhaled a ring of sweet smoke from his pipe. The old healer could stand it no longer, he had heard tale from the brothers and from Dwalin that the fairy had died in battle, killed by Azog. "How did she come back?"

The wizard raised his brow at the sudden question and watched the mismatched fight for a moment longer before responding, "Look at her hair, Master Dwarf," the change in color alone was enough to tell the wizard what had occurred, as where the silver scars that adorned her face and arms. The two dwarfs looked at Arethusa as she pushed Fili from her and recovered the staff that was knocked out of her hands. "She was touched by Eru himself." Few had been granted that privilege, the only one he could think of at the drop of a hat was Saruman the White.

It was Dwalin who could mutter a response first, "By my beard." Enchanting laughter echoed from the stone walls as the three all lie on the ground, panting with sweat covered brows.

"You're slower than you were in Rivendell, Auntie." The word slipped from Kili's lips before he could stop it, Fili gave his brother a stern look that caused Arethusa to laugh even harder. The title, Auntie, had slipped from them various times, mindlessly. She did agree that she was slower than before, but mortality would do that even if she would not tell them of the revelation.

Arethusa stood and pulled the two dwarves up by the collar, "Come on you two, it's almost supper and then I expect the both of you to rest tonight, no sneaking about the halls in search for my honey cakes is that understood?" Kili and Fili nodded avidly, three days ago she had found them in the kitchens, plundering high and low for sweets, and she had threatened to turn them into pigs, curly tail and all. She did not possess that power, though she would not tell them that. Balin entered the training room, a scroll of parchment within his hand, "Lady Arethusa, an envoy from Nogrod has arrived." She still winced at the use of a title, especially from one she had now known for over a year.

The white-bearded dwarf rambled on about the clan they were from, Blacklocks or so she thought he had said, not nobility nor were they of the peasantry. It was a group of twenty-seven, with three dwarrowdams that Arethusa had mistaken for men at first glance. She came forward with her hands clasped before her training garb and hair pulled back to reveal her pointed ears. They looked at her with apprehension, the eldest of the group stepped forward, despite the ash color of his beard his hair was still black as tar, only two beads hung within his hair, each on the left side. "Where is the King, khathzûna?"

The fairy smiled, having learned the most basic of dwarvish phrases under the tutelage of Balin and Bifur, knowing what she had been called Arethusa laughed softly; "Master Dwarf, I am no elf, but a fairy and I have traveled far with Thorin and his company. The King Under the Mountain was wounded in battle and has yet to wake." The dwarves that had gathered behind their leader understood her position amongst the royal line and knelt before who they believed was the Queen Under the Mountain; the elder's face flushed red with embarrassment. She glanced over to Balin, who nodded for her to continue. "You are welcomed in these halls, join us for supper and we may discuss proper arrangements."